Megan moves forward, arms crossed over her low-cut top and a smug grin on her face. “There’s no getting away this time, Donovan.”
Turning away from Dryer Girl, I face her. “I’m not trying to get away.”
“You will,” she states, that smile never leaving her lips. I can sense Dryer Girl coming in behind me as another of the girls I don’t recognize moves towards the opposite side of the room. “Try, that is.”
If going from the top of the elite—worshipped and revered—to the bottom of the barrel—an outcast and reviled—has taught me anything, it’s this: fear and respect are both weapons of choice and both are earned.
Megan might have earned these girls’ fear and respect or maybe it’s just the simple fact that my dad’s actions fucked up their lives and they want to take it out on me. Whatever the case is, though, I have no intention of letting myself stand here and take it.
I reach up, unzipping the pull-on jacket I’d stolen from Nolan that morning. I don’t take it off, but I let it hang open as Ipicture what I might be able to do with it. Seven on one is a hefty number and up until last summer, I hadn’t really known how to defend myself. Even if Megan doesn’t partake in what’s about to happen, I’m still at a heavy disadvantage. I’ll use anything at my disposal.
I’ll have to because I know something about these girls. This is it for them. High school is where they peak. There is no college waiting for them on the other side. No sugar daddies with open arms ready to take them into their mansions and offer them the world.
They realize it, and so do I. But just because I understand that this is merely a way to blame me for their misfortune doesn’t mean I’ll let them kill me over it. If I wouldn’t let that asshole break me when everyone looked at me and thought I had everything, I certainly won’t let these bitches break me either.
Megan’s grin turns to a scowl and she steps closer, dropping her arms so that our chests bump against one another’s. “You think I don’t see that look in your eye, Donovan?” she sneers. “You think we don’t know that you look down on us? You might be at our school, but you’ll never be one of us.”
“I don’t want to be one of you,” I tell her honestly. “I’m not a sheep.”
In hindsight, I should’ve tempered my mouth or at least seen the punch coming. I don’t know why, but I’d expected that Megan wouldn’t dive into the fight headfirst. I thought she would stand back and let the others do her dirty work for her. The thing about hindsight, though, is that it’s certainly clearer when blood isn’t clouding your vision.
My head whips back as Megan punches me right in the nose. Red dots my sight and it’s. Fucking. On.
Pandemonium. Chaos. Call it whatever you want, but that’s exactly what happens. Once the first punch is thrown, the rest follow suit.
I kick out, knocking Meg’s knees together and sending her sprawling to the dirty bathroom floor. The relish in watching her collapse is only a momentary thing, though, as her friends converge. Ducking down as Dryer Girl tries to wrap her arms around me, I dodge her hold and come up swinging.
One punch to a girl’s jaw and another to someone’s abdomen. Someone latches on to my arm and stops my next hit. I wince as I’m thrown against one of the stall walls, the hard plastic digging into my spine. Wetness drips down to my upper lip and the taste of rust and iron stains my tongue.
“Bitch!”
“Cunt!”
“Get her!”
I put both of my forearms up over my face and head, blocking a few of the blows but not all of them. Air squeezes in past my lungs, filling my chest. Over and over again, I take the hits. Someone’s banging on the wall. There are screams, yells, louder than before.
Sweat dots my brow and slides over my back. This has to stop. I need this to end. I can’t go on like this, letting people call me names and treat me like I mean nothing. Even if I mean nothing to them, allowing the disrespect is a choice I’ve made. I’ve allowed it because, somehow, deep down, I’m still that stupid girl who trusted her parents, who trusted her friends and boyfriend.
The girl who didn’t want to rock the boat. The one who kept silent when a bad man did bad things to her. The one who just wants people to go away and leave her alone.
It’s clear to me now that no one will leave me alone unless I make them, and the way to make them is to earn either their fear or their respect.
Fear and respect are both weapons of choice and both are earned.
More banging on the wall, wood splintering. The sounds are all a jumbled mess in my brain, but as I lower my arms back to my sides and someone takes a shot at my face again, I let them all go. The pain floats away. All of it just… drifts.
And I feel nothing again. Nothing but the rage.
I reach out, grabbing hold of someone’s arm. I don’t know how, but I do know that I twist it, wrenching it behind the girl’s back. There’s a gasp, acrack, and then a scream. I release her and the body drops away.
My knuckles connect with someone else’s face. Whoever it is goes down, but I’m not done. I follow her, climbing atop the body beneath me as she scrambles and tries to get away.
“Oh, no, you fucking don’t.” I grip a throat, squeezing and holding as I throw punch after punch. Something wet splatters against my wrist, drips over my hand.
Hard fingers grip me, dragging me up and off the girl. I turn, swinging wildly. I kick. I punch. I don’t see anyone around me. I just fight and fight and finally, I realize no one is fighting back.
I stop, panting. My breath saws in and out of my throat, burning down the airway. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the red from my vision. When I finally take in the sight of the bathroom, I’m stunned by what I see.
