I didn’t do anything. I didn’t smirk or giggle or make any indication that I had an opinion. Her feelings are hurt and she’s taking it out on me. “Nothing you want to hear.”
“No one ever wants to hear you.” Melody and her friends snicker. She acts like her rebuttal is some huge insult, but it’s weak, especially considering this is the girl who stuck Kool-Aid soaked pads to my locker a few weeks ago.
Logan blows another cloud of smoke in their faces, his silent way of sticking up for me. His attempt is appreciated but not helpful.
I chew on the tip of my plastic fork feigning indifference, but inside my skin is crawling. I hate confrontation. In a fight or flight situation, my initial instinct is flight. But high school is a warzone. If you don’t fight, you die—metaphorically speaking—and I’ll be damned if this bitch is what kills me. “Seems like we have something in common.”
Melody’s nose wrinkles, which is surprising considering how much work she’s had done. “I have nothing in common with you.”
I cross my arms and lean on the table. Melody scoots back. She’s nervous which makes me oddly happy. I don’t think of myself as intimidating, but it’s nice to know that I can be if needed. “I hear it all, Melody. You love to whisper about me. About how I’m on drugs and laugh about who I’ve done this and that with. But what you don’t realize is that people whisper about you too. Your friends…” I look at Sarah and Rachel, innocent bystanders in this conversation. “Not these two.” My gaze finds Melody again, “but your other friends talk about you almost as much as you talk about me. The only difference between us is, I get paid to spread my legs. Last thing I heard a guy gave you was chlamydia.”
Logan snickers, exhaling another cloud of smoke in their direction. Melody stands. She grabs the styrofoam cup on Sarah’s tray and tosses the orange liquid in my face. “Hey!” Sarah yells. Melody ignores her friend and smirks.
I wipe my eyes with the hem of my shirt, seemingly unfazed. I have a spare shirt in my shoulder bag. I’m not worried about it, just a little irritated. Actually, I should thank Melody. I have a calculus exam next period. She just got me out of it.
Logan, however, is pissed. He stands and shoves the tip of his cigarette in the middle of Melody’s overpriced veggie burger. He raises his hand, pointing a finger in her face. “Back the fuck off.”
Melody puts her hands on her hips. “What the hell, Logan? Is she that good in bed?”
“Fuck you!” I spit, reaching for a few napkins. I dab at my shirt, but it’s useless. It’s a huge orange shit stain and my bra’s peeking through the wetness.
“I can end you, Melody.” Logan flips what’s left of her tray off the table. It flies a foot in the air then falls into a heaping mess beside us. A few heads turn, curious but not willing to intervene where Logan’s concerned.
“What, like you ended Piper?” She scoffs then turns her attention to me. “You know he’s the one who told everyone you gave a killer blowjob for fifty bucks.”
“Shit,” Logan mumbles, hand running through his hair.
My heart squeezes. Logan and I may not have been friends last year, but I didn’t think we were enemies. As betrayed as I feel, I won’t give Melody the satisfaction of seeing me wounded. “That’s because he knows firsthand.” Internally I’m gagging at the thought of Logan and I together, but to them I’m smiling. Happy to brag about another conquest. “Face it, Bitch, you got my sloppy seconds.”
3
Piper
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Piper?” The bedroom door creeps open. I press my hands against the grey comforter and push myself into a sitting position, then cross my legs. My phone rests beside me, Kindle app still open. I read a lot of romance novels. Our school counselor said I needed a reminder that not all men are the same. Reading apparently is a safe way for me to overcome some of my issues. The problem with my counselor’s theory, real life isn’t a story book. Some hot guy with abs of steel and a giant dick isn’t going to rescue me and make everything better.
“You’re up late.” I say getting comfortable. This time of night, it should be Cooper coming in. Instead I’m met with the other Harris brother.
Logan crosses the room. His strides while long are slow. Even though baseball and football season is over, he still wakes up at the crack of dawn to work out, making today longer than normal for him. The end of my California King bed dips. He sits, one leg under him, the other off the bed.
“Can’t shut my mind off enough to sleep.” There’s a vulnerability to Logan tonight that I don’t often see. A part of him that reminds me of the quiet eight-year-old boy I used to know.
Logan’s the resident troubled guy girls can’t get enough of. Doesn’t matter that he treats them like they’re disposable, that pretty face of his keeps them coming back, which only feeds his ever growing ego. His shoulders hunch forward, eyes looking at my stomach, not my face. “Can we talk?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I owe you an apology.” I’m owed more than an apology. Logan ruined the second half of my junior year. Crushed what little self-respect I had left and forced me to find a creative way to handle the mess he’d made for me. Some random tool twisting my life down this path, fine. I can maybe understand. But someone I thought was family? I just can’t…
“Why’d you do it?”
Logan picks at invisible lint specks on the comforter. Even as a kid, when he was in trouble, he wouldn’t look at you. It used to piss Mr. Harris off something bad. Eventually Logan learned to look people in the eye, but it took years. I think it was a nervous tick, like his stuttering. “I was always jealous of you and Cooper. Did you know that?”
I shake my head, but quickly realize he can’t see. “No.”