Tell Me Pretty Lies

Thayer? I try to force my eyes to adjust. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him. I can tell by his voice. His scent—tobacco and pine.

He peels his palm from my mouth and pulls a flashlight from somewhere, bathing my face in bright light. I squint, bringing a hand up to shield my eyes.

“Someone’s chasing me,” I say, still out of breath, chancing a glance behind me.

“Is that so?” he asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. That’s when it clicks. It was him. And probably Holden, if I had to guess.

“You guys can come out now,” I yell, turning around as fear gives way to frustration and embarrassment. Three more flashlights click on, bobbing through the darkness as they run toward us, cackling like hyenas. Once they’re close enough, Thayer’s flashlight illuminates their faces, confirming my suspicions. Holden, Christian, and Baker.

“Assholes.”

I try to shove past Thayer, but he blocks my path. “What are you doing?”

“Going home,” I snap.

“No, what are you doing out here?” he clarifies, moving closer. “Were you in the barn?”

I swallow hard, not wanting him to know that I’ve been going back there. He’d find a way to ruin it for me somehow.

“No,” I lie. “I went for a walk. Couldn’t sleep.”

He smirks, the shadows from the flashlight making his face look all too sinister, and leans in even closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “I can help you out with that.” His breath fans my ear, and goosebumps spread down my arms. “Remember the last time you couldn’t sleep?” he taunts. “Want me to touch your pussy again? Maybe I’ll use my tongue this time.”

My cheeks burn, the tips of my ears getting hot. “Fuck off.” I barrel past him, and this time he lets me by.

“Come on, Shayne,” he yells after me. “It’ll be just like old times!”

Shayne

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Valen says, looking me up and down. “You look like shit.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I mutter, not even bothering to act offended by her comment. Lack of sleep coupled with the fact that I opted for a baggy, oversized shirt to let my piercings breathe have me looking borderline homeless.

Last night, after Thayer’s little stunt, I tossed and turned all night. I told myself it was the lasting effects of the adrenaline, but it was more than that. I can help you out with that. His words played in my mind on repeat. They were crass and offensive, but they made my stomach flip with…something. Ironically enough, I only fell asleep once I finally stopped fighting the urge to relieve the tension he created. So, I guess in a way, he did help me out with that. Asshole.

“Dunkin’ for lunch?”

“It’s a date.”

We part ways and I slip into first period, taking my seat near the back. Once everyone’s settled, the morning announcements float from the speaker, making me wince. Lack of sleep gives me the worst headaches.

“Goooood morning, SPH,” Taylor’s shrill voice singsongs. “First thing’s first. As you all know, we’ve had to change our mascot and logo because it was offensive…or whatever.” I snort at the way she sounds put out by the fact. “Last week, we all voted, and the results are in! Instead of the Sawyer Point Indians, we are now…” she trails off and I hear a muffled drumroll in the background. “The Sawyer Point Tigers!”

Half the class groans; half applauds. Someone throws a wadded-up ball of paper followed by a boo. I’m just glad we’ve finally stopped offending an entire group of people for the sake of tradition.

“The sign out front as well as the logo on the gymnasium floor will be updated to reflect this change in the coming weeks, so we appreciate your patience while we do our best to work around school functions and athletics. Okay, now that that’s out of the way, I also have an announcement from Coach Jensen and me. Volleyball tryouts will take place next week in the gym, every day from three-thirty to five. If you need more information, you can visit Coach Jensen in his office.”

I’d rather scoop my eyeballs out with a spoon.

Part of me is dying for a sliver of normalcy. Volleyball is something I’m good at. Something familiar, and something I enjoy. But the bigger part of me doesn’t want to deal with everything that comes along with it.

I pull out my notebook and a pen, taking a quick glance around to make sure no one is paying me any attention before I open it to a blank page. Keeping my head low, my hair acts as a curtain, and I drown out the announcements as I write.

A piece of paper taped to my locker has dread unfurling in my stomach. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to fly under the radar. I march toward my locker, seeing the words written there.

What do Shayne Courtland and cockroaches have in common?

I rip it off, turning it over, expecting to find the punch line, but nothing