by Mj Fields
“It’s bad luck. Not just bad luck, but seven years of bad luck. Jesus, isn’t sixteen enough?”
You’d have thought I slapped her by the look on her face.
“I’m sorry. I just …” I pause and slap the tears from my face. “It’s bad luck.”
“Your father wears a broken mirror, tattooed on his chest, and he’s the luckiest man I know. So, no, Truth, it’s not bad luck. It’s just a broken mirror.”
I shake my head and look down.
“Do you think maybe you need to talk to someone?”
“I’m not crazy,” I tell her.
“Neither am I, but I can tell you talking to someone when you can’t talk to anyone else because you feel like no one else would understand helps in ways that I can’t even explain.”
“I’m not you.”
As soon as the words fall out of my mouth, I immediately wish I could erase them.
“I know.”
I look up at her. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know that, too.”
“I’ve had a good life. I didn’t lose—”
“Truth, it’s okay.”
I shake my head.
She bends down and picks something up off the floor. Then she takes my hand. “Let’s go use my vanity.”
“No, it’s fine, really.”
She holds up the box she picked up. “I bought this round brush dryer thing. I wanted to try it on your hair and see if it lives up to the hype.”
The round brush blow dryer was something I looked at online. She must have seen me checking it out.
“Come on; let me do your hair.”
After being buzzed in, I walk down the main corridor, the Hall of Achievements, as they call it, wearing a boot, because I have a severely bruised ankle bone. I begged Mom to let me keep it off during school hours because, let’s be honest, I need no help drawing attention to myself.
The framed musical posters have been removed, and in their place is information for the junior prom and different sporting schedules.
It’s eerily quiet in the empty hall without the normal chatter and squeaking shoes of students and administrators. I should like it—not running into anyone—but I don’t.
I pass the middle school hallway, which smells of pubescent students’ rank pits and smelly sneakers, masked with perfumes and colognes, even though it’s not as pungent as our old school. The ninth and tenth grade wings aren’t half as bad, unless you happen to use the bathroom during shark week, when everyone’s period seems to sync. Not that the upperclassman bathrooms are much better, but at least they have a firmer grip on hygiene.
When I get to the doors leading to the courtyard that I have to cross in order to get to the upperclassman area of the school, someone calls my name from behind.
I look back and see Tobias Easton walking quickly toward me.
“Fuck off,” I huff as I push the door open and hurry out of it.
When I feel my backpack get jacked back, I turn around and look up at him. “I don’t know who the fuck you think—”
He pulls me toward him, and the door slams behind me. “You’re a fucking detriment to yourself and an annoyance to me.”
I push his hands off my hips. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He narrows his eyes. “Or what?”
I pull my phone from my pocket, hit my messenger then the Steel crew group chat, and hold up my phone. “I’ll have four guys here to show you or what.”
“I just saved your ass from getting busted by the door, and you’re gonna be a bitch?”
“Wouldn’t have needed to be saved if you didn’t jack me back, and it wouldn’t have needed to be saved the other night if you and your little posse hadn’t invited me to see your little show,” I spit.
“Don’t kid yourself; I didn’t invite you anywhere. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty fucking sure I told you to stay the hell away from me.”
“Don’t kid yourself; I never came looking for you.”
“You broke into my house.”
“Your door wasn’t locked,” I snap.
“You took pictures of my fight.”
“Like hell I did!”
“Prove it,” he hisses.
“Prove it?” I huff.
“Show me your phone.”
“Fuck you,” I say as I start to turn around.
When he jacks my phone from my hand and turns his back to me, I reach around him to grab it back, but he holds it out farther.
“Jesus, I’ve never seen so many selfies in my fucking life.”
“I’m a freaking teenager; that’s what teenagers do.” I walk around him, but he holds the phone up too high for me to reach.
“Where are the fucking pictures?”
“I told you I didn’t take any damn pictures. Now give me my phone or I swear I’ll—”
“Text your crew?” he says, shaking my phone back and forth tauntingly.
“I’ll kick you in the nuts, and if you don’t think I can, think again. Your minuscule target is no match for my big boot.”
He looks down. “Fuck.”
“Don’t worry; no one knows where it happened, besides Patrick and Brisa, so feel free to stop sending texts asking me about my head—or was it my leg?—and then getting butt hurt when I don’t reply. And then … and then sending your little ponies to text bomb threats. I’m not afraid of you, or any of them.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Oh, please.”
“Do I look like I’m fucking around? What are you talking about?”
I’ve had enough.
“I didn’t take pictures, you … asshole. I had my phone out, taking notes.”
“This is no joke, Truth,” he spits my name as if it’s venom poisoning his mouth.
I snatch my phone back then open my notes before shoving the screen in his face. “See!”
He scans the screen, and a hint of confusion crosses his bruised face. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because your footwork sucks, because you need someone to coach you. Because you’re strong as hell, but lazy in the ring. Because you had no one in your corner. Because I was under the impression that, maybe we’d never be friends, but we could at least be cordial.”
“Never gonna happen.” He shakes his head. “Never.”
“Fine, but now that you see”—I scroll to my recently deleted pic file and hold it up—“that I didn’t take a damn picture, call off your ponies.”
