Page 102 of Fractured Fates
I know he’s telling the truth.
I choke. Because it hurts. Of all the things they’ve done to me here, all the cruel stupid bullshit, this hurts the most. I twist my head away from Spencer so he can’t see the water swimming in my eyes.
We lie there, the wind kicking up dirt from the track that rings the pitch, the sun warming the back of my neck, until finally Spencer jumps up onto his feet.
“You can’t even run properly, Pig Girl,” he snaps.
And I can’t take it anymore.
I can’t take it!
My magic sears through my body, hissing and fizzing, dark and angry. My body shakes with it.
I lift my hand and I blast him.
It hits him right in the center of his gut. His eyes go wider than saucepans as he flies backward and hits the ground with a thud.
I roll up onto my knees, lifting my hands, ready for the counterstrike.
He stares down at his stomach in shock as his body twitches and jerks, his bones seeming to strain inside his body, his shape distorting and reforming before my eyes.
I gasp as he staggers to his feet, grunting and shaking his head, his hands flexing and balling, fighting whatever the hell this is.
Then as suddenly as it started, it stops. He stands, panting, and lifts his gaze to mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yells, “have you lost your mind? Do you want to get yourself expelled?”
Want to? Because I’m pretty certain I just did. I used my magic on another student. Hell, I’ll use more on him if he comes at me again.
I’m out of here.
“I don’t care,” I spit. “I don’t care what you tell Principal York. I don’t care if she kicks me out. I don’t care at all.”
He scoffs at me, his face turning sour. “I’m not Kennedy. I’m not a snitch. I’m not going to tell on you.” He rubs at his stomach, peering down at it with confusion. “Fuck, that actually hurts.” He glances back up at me, frowning. “You’re fucking lucky no one saw that, Piggie.”
“What?” I say. “Saw me whip your ass?”
He lifts an eyebrow lazily at me. “Whatever. You know if I wanted to, I could snap your skinny ass in two, with or without my magic.” He takes a step toward me. “One time, Pig Girl. You get to strike me like that one time. Try it again and …”
“What? You’ll blast me back? You’ll tell on me?” I don’t care. I’m beyond caring.
I don’t stick around to hear him finish his threat, instead I storm past him, straight through the gymnasium and into the locker room.
I feel eyes on me the whole way. I can hear them whispering about me and I wish I was anywhere else but here.
* * *
I don’t seeWinnie until kitchen duties and another round of pot washing. My hands were beginning to soften after a lifetime’s rearing chicken and working in our vegetable plot. Now they’re red raw and painful every time I plunge them into yet another bowl of piping hot water.
It doesn’t help my foul mood.
A mood which must be written all over my face.
“Bad day?” Winnie asks, carefully removing the pan I’m scrubbing from my hands before I rub away the sponge.
“You could say that.”
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
