Page 27 of Dirty Roulette
“Do you think she’s seen it?” Brittni turns to her friends, pretending to gossip quietly, but purposely saying it loud and clear. I guess high school antics die hard.
Naomi twirls the stick of a cherry red lollipop. Her sunglasses slip to the tip of her nose, following my steps.
Gum twirls around Brittni’s finger. “Why is Charlie friends with that girl again?” She asks.
I turn on a heel in the opposite direction. Ryder tosses a football back and forth between hands, engrossed in talking with Jared as they stride down the sidewalk to the dining halls. Their laughter dies when Scottie P nudges Ryder, and points his chin to a group of girls ogling at them with their jaws scraping against the floor. My caged heartthrashes inside my chest, watching Ryder eat up the attention as he gives the girls the football. They squeal in glee, running off.
Ryder’s good at pretending nothing happened. Being a notorious running back who is breaking records isn’t going to kiss and tell. Especially when it’s the girl coming from Cloud Nine. I need to bathe in holy water to wash him off my lips and push the memory into a bottomless pit.
I unfold the map with my schedule and room numbers I scribbled down in a hurry. The dorm is a mess with unfolded clothes and textbooks. Not to mention my hair is twisted into the messiest bun in existence, and I’m pretty sure I smeared my mascara this morning. Which, of course, I didn’t bother to fix. My brain is on fire and my inner self is screaming at me to pull myself together.
“Hey girly,” Charlie pops out of nowhere, snaps gum between her teeth, and pulls at my damp hair. “You went with the fresh-out-of-the-shower look today, huh?”
“Yeah, I woke up late and forgot to shower last night.” I crumple the map with my heart about to burst open.
“How’s the dorm? Ryder dropped my stuff off after you left.”
“It’s nice.”
“This is bugging me. Can I at least braid your hair?” Charlie digs in her purse for a tiny comb and scrunchy. Before I can object, her fingers tangle into my hair, working their magic, twisting and weaving a Dutch braid. She yanks on my hair like a mother does a child. “So, what’s your plan for later?”
“Just unpacking,” I say. She finishes and grabs her stash of lip gloss in her purse.
“Pucker up.” She squeezes the tube and dabs it on my lips. I shrug. Needles of guilt flood into my bloodstream. I’m not sure what my plan is. The past two nights, I imagined different scenarios and heldconversations with myself about breaking the news to Charlie. Sleep ceases to exist and I’m running on an empty tank.
She pulls out a compact mirror and admires herself. After every class in high school, she’d be welded to the bathroom mirror, reapplying eyeliner.
“See any cute guys yet?” She asks.
“Not really,” I lie. Her brother is cute, and something is wrong with that thought.
Charlie shakes her head with an annoyed eye roll. “Okay, well, we need to find one to entertain you. I have plans later with Noah. The dude can write some pretty damn good music.”
I glance down at my phone and there are five minutes left before my first class starts. Hell equals this two-hour advanced psychology course I magically placed in. I catch Brittni and the other cheerleaders swinging bags over their shoulders. Some of them glance back at me with resting bitch faces; so I look away, pretending I never saw them.
Charlie keeps talking, her mouth moving, but I shut out her voice like she’s on mute without the subtitles. I’m looking beyond her and when Ryder half-shakes Scottie P’s hand, his eyes come into my line of vision. His gray eyes immediately take my breath away. He smirks at me and it short circuits parts of my brain. It’s like he ripped out my heart and ran off with it, knowing full-well the damage he’s done. He hangs onto one leather strap of his book bag, and like clockwork, his right-hand dips into his jean pocket. His footsteps are smooth against the grass as he heads off. Immediately, I drop my gaze to my Converse and pretend everything’s fine.
The make-out session lingers at the tip of my lips, and an ominous feeling digs into my chest cavity. At this rate, I’m heading for a panic attack.
“Okay, I’ll see you after lunch. I’m so excited we have French together. Love yah!” Charlie and I hug, and I inhale a mixture of strawberries and stale cigarettes. I feel bad about missing half of the conversation, but Charlie didn’t seem to notice. She blows me a kiss before strutting down the sidewalk.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and when I pull it out, my skin crawls when I stare down at a text message popping up from an unknown number.
Unknown: Ryder and Crusty Trash sitting in a tree. K.I.S.S.I.N.G
Payton:Who is this?
Unknown:What do you think Charlie will say about this?
A link pops up, and I press it without a second thought. A series of photos and videos airdrop right into my hand.
Disgust with myself seeps into my nervous system, seeing my naked photos in the hands of some asshole. Charlie and I are crystal clear and I can count each freckle on my shoulders. An arrow button sits dead center of the embarrassing video of Ryder and I. Dumb me presses it, and I’m glued to footage of him kissing me down my neck. His hands are all over me and my thighs burn, reliving it.
Brody and some guys laugh in the background noise of the video, but I find nothing funny about any of it. My vision clouds with hot white light, and my bloody heart spills all over the floor.
I storm to class a heated mess, slamming the bag on the floor. My thoughts spin and I can’t focus. It’s impossible to calm my leg shaking under the desk. The professor goes over the syllabus and the types of assignments we will be getting, and the damn book required. This onechick continues to ask absurd questions, keeping us all stuck in our seats. Please, someone in here must have duct tape to shove across her mouth. The classic analog clock on the wall ticking is worse than being in a night terror.
As he talks non-stop to answer every question, I pull out my cell underneath the table.