“I sent one text. One.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you weren’t behind the others. War, famine, conquest over and over until I shut it down. The only one they didn’t say was death, so you covered your asses if went to the cops. And you’re lucky Justice deleted all those texts, or I—”
“I didn’t have shit to do with it.”
“If that’s true, which I don’t for one second believe, call them off and tell them to stop threatening my family, or I will bring you all down.”
After collecting the missed assignments from the morning, I walk down the hallway toward my locker to grab my lunch. When I turn the corner, I hear whispers as I walk by. I can assume they’re about me.
I could hold my head down, trying to hide in my hair, as I had previously, or I can hold my head high with my nose up as a figurative finger to their bullshit, which is exactly what I do.
I look at them all, expressionless and unreactive to their snickers, as they assess me from the top of my head, all the way down to the tip of my big-ass boot.
When I see Gabrielle coming toward me with her little crew of wannabes, I could easily step aside, but decide fuck that. Not only do I decide fuck that, but I make damn sure my shoulder hits hers.
“Watch it, J. Lo,” she sneers, and her posse begins to giggle like the little bitches they are.
I turn and yell behind her, “No, bitch, you watch it!”
Silence falls in the halls filled with plastic people, hearts void of empathy and compassion, a
nd souls that are hollowed as hate-filled eyes cast down on me.
“I’m not afraid of any of you, so you all watch it. Do you hear me?”
“Truth!” I hear Max boom from down the hallway and look at him as he walks toward me.
“Little incestuous cult,” someone—Nina, I think—whispers loud enough to cause everyone in the hall to not only hear it but look at me and snicker.
Max walks straight up to Nina, pushes up on his tiptoes, grabs the back of her head, and pushes it down slightly. “Thought that was you.” He lets go of her and steps back. “Didn’t recognize you off your knees and mouth void of my dick.”
“Fuck you, Max Steel!”
“Oh, God, Max, please don’t tell me you let that touch you.” I cringe.
“She was horny, I was bored, staff lounge was unoccupied.” He throws his arm around me. “Let’s go.”
“Why the hell would you let a mouth like that touch—”
“Hold that thought.” He stops and turns around. “Don’t judge me by my past mistakes, ladies. I’ve yet to find my better half, so keep the wildly inappropriate texts coming.” He turns back to me, winks, and then looks back again. “And if I don’t return the message, just remember I’m a one girl at a time kind of man and you may be next.” He smirks at me. “Now let’s jet.”
With lunch in hand, I walk into the cafeteria and see Kiki, Brisa, and Tris waiting for me at our regular corner table. All three are looking down at their phones; none look happy.
I hurry to them, worry coursing through my veins. Dropping my lunch bag on the table, I ask, “What’s going on?” as I pull my phone from my pocket.
Kiki quickly snags it from me. “Nothing you need to worry about.” She stands up, rage on her face, and looks around the cafeteria. She then narrows her eyes and begins walking toward the opposite corner.
“Fuck,” Brisa says, jumping up. “Tris, grab our stuff and stay back but close, but—”
I hear Brisa stumble with her words while I hurry to catch up to Kiki.
Standing in front of the table, where the horsemen sit, she plants her hands firmly in front of her on the table, leans over, and snaps, “You think you’re gonna get away with all the shit you’ve pulled since we came here, you’re wrong.”
Harrison purses his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes as he leans forward. “Please, do tell; what is it we’ve done that has ruffled your feathers, Katherine Falcon?”
“You pretentious, condescending, entitled, little, tight-wearing bitch!” she yells.
Holy shit, I think as I step to her side.
“What the hell did you assholes do now?” I snap at all of them.
“Wasn’t Saturday night enough?” Kiki snaps at me, and I watch as three of the four pricks present lean back and cross their arms in sync, as if they choreographed it.
“No big thing, Kiki. No big thing at all.”
All of them begin pulling their phones out of their pockets and look at their screens.
When they all try not to laugh, Kiki reaches across the table and slaps the phone out of Kai’s hand. It goes flying across the table.
“You crazy bitch!” Kai starts to stand, but I reach across and shove him two-handed, so he’s forced to sit down.
“You think she’s crazy? Try me,” I spit.
Brisa steps beside me. “Try all of us.”
Miles holds his phone up, screen toward me, grip visibly firmer than the others. “You sure about that? Not sure I’m your type. Apparently, you’re all into each other.”
I watch as a montage of pictures and videos, including me on Patrick’s back the other night, to Justice sleeping in my bed, from outside my fucking bedroom window, and farm animals fucking, play on the screen while text rolls across them.
Kissing Cousins. Brotherly Love. Incest is Best.
“You’ve crossed so many lines. So. Fucking. Many.” I point a finger in their faces. “You’re done now.” I turn around and scan the room. “You’re all done now.”
I see Nina giggling. “What’s so funny, bitch? You and half the hoes in this place have swallowed our DNA, so you know this is bullshit.”
“Slander, actually,” Kiki adds then turns around. “Lawyer-up. We’re done here.”
I then hear Justice’s voice boom throughout the room, “What the fuck are you laughing at, Madeline? I’m pretty sure I have a video that you had me take on your phone of you bent over your daddy’s desk.”
