DANCE OR DIE: Two Guys, One Girl. No Voice. No Choice.

by A. E. Murphy

  I nod and grab my near-empty school bag; it’ll probably be full by the end of the day. It’s actually quite a nice bag. It’s a black, glittering backpack that should fit everything without issue.

  “I’ll take you,” Stanley says, nodding at Lane. Then, with a cautious gaze, he quickly adds, “If that’s okay with you?”

  “No pressure,” Lane replies.

  “Sure,” I utter, dreading the conversation that’s likely to follow.

  It has been a long weekend of nothing. I sneaked out yesterday morning to try and find somewhere to dance but there’s nothing in the immediate area that’s private.

  Thankfully they didn’t notice. Nor did they force us all to go to church in the morning. They said I needed my rest and I was happy to let them think that.

  I hitch my bag up my shoulder and check my hair twist in the mirror in the hall. This place is so bright and perfect, a contrast to my heart and soul.

  We walk to his SUV and I watch him spin his keys around his thick forefinger.

  “Can you drive?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I was never allowed to learn.”

  “We could change that. I could teach you.”

  I open the door and climb into the seat just as he does the same. We both buckle in and he checks his mirror before pulling out of the long driveway and onto the quiet road.

  “What do you think? Do you want to learn how to drive?”

  Lifting a shoulder, I look the other way and moisten my lips. “It’d be cool I guess.”

  “Just cool?”

  I shrug again and pull on the sleeves of my blazer.

  “I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?”

  “Sorta,” I reply honestly and his face falls. “Well… not like you did. I just… I feel bad I guess.”

  “Feel bad?”

  “About everything I did.”

  He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Don’t ever apologize for defending yourself. As much as that fucking hurt, I was proud that you didn’t hesitate. You saw danger and you dealt with it.”

  “Is that your military background talking?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We share a smile and I decide he’s actually alright. For now anyway. I’m not the best judge of character, especially not when it comes to men. It’s the ones who sing their love for you the loudest that usually hurt you the most.

  We don’t speak for the rest of the journey, not until he drops me at school and asks, “Want me to come in with you?”

  I give him an incredulous look. “Absolutely not.”

  He chuckles and gives me a wink. “Have a good day. You have my number if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter and climb from the car.

  School is heaving, all kids are heading towards the many different buildings and I don’t know where to go. Well, I do, I have to report to the front office, but then I don’t have a clue. I should have paid attention during the tour but I never learn.

  I’m not scared of new situations and new places, but I don’t like entering a room after everybody is already in their seats. It’s awkward.

  “Miss Oaks,” Principal Jefferson declares after I enter the office. “How are you? Excited for your first day?”

  I shake my head.

  “You’ll be fine, you’ll see. I’ve partnered you up with Misha Wheatley. She’s going to escort you to each of your classes today.” He motions to a beautiful brunette standing in the corner with a friendly smile on her face.

  I move to her and shake the hand she offers. Very formal.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mallory.”

  “Scandal,” I correct, unwilling to let go of the name my friends gave me in place of the name that represents a past I want to forget.

  “Right, sorry,” Mr. Jefferson apologizes, giving me a funny grin. “I forgot.”

  “Scandal is a cool name,” Misha comments and hands me my schedule for the following weeks. “We’ve got calculus first period with Miss Alden. She’s super nice.”

  “Have a good day, Scandal,” Jefferson calls after us as I’m led away by this girl I’ve never met.

  As soon as we enter the school hall, I have to duck as a football is thrown above our heads and almost hits me in the face. I don’t know if it was done on purpose or not but Misha hurries me along.

  “So I heard you’re staying with the Oakses over on Butternut Avenue? Are they relatives or something?”

  I shake my head. “They’re my foster blocks.”

  “Foster blocks?”

  “It’s something my friends and I used to say.” I don’t elaborate further. “What’s it like here? Are the people nice?”

  “Usually, it’s not like high schools that you see on TV. It’s actually okay, I enjoy it anyway.”

  “There’s no popularity group or bullying?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that,” she utters, her freckled nose crinkling with a cringe. “There’s a hierarchy in every school and ours isn’t great. They’ll leave you alone so long as you leave them alone. They don’t just go around stealing money and picking on somebody because they think they’re ugly. But they’re not your typical group of people.”

  “Meaning they’re not just like all the football players or cheer squad?”

  “Exactly. They’re a diverse mix from all groups. Most have been friends for years. The ruling two have to be Carter Denzell and Presley Myers. Major assholes, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Oh dear. Pretty sure Justin Timberfake was called Presley Myers. Just my luck.

  Maybe my foster blocks will let me transfer to a different country.

  “What are they like?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I keep myself to myself. I’ve only ever heard rumors.”

  “What rumors?”

  She opens and closes her mouth. “I’m not a gossip. It’s how I make it through high school.”

  “No, that’s not—” I stop myself from arguing further and just give her a polite nod. “How much further?”

  “Just down the next hall, room six.”

  We push through the crowds of sluggish teens, and eventually find our room which is just like any other classroom in existence.

