Page 8 of The Wrong Side of Kai
“Nope. Probably just shoot me death glares across the Biology lab.” I shrug and pick at my nails. One of my acrylics is barely hanging on. “I’m already over him, though.”
I guess it’ll be awkward at first when I see him again, but the school is big enough that I can avoid him if necessary. Enough different hallways to take alternative routes. Only one class together today. Totally bearable.
We pull into the school parking lot and straight into an empty spot, diagonally and mere inches from the car next to us. I don’t even point it out, just grab my backpack and squeeze out the car without dinging anyone’s paintwork. When we return at the end of the day, there’ll be a “Learn how to park, sucker!” note stuck under the wiper just like there always is.
“I gotta run. I have a meeting with Mrs. Moore before class. She’s helping me finalize my college application,” Chyna says. “I’ll catch you later.” She retreats, binder tucked under her arm, and blows me a kiss. I catch it and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans, then she turns and dashes off across the courtyard.
My first class is at the opposite end of the building, so I head for the south entrance. It’s a low sun, crisp air kind of morning. I love it. The winter, the cold. The summer was unbearable, but balance in Ohio is always restored when our extreme humidity is switched for bouts of snow. The first snowflakes have yet to fall, but soon our streets will be glistening white, coated in a thick, icy blanket, and the thought of it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Truly ironic.
I walk with my head down, my eyes on my phone, refreshing my social media for what feels like the thousandth time this morning. Harrison hasn’t made any attempt to contact me after kicking me out of his truck last night, which means that we are finally done. I exhale in relief.
I glance up from my screen only because I nearly collide into Ryan Malone, the appointed creep of our senior class, because, well, he is. In sophomore year he was suspended for repeatedly barging into the girls’ locker rooms “by accident.”
“Hey, Vanessa,” he says, and I stop dead in my tracks because Ryan Malone has never once dared to open his mouth and say a single word to me before. I look over my shoulder at him and his chapped lips twist into a pervy smirk that immediately puts me on edge. Why the hell is he talking to me? “I just wanted to let you know that. . . That I think you look great. Really hot.”What?It’s definitely not an innocent compliment; his tone is sickening.
“Gross, Malone. Fuck off.” Scrunching up my features in disgust, I pull my jacket around me, trying to cover up before he can get an eyeful. Absolute freak.
I leave Malone behind, my strides wide and too fast because I don’t want to be anywhere near him, and I only slow down again when I’m inside the building and making for my locker. There’s a few minutes until first period, so everyone is milling around in the hallways, a constant buzz of voices as everyone talks about the killer weekend they just had. My guess is that Madison Romy’s party is the hot topic. Half the senior class was there, and those Westerville Central football players turning up and kicking off a brawl definitely makes for some serious gossip.
But I notice something is off. As I squeeze my way through bodies, I can feel it. The pressure of a thousand eyes on me. I keep my head down, trying my best to ignore it, pretending I’m imagining it.
But no, I’m seriously not.
I slow down, lifting my gaze to look around. Even so, it’s not immediately obvious. People are moving around, pushing past me, groups of friends leaning against lockers lost in their own conversations. But I still catch the quick glances. The subtle sniggers. The one group of junior guys that busts out into laughter as they all turn to look at me. What the hell?
I give myself a quick once over just in case I’ve been walking around with my bra on show or the zipper of my jeans open – at least that would explain Malone’s weird remark – but nope, nothing. Did news spread that Harrison and I are done? That he kicked me out of his truck and left me behind at Heritage Park? Sure, it’s gossip, but it’s notthatbig of a deal. It’s not like we were actually dating, and I didn’t think people caredthatmuch about Harrison and me.
I keep my head down and continue along the hallway to my locker. My heart is beating faster than usual as I fumble with my combination. I taped a mirror to the back of my locker door in freshman year, and it’s always been a lifesaver. I scan my appearance once more, but my hair is fine, my makeup is fine, my clothes are definitely fine, everything isfine. So why the hell is everyone looking at me so weird? And now that I think about it, why have I walked the entire length of this hallway without anyone talking to me?