“Principal’s office?” Patrick asks him.
Justice lifts his chin in response.
“How was it?” Amias asks.
“Mediocre, at best,” Justice says, looking to the horsemen. He then steps forward. “You want a fight? You’ll get one, and then this is done.”
I snap my head toward him. When his eyes lock on mine, I know he just agreed to something he never wanted to do … for me.
He looks back at them. “Saturday night.”
Chapter Nine
Tobias
No more
“What the fuck is this?” I slam my phone down on the coffee table between the two couches in a place I call home less than fifty percent of the time.
“Chill,” Miles sighs. To him, it’s no big fucking deal when someone with a bottomless purse and a legal team that could rival General Electric could come at you, because his uncle is the COO of that very company and pays his way through life.
“A harmless little prank.” Harrison smirks until he looks at my face. “Relax, my friend, we aren’t behind it, but it works in our favor to retain control over our environment.”
I slap the glass from his hand, and it flies across the room before it smashes against the cabinets. The glass shatters, and whiskey splatters all over.
Kai stands up and looks at me, nostrils flaring. “You jumping ship, Easton?”
“You don’t run the game. I run the fucking game. And in case you forgot, I don’t jump ship. I toss bitches off it. All three of you were already fucking close with ambushing me with a last-minute fight, knowing damn well I’m months from graduation.” I stop just short of mentioning Truth Steel’s name with all the shit that went down this weekend, no doubt putting a bigger target on her back, possibly fucking up my future. “Now you’re toying with the entire Steel crew.”
“We aren’t underclassmen anymore, Easton. We aren’t afraid of the new kid from the other side of the tracks who kicked Whitaker’s ass and overthrew the institution’s hierarchy that had been in place since 1899, or Reeves who had the balls to try to take it back from you,” Kai snaps.
My jaw clenched, fists balled, rage building inside, and seeing red, I nod my head up and down.
“Easy, man,” Harrison says, trying to defuse the situation building at a breakneck speed.
“Fuck that. Fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you. I’m done. You hear me? I’m fucking done!”
They all look at one another with a recognizable look. They’ve done something, again.
Miles is the first one to look at me and speak up. “You’re done? Then step down and hand over the reins. Your shit’s getting weak.”
Harrison chuckles, and I glare at him.
“I’m not in any hurry, man.”
Fucker has no clue he’s not even a distant blip on the radar now.
They continue looking at each other, and I get a sick feeling in my stomach.
“You better start talking now, because this was the four of us right up until last weekend.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You pulled away right after they moved here,” Miles states.
Kai sits down now. “When you started skipping lunch with us and hitting the gym, we chalked it up to a natural need to get bigger, stronger, to protect what was yours.”
“Protect what was mine?” I huff.
Harrison shakes his head. “Don’t act like you don’t see eight strong and want to ruin it. We all do. Until Katherine’s dirty little secret came to light, I was gonna make that mine.”
Dirty little sec
ret meaning she’s pregnant and having a child with a man she actually married a few months ago. She’s eighteen, not fifteen like my mother was when she had me.
“Truth? I’ll have to endure for longer, and she’ll be a bit more difficult to tame, but with Gabby and her butting heads, I don’t even have to try to get in that. She’ll come willingly.” Harrison smirks, and I want to wipe that fucking smug look off his face.
“You think, with the shit you pulled today, that’s gonna happen? Goats on videos bashing with pictures of her, and texts accusing her of fucking her crew? Really doesn’t shout I want to have a relationship with you.”
“Says the guy fucking Downward Dee, knowing she’s an onto-the-next kind of woman in about—”
“You don’t think that’s why I’m fucking her?”
“Where’s the hunt in that?” Harrison sighs, and I’m ready to snap when he says, “The video was unfortunate; possibly forced my progression from this weekend two steps back. But I’m telling you, it wasn’t us.”
“Then who the fuck was it?”
“More pressing matters to attend to,” Harrison states. “Justice Steel agreed to a fight this weekend.”
“What the fuck do you mean agreed to?” I snap.
“While you’ve been fucking the yoga instructor and stepping away from us, we’ve been looking toward the future,” Miles says.
“I’m not fighting again. We get busted, and I lose everything. You better find someone else to match up with JT.”
Kai glares at me. “You don’t fight him, you lose everything.”
I force a smile. “Don’t threaten me. And don’t you forget what I have on you.”
As he narrows his eyes, I look at Miles. “You, too, motherfucker.”
“Come on now, we’re all—”
I shove my finger in his face. “You, too, Reeves.”
He stands up. “I’m bored with this bullshit.”
What he really means is I don’t give a shit, I have no conscience, no soul, no allegiance, and no worry that my purse strings will get snipped. Unlike the other two, he’s not merely a seed that rooted itself and has grown from a money tree. His parents aren’t out in the orchard, waiting for the low-hanging fruit to drop. His father has money, and as much as it pains me to say it, the fucker has talent. He’s already sought after as a choreographer as soon as he graduates high school because of his family name. And if he wasn’t, his father owns enough Broadway houses that he’ll never be out of work.
