the rest of her cheerleading friends. A thousand teeth are ripping me apart from the inside out, and I bite down on my lip to quell the urge to cry.
Not now. Not today.
With my chin held high, I move to my seat and remove my lunch bag from my backpack. This morning, Polo left out a sandwich, apple, and cup of pudding with my name on it, but I stubbornly threw the items away and grabbed cold pizza from the fridge instead. I’m being stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn, but I don’t care. He and his brothers hurt me. A lot. Maybe it’s petty, maybe I should get over it, but I’m too damn angry to care. They may not have killed anyone, but how many did they hurt? How many lives did they destroy? None? A few? A dozen?
How many fathers did they take from little girls?
Rationally, I know that the answer is zero. I know that they never killed anyone. I know that, I do, but try using logic when your heart is in shreds.
I will myself not to cry as I pick at the pepperonis on my pizza, feeling more lonely than I can ever remember feeling. That loneliness leaves a distinct taste on my tongue. Bitter, almost, leaving me hollow.
You’ll talk to Mariabella after school. She can’t stay mad at you forever. All you need to do is apologize.
The erratic beating of my heart gradually slows from a gallop to a trot. I force my fingers to uncurl as I take a deep breath.
You can do this.
A large body sliding into the seat opposite me interrupts my internal tangent. I glance up from my pizza, expecting Emmett, only to see Karsyn sitting across from me in his usual spot. He doesn’t look up as he digs into the food on his tray—a gray sludge-like clump of meat, a browning banana, and a carton of chocolate milk. I haven’t spoken to him since the night at that party, when he drunkenly confessed that he used to be in love with me. And since he hasn’t brought it up, I take it to mean that he either doesn’t care about our encounter…or he doesn’t remember it. Still, my heart skips a beat all the same, shooting phantom fireworks through my bloodstream at the memory.
“Mariabella isn’t here,” I say tersely, burning holes into his forehead.
“I know,” he replies as he takes a huge bite of the gray meat. His face shifts and contorts, a scowl marring his features at the repulsive taste.
Silence descends, but I don’t bother with the pretense of eating.
“I was at the game,” I begin conversationally, and when his eyes shadow, pain twisting his features, I don’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. My conversation with Mariabella plays on a continuous loop in my head. It feels as if I’m standing in a barren field with the wind whipping at me from both directions, and I know that any second now, one particularly strong gust will blow me away.
“Yeah,” he murmurs gruffly as he unpeels his banana and shoves it in his mouth. He immediately makes a face and spits it into his napkin. “Don’t think I’m going to be playing for State next year.”
I should be happy about that, right? My plans have finally come to fruition, after months and months of planning and scheming.
But instead of satisfaction, I feel hollow.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I’m surprised when those words are actually sincere.
Karsyn shrugs his broad shoulders in an “it is what it is” type of motion. “I don’t think my grades would’ve been good enough anyway.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
Instead of answering with words, Karsyn opens up his backpack, grabs a stapled packet, and places it on the table so I can see. On the very top of the front page is a glaringly large red F. My curiosity piqued, I read through the questions and see that it’s for U.S. History. Since I’m taking AP U.S. History, I don’t have this class with him, but I can already see the topics he struggles the most with. He nailed all of the multiple-choice questions, but the second the test demanded short answers and essays, he bombed. Spectacularly.
“Martin Luther King Jr. is bomb AF, but is that really appropriate for the essay?” I question, and he blows out a raspberry.
“Words are hard,” he murmurs.
I want to bring up a theory I’ve had for a while, since middle school, but I don’t