I’m sorry, I wanted to tell him. But I had no doubt he was on the list of “undesirables” given to the school by my mom. Any communication and he’d be punished.
Hayden didn’t stop when I brushed him off. He pushed me around the corner toward the gym and said, “Heaven, what the hell is going on?”
“I can’t—we can’t…you’ll get in trouble.”
“For what?” His gray eyes clouded.
“Talking to me.” I peered over his shoulder and Mrs. Glass, the Art teacher, glanced our way. “I’m serious, Hayden.”
“I don’t give a fuck what these people want. I want you. You’re one of us and we take care of our own.”
I clung to his words like a life-preserver, but Mrs. Glass was on her way over. “Stay away from me, okay? It’s not worth it.”
His jaw clenched, revealing the sharp line my hands loved to caress. “Never say that again. You hear me?”
“Hayden?” Our teacher said. “Move along.”
He didn’t acknowledge the teacher and simply said, “We take care of our own, Heaven. Don’t forget that.”
*
Nerves frayed, I ducked into the bathroom before I went to the library for my solitary lunch. It was empty, other than Amber Wasserman. She stood over the sink, with a streak of blue in her hair, reapplying lipstick. Her T-shirt had a silk screen of Rosie the Riveter.
“Hey,” she s
aid, screwing the cap on the lipstick.
“Hi.” I stood over the sink, refusing to look at myself in the mirror.
“You look different.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that all about?”
I shrugged. Amber wasn’t awful to me. She’d been pissed when she thought I wanted Benjamin but cooled pretty quickly. I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t know how to even go into how much shit has hit the fan in my life over the last three days.”
“I saw the Fakestagram was pulled.”
“Yeah.”
“Another one went up this morning.”
I shook my head. “Of course it did.”
She took out her phone and before I could tell her I didn’t want to see she shoved it in my face. Photos of me and the boys, each in a compromised situation, had a large X through the photo. So my stalker knew my mom wasn’t letting me see them anymore. How?
I didn’t have the energy to care.
Amber put away her phone and slung her bag over her shoulder. She paused before walking away. “For the record, I don’t care how you dress or who you date, you know, as long as it’s not my boyfriend. And to be honest, I apologize for that. It was hypocritical and I’m not a fan of slut-shaming.”
“Thanks,” I said, a little stunned.
“There’s too much scrutiny in this school, as far as I’m concerned. They preach feminism and equal rights but there’s a million dress code rules that basically turn us into sexualized objects instead of teenagers wanting an education. If I hear one more time that a boy can’t focus on his studies because I’m wearing a spaghetti strap tank, I’m going to punch someone. Are they that weak? Do they have no self-control?” Her hands balled into fists and the tips of her ears turned pink. I was surprised to see how fired up she was about the subject. “You should be able to wear what you want. Date who you want. Who said you have to be monogamous at eighteen? What about poly relationships? What if a woman wants more than the traditional rules of a patriarchal society?”
I sighed and clutched my backpack. “I don’t know, Amber, but let me know if you figure it out.”
She touched my arm. “Don’t let those bastards change who you are, got it?”
I eyed her warily—my trust issues ran deep—but branching out, having the guys in my life taught me I couldn’t be so isolated anymore. “I won’t. Thanks.”
She crossed her arms and nodded. “Anything for a sister.”