Page 52 of Seven Lost Summers
One of them chuckles under his breath and grabs his crotch, making sure I see it. That’s all I’ve ever been to them—an easy target. A quiet punchline. The guy who keeps his head down and takes it.
For years, I let them think I didn’t care. Let them believe their shit didn’t land. But it did. Every fucking time.
Up ahead, one of the cheerleaders drifts to the side, all hairspray and hollow smiles, held together with lip gloss and lies. Her perfume hits hard, sweet enough to rot teeth and thick enough to choke out anything honest.
She leans into her friend, whispering behind her hand, all fake nails and faker friendship.
The other one laughs out loud, a sound sharp enough to bruise.
They brush past with choreographed indifference, all hips and attitude, plastic confidence cracking at the edges.
We’re almost past the stairwell when I hear it.
“Well, fuck,” Jared Ross calls out, his voice carrying off every locker. “Didn’t know Theo knew what to do with pussy.”
Jared pushes off the wall, loud and smug, dripping with the same cocky swagger he’s worn since freshman year. His letterman jacket hangs open, school colors on display, ego stitched into every step. Every inch of him screams spoiled jock who’s never been told no.
“Seriously, man, thought you only had eyes for Nate,” he calls out, louder this time. “Guess I got that wrong. You finally gave up on Nate and went for an easier target, huh?” He shrugs. “Guess you’re just a freak. Closet case with a new toy.”
A few of Jared’s buddies snort, one of them clapping him on the shoulder.
Heat crawls up my spine.
I say nothing.
I can’t.
My body’s stuck between freezing and exploding.
Quinn is the one who steps forward, planting herself between Jared and me, standing dead center with her hands loose at her sides.
“Oh, this is rich,” Jared says, rolling his eyes. “What, the frigid bitch here to babysit the broken boy?”
“You’ve got a loud mouth for someone whose only experience with pussy comes from porn and his own fist.” Quinn doesn’t blink as she closes the distance. “You run your mouth like you’ve got game, but every girl you’ve touched had to fake it so hard they deserved Oscars.”
She tilts her head, her voice dropping cold. “Maybe if you spent less time mouthing off about other people and more time figuring out what to do with a real girl, they wouldn’t bolt the second your pants hit the floor.”
Jared barks out a laugh, fake and forced.
“You still talking, Thomas?” he says. “No guy wants to fuck a mouth that bites back. Maybe if you dropped the attitude and opened your legs once in a while, you’d matter.”
He smirks, but the laugh in his throat dies before it can make it out.
Nate steps forward.
One second he’s behind me, the next he’s in Jared’s face. His fist slams into Jared’s jaw, the crack sharp, clean, beautiful.
Jared crashes into the lockers on his way down. Blood smears his lip, his spit turning pink, and he doesn’t get back up.
Nate looms over him, eyes dead cold.
“You open your mouth about Theo or Quinn again, and I’ll break every fucking tooth in your head.”
Jared spits blood onto the floor.
“You’re all fucked,” he mutters, wiping his mouth. “Every single one of you.”
Nate tilts his head. “You fucking done?”