  “Miss Alden,” Misha says to the teacher as everyone takes their seats. “I have the new girl.”

  “Ah, yes.” She smiles, stretching the dark skin of her cheeks and looks at the tablet device in her hand. “Scandal Oaks. Is that right?”

  I nod.

  “You can sit to the left of Misha. That desk is free.”

  Misha guides me to the middle of the room and I place my bag on the floor after sitting and grabbing a pen from the inner pocket. The pen is sparkly like the bag. Lane is a mood.

  “Who’s that?” I hear somebody whisper as more students file into the room.

  They all glance my way, one by one. I hover my head over the notebook Miss Alden hands me and write the date in the top corner.

  “Settle down, please,” she sighs when the volume rises a few decibels.

  The seat behind me and to my right remains empty until Presley fucking Myers charges into the room laughing at the top of his lungs. He throws something small at whoever is in the doorway and it bounces off their chest and into their hands.

  “Lunch, yeah? Shit is gonna get real!” the guy in the doorway yells and disappears.

  “Presley. Sit down.”

  Presley, still smiling, turns towards his desk, sees me, and his smile fades as quickly as if I flicked a switch.

  He stops still and I fight the urge to sink into my seat. I’m not some weak pussy-ass bitch. I’ve dealt with bigger men than him.

  Dealt and lost, I remind myself.

  I just don’t want to make a scene first class first day.

  “Presley,” Miss Alden warns and he finally moves to his seat, kicking my bag from under my desk as he goes, eyes still on mine. She clears her throat and continues with a nicer tone now, “As you’re all
aware, we have a new student starting today. Her name is Scandal Oaks and I know you’ll all be kind to her and help her out if she needs it.”

  I roll my eyes. She just had to call me out, didn’t she? I fucking hate this place.

  “Scandal, do you want to tell us anything about yourself?”

  I shake my head.

  “Isn’t that the chick that got arrested?” somebody whispers.

  “For solicitation,” Presley answers. “Charges by the hour that one.”

  “Presley,” Miss Alden yells, glaring at him.

  “Just being honest,” he lies, his tone smarmy. The class laughs and I feel their judgmental eyes on me.

  “He paid for five,” I retort, and shoot him a smirk over my shoulder. “He only managed three.”

  There’s a collective, “OOOOH!” followed by somebody yelling, “ROASTED!”

  Presley’s eyes darken. He’s definitely not happy with me now. If you really want to get back at a guy like Presley, insult his ability to be a man and watch him unravel.

  “You fucking wait,” he mouths at me and slams his books on the table.

  Well… shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have bitten back. This just escalated.

  “That is exactly the kind of drama I would like to avoid,” Misha mutters and I just know I lost my only ally.

  Misha shakes her head at me at the end of the lesson. I’m not at all surprised when she ditches me.

  “What class do you have next?” a guy from the row ahead asks me kindly when Misha leaves without me. He stands, moves to my table, and takes my schedule. “You’re with me, come on.”

  “I don’t actually solicit sex,” I tell him, just in case that’s why he’s being nice.

  “No, I know. I wanted to approach you anyway.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Kenan Potter… no HP jokes please, I’ve heard them all… I run the school paper and I saw a video of you online climbing to the top of a two-story building, using nothing but brick walls and your body.”

  I blink and mutter, “There’s a video of that?”

  “It’s twenty-nineteen, baby. There’s a video of everything.”

  “Ugh, don’t call me baby,” I mutter and hitch my bag up my shoulder.

  He cringes, showing slightly crooked teeth and happy-ish hazel eyes beneath thick short lashes. “Right… sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  A shoulder hits me in the back sending me forward into Kenan who catches me by the biceps.

  I spin, ready to lash out but quickly bite my tongue. There’s no use escalating this any further than it has.

  “Whoops,” Presley comments, walking backwards away from me. His frosty eyes are smiling with no amount of humor. “Oh never mind, it’s just trash.”

  His friend from the desk beside him laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

  I give him the finger and figure I could probably take him in a fight if I have to.

  “Bye, Justin Timberfake,” I call after him and Kenan snorts. “What did you need from me, Kenan?”

  “I want to know about the climbing and the arrest. What happened? Why did it happen? Who did you kill?”

  I brush past him. “I was running from the cops, I climbed the building, I got caught, it was all a misunderstanding. End of story.”

  “That’s it? A misunderstanding?”

  “They took the cuffs off me a minute after putting them on. Clearly not a murderer or a thief.”

  He follows me, still clutching my schedule which I snatch back and try to follow, but it’s so hard. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  I mutter a curse and turn on my heel. He directs me to my next class but I can see he’s upset that there isn’t more to the story. This is why he quickly loses interest and waves at a friend.

  I’m not here to be the weekly entertainment.

  Next class flies and I don’t make any connections there, though I also don’t try, so it’s to be expected. Misha avoids me in the hall during the short break before third period. I do the work, keep my head down, and try not to look at Presley who seems to have the same seat in every class.

  He glares at me every chance he gets and I feel his eyes boring into the back of my skull for almost the entire class.