“Looked like you had fun at Maddie’s party,” a deep voice says from behind.
I spin around so fast my elbow clunks against the metal lockers and I find myself face to face with Anthony. Noah is by his side, a few other guys from the team huddled in close behind them, pretty much trapping me against the lockers. It’s suffocating, but I’m not surprised. They’re Harrison’s friends. They’re going to taunt me the same way they did when I first cooled things down with Noah. That’s what guys do – it’s that dumb pack mentality they have.
“Um, yeah, I did actually,” I say, and they all snicker, their laughter ringing hollow in my ears. My eyebrows furrow as I watch them exchange knowing looks, rolling their eyes and generally behaving like the dicks they are. I’m not sure what’s so funny.
“How come you never once gavemea striptease?” Noah asks, leaning in close as he juts out his lower lip like a kid feeling left out. He places a hand on my hip, and the smile he gives me is gross. “I would have been cool with that, you know.” Anthony and the guys cackle, their laughter howling down the hallway so loudly that it echoes.
I grit my teeth and shove Noah’s hand off me. Fucking Harrison telling all his friends about our business. It’s not like I don’t know guys talk about this stuff. Hell, I do the same with Chyna, but still. The thought of half the football team knowing what gets me off makes my stomach churn.
Slamming my locker shut, I push my way around Anthony’s bulky frame and walk away from them, my pace quick. My heart is thumping too hard in my chest. I’m freaked out.
“Oh, come back, Vanessa!” Noah calls after me. I know most of the people in this hallway are listening at this point, and my cheeks are scorching red with heat. “Anthony wants his turn on the Murphy-Go-Round! He’s heard it’s a great ride.”
Assholes. I hate what they’re insinuating. Sure, I like to fool around, but what’s so wrong with that – besides inevitably dumping any guy who ends up asking for more from me? It’s fun. I can take my pick of the hot guys. I like the excitement. The guys act as if I have a list with a hundred different names on it, when the reality is there’s only a few. I’m pretty sure Noah has hooked up with too many girls in this school to count, including me, so to hell with him and his double standards. Those standards aren’t mine, but I’ve learned to accept that they’re just the way things are. I make sure the remarks I get every once in a while don’t bother me anymore.
But they bother me today.
As I push my way down the hall, I hear that stupid word:Slut.
I don’t catch who says it. Some girl, but I don’t even try to pinpoint who the voice belongs to. My mind is in a whirl. Something’s going on. Something bad. I canfeelit in the air. An odd sense of me versus the world, like everyone in this goddamn school is against me. I feel powerless, exposed; my skin is as thin as tissue. What’s worse is, it’s usually the exact opposite. I don’t know where this feeling has come from, but suddenly I want to curl into a ball, making myself as small as I can be, and hide.
I have my fair share of people who aren’t exactly my best friends, but it’s never felt as pronounced as it does right now. Most people like me, and I like most people. That’s why I have a big circle of people I can hang out with and be part of. Or at least I thought I did. Right now, the usual distinct line between friend and enemy is a total blur. The circle is closed. Everyone feels like an enemy.
I round the corner and nearly collide with Chyna. My chest sinks with relief at the sight of her. Walking through these hallways alone right now is too much to handle, and I’m pretty sure it’s because Harrison has been running his mouth. Maybe Chyna will know what he’s been telling people about me.
“Oh, thank God. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she says, the words rolling off her tongue at lightning speed. Her eyes are wide, panicked. “I’ve just tried calling you like a million times!” She grabs my arm and pulls me into the girls’ bathroom at the same moment the bell for first period rings out. The few girls who are in the bathroom make a swift exit, but Chyna and I don’t budge from our spot in front of the sinks.
“Shouldn’t you be at your meeting?” I ask once we’re alone. I can hear the rumble of commotion out in the hallways as everyone rushes to their classes. At this point, I’ve already accepted the fact that I’ll be late for Bio.
