the rage build up in me. “GET LOST!” I yelled.
“Is this behavior common for rich kids? Throwing a temper tantrum because you can’t get what you want, when you want it?” she asked, looking at me defiantly. I hated the look in her eyes; eyes that I knew could be warm were now dark like coal, cold and unfeeling.
I traced my fingers along the delicate flesh of her arm. I knew my touch affected her. She inhaled, holding her breath as small goose flesh appeared at the areas that I’d traced with my touch. There, I’d gotten a reaction, the one I wanted. This girl wasn’t immune to me; she was just pretending to be. At least she tried to have some self-respect. That in itself was intriguing.
“Are all poor kids so stupid? I told you to get lost. Why aren’t you running, little mouse?” I whispered, watching her, wanting her to run and also desperate for her to stay.
What will you do? Will you stay or will you go?
She closed the distance between us, something that would have made me normally step back. Usually, when people came too close, it felt like the walls around me were closing in, but this time that feeling was...non-existent.
She placed her lips by my ear then and whispered soft and sweet, like the caress of a warm summer’s breeze. “I don’t run from little boys who like playing at being tough men. I walk away.” Then she turned and left me sitting there, looking the fool, alone by the pool.
7
“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Madison
I stormed away from Kyler Sinclair, not because he was an insufferable ass, which he was, but I ran because I had strange feelings about the whole exchange with him. His words were sharp knives that he hurled at me without a single thought. His mouse reference was so completely annoying in every single way. I wasn’t a fucking mouse; I was so far from it. My hands formed into fists as his taunting words replayed in my head.
Look at her clothes. Where do you shop? Target?
What the fuck was wrong with Target? The majority of Americans shopped at Target. I’m so sorry, Lord Sinclair, that I wasn’t lucky enough to be born into the elite one-percent.
What the fuck had I ever done to him?
You were born into the middle class. That’s what.
Kyler Sinclair wasn’t the first jerk to have ever crossed my path, but he was the first one who seemed to go out of his way to be mean to me. I didn’t know why he was so cruel. He didn’t even know me. It was as if at our first meeting he’d decided to make my life a living hell.
I didn’t know how I was going to get through the next year, forced to go head-to-head with him, maybe even on a daily basis. Usually people ignored me, I was nice enough that I never rubbed anyone the wrong way, and I was so plain that I never piqued anyone's interest. Most high school boys weren’t interested in a girl with extra pounds who wore no makeup and barely spoke. I blended into their beige walls, completely boring and plain, and I liked it that way. It kept things simple and sane.
I noticed early that when people went off kilter, they consumed themselves with other things like parties and boys, and I really didn’t have time for that. I had a plan, I was going to graduate and then go off to law school. My plan was to work with victims of abuse. It was important work. It was fulfilling work. It was something that made my parents proud. I still remembered my dad’s face when I told him. I wasn’t more than thirteen, and had just come back from my first Take Back the Night walk. I was so inspired and angry.
Listening to those women telling their stories, so brave and tall, hearing their pain and their need to take that pain and turn it into justice, was life changing for me.
I wanted those who dared to hurt innocent people to pay. I wanted to help the fight, I wanted to help make a difference. When my mother and I finally came home, the first thing I did was sit her and my father down on our old, tattered brown leather couch, their eyes curious and waiting for me to break the big