  I don’t know what his problem is. Or maybe I do, but still, this all feels a bit dramatic.

  At lunch I was hoping he’d go to Wendy’s so I can at least get something to eat, but my luck ran out the day I was born. I don’t know why I thought I could ever be so fortunate now.

  Sitting alone at a table by the door, just in case I need a quick escape, I’m surprised when Presley takes space on the tabletop and has a small sip of his drink. I look at his profile, wondering what he wants. He’s quite handsome, likely the most handsome guy I’ve seen his age. I bet he’s a model, he looks familiar. He’s probably some teenage Instagram sensation. It’s not that I don’t do the whole social networking thing, it’s just that I’m more of a poster than a viewer.

  I love posting parkour videos and dance videos. Though I rarely show my face, it gives me some sense of self-worth when people compliment my skills.

  “My dad got suspended,” he tells me, sipping his drink through the straw again. I watch his thick, padded, perfectly curved lips as they wrap around the straw. “Because of you.”

  I don’t speak but I do gasp when his drink somehow finds its way down the front of my school shirt, drenching me from neck to navel. Fuck. That’s so cold.

  I remain seated, seething, humiliated, cold, wet in the bad way, and gritting my teeth. He shakes the empty paper cup, ridding it of the last few drops.

  His other buddy, a guy who is just as attractive to look at, because God forbid any of them be ugly, sits on the table too and smiles down at me. His hand pushes back his styled brown hair and his chocolate-brown eyes twinkle with excitement. I’m flanked, both of their feet rest in the chairs either side of me. “Carter Denzell. It’s nice to meet you, Mallory Newman.”

  “How do you know my—?”

  “Ah ah ah,” Carter cuts me off and pinches the end of my nose with his finger and thumb. I slap his hand away, still seething. “You don’t ask the questions here, little psycho. We do.”

  I glance at the approaching people. I am so outnumbered.

  “Let this be a warning. We know about you. We know all you’ve done and where you’ve been and we don’t want you here.” His tone is mocking and warning, like a movie narrator, or a villain at the end when they spill their angle to the good guy. Not that I’m the good guy, he just has that tone.

  Presley nods his agreement, a smug smile on his face.

  “You fuck with one of us,” he tells me and their crew form a line at the end of the table. A bunch of mismatched teens in matching uniforms thinking they’re big and hard because they are many and I’m only one.

  “You fuck with all of us,” they all finish in synch and the entire cafeteria goes silent. A pin drop could be heard. Nobody moves and the cult continue to stare me down.

  I stand so I’m slightly higher than both boys perched on my table. “You think I fucked with you, Timberfake?” I snort and shake my head. “I’m way more creative than that.” I lean down and pick up my bag. “Anything else? Or am I free to leave?”

  “You can leave… and then stay gone,” Presley says and his buddies laugh like he’s hilarious.

  “And miss out on seeing your gorgeous face?” I ask with a sweet smile as I hitch my bag up my shoulder. “Good plan, actually.”

  When I leave the cafeteria, I punch the first locker I see, hurting my hand and slightly denting the metal.

  I’ve handled far more infuriating moments than this. This is nothing. I have got this. I can deal with this.

  It’s just so enraging. God, I wanted to punch him in his smug model fucking face.

  Furious, I stomp through the hall and out of the building. I need a moment. I need something. I need to get away.

  I round the building and pass the next, they’re so tall, so big. S
o many windows for so many students to throw themselves from.

  If only.

  “Up,” I whisper and look for the way.

  I want to go up.

  Passing faces I don’t know, I run as fast as I can, charging past groups and around kids. I skid around the back and onto the grass and find it, my route.

  I don’t know if anybody sees me and I don’t care.

  I launch myself onto a dumpster and bounce on the plastic lid, giving myself an extra inch or two of air. My foot connects with a protruding wall as my fingertips grasp the edge of the first-floor roof. Pulling myself up and over, I roll and land back on my feet and run at the next wall, scaling it until I’m hanging from a window. I lift my leg onto a pipe and carefully stand on it, overlooking the grounds. Nobody seems to have seen me, nobody ever looks back at the school during their break and why would they? It’s not a place that brings much joy to any of them. And I seem to be at a part that people don’t come. Probably from the scent of the dumpster.

  I grip the metal pipe, it’s strong and sturdy and easy to climb. It takes me all the way to the top of the third floor with a few windows for leverage. There’s a flat roof and I laugh when I see a door that likely leads back down. I could have just taken the safe route but whatever.

  I’m so high up. I love it. The breeze is colder up here, stronger. My heart is racing and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. This might be the highest I have ever free climbed.

  I don’t go near the edge because I don’t want anybody to think I’m going to jump. That’s a scene I don’t need.

  Instead I plug my earphones into my ears and hit my “feeling angry” playlist. The first song to come up is a remix of “Rage Against the Machine.” It fits perfectly.

  I look around the massive flat expanse of dusty sheet roofing and then run and skid along it, leaving a line in the gray while dirtying my black pants. I do it again to the other side. I’m already soaked in cranberry juice as it is. I may as well filthy up the rest of me.