Chapter Two

" W atch it." A girl shoves past me, her shoulder bumping into mine. Her friends flock around her, snickering.

I stumble from the force and catch myself before I fall face first onto the floor of my new school's hallway. The girl smirks and giggles with her friends as they walk away.

I squeeze my binder and books closer to my chest and check my surroundings for anyone who caught what happened. A few boys stand on the other side of the hallway, chuckling and talking with each other while they keep looking in my direction.

I duck my head, then power walk to my assigned locker down the hall. It takes me a minute to figure out the code, but eventually, the lock snaps open. I stuff my things into the small space and jump at a loud bang behind me. Spinning toward it, I face a grinning boy.

He looks a year older than me, and his smile exposes a missing front tooth and creates a dimple on his chubby left cheek. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose. I find them kind of cute.

There's another bang behind me, and when I check, there's a boy about the same age standing there. He has spiky brown hair that's been iced at the tips with blonde highlights.

"You're the new kid, aren't you?" he says with a grin.

My heart jump-starts, and I nod, a shy smile lifting my lips. I warily eye the boys and hope this isn't some cruel joke.

"What's your name?" his friend behind me asks.

I face him. "Dahlia. What's yours?"

"Mickey." He holds his hand out for me to take.

My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. Hope fills my chest, and all these ideas of hanging out with my new friends flash through my mind. I slide my palm into his and shake his hand.

"Like Mickey Mouse," I say with a giggle.

Mickey's eyebrows bunch together, and he yanks his hand from mine. His friend snickers beneath his breath behind me. I steal a quick look at him, and my face falls. My giddiness and excitement vanish as though someone poured ice water over my head.

"What are you, five?" Mickey snarls while his friend still laughs like I'd just cracked a joke.

I shake my head. "No, I'm eleven."

His friend snorts in his laugh, and I hold back my smile because it reminds me of a pig. "She's so stupid! Her head is full of rocks."

"Yeah," Mickey says, nodding. He gives me a mocking look. "Kyle's right, rocks. Do you even know what sarcasm is?"

The little humor I had disappears, and a lump forms in my throat as my world comes crashing down. Why am I the way I am? I had to open my mouth and say something stupid.

I stand frozen in place, unable to say anything. What is there to say? Nothing. Just like the last school, fighting back will get me nowhere. It always ends with me being picked on even more, and then the rumors spread about me. It's not like I can go to Mom about this because, like all the other times, she won't care.

My breathing quickens as my gaze dances between the two boys. They throw insults at me, each one getting worse than the last. They call me stupid, and when I don't react, they insult my looks.

Nothing they say surprises me. It still hurts to hear it, but if I tell myself those things enough times, then I'll become numb to it one day.

They point at my chest, making fun of my small breasts and how I have "mosquito bites." Mom hasn't gotten me any training bras, so my aching and growing chest pokes through my shirt and looks weird. Then they make fun of my eyebrows, saying they're bushy. Then my nose, chin, chipped tooth, and everything else.

"Hey, look at the freaks."

I blink out of the daze and follow their line of sight. My brother walks with three other boys dressed similarly to him. They're wearing all black, and chains hang from their big pants that flare at the ankles and drag on the floor. Two of the boys wear a hoodie, while the others wear a band T-shirt.

Kyle barks, and Mickey joins him, forgetting about me. They get louder with each bark, and other students in the hallway join with them until the barking drowns out all other sound.

I step backward, my back brushing against my open locker door. Guilt clings to me like a ball of goo that I can't shake off. I don't understand why these bullies bark at my brother and his friends, but I feel awful and responsible for it. Why am I just standing here and not saying anything? Why aren't I gaining their attention so that they'll focus on me instead ?

Jaxon glares at Mickey and Kyle, then turns his gaze to me, pinning me where I stand. Before I avert my gaze, I spot the simmering anger in his dark eyes, then the flash of betrayal before he locks it away.

"Fuck you!" one of Jaxon's friends hollers. They flip us off as they walk past us.

I can't take my eyes off of Jaxon, even after he walks past me and down the hallway, where more students bark at them. He thinks I've befriended these two jerks. He must think I'm a part of bullying him and his friends when that is the furthest from the truth.

I spin toward my locker and slam the door shut, then storm away. My first class is on the other end of the school, and the more distance I put between my brother and me, the more gutted and lonelier I become. The two jerks howl in laughter and bark some more. This time, I don't think they directed it at Jaxon or his friends. This time, it's toward me.

My first day at this new school was awful. This town is full of preps and rich kids, and I finally understand why Jaxon sneered at me, calling me a prep. They bullied him all day.

I never wanted to be the new target at this school, but a sudden protective feeling over my brother built inside me until it brimmed and threatened to spill over. So I made more ruckus and dragged their attention to me, and I gladly took their pranks and insults.

When I get home, I head straight to my bedroom. I sit at my desk, leg swinging and pencil in my hand as I scowl at my homework. My eyes are heavy with sleep, and my mind is fuzzy like static, but I need to finish this workbook.

School is awful, and if I could drop out, I would. Everyone there is a jerk, including the teachers. Like my last school, the teachers always chose me to answer a question I didn't know the answer to. Then they told me to speak up because no one could hear me. Even after I said something a second time, the stupid teacher held a hand beside her ear, gesturing for me to speak louder. Everyone in class laughed along with her, making me the butt of the joke.

To make matters worse, word spread because of those stupid boys, and now everyone calls me rocks or airhead. At first, I thought they meant Airheads, like the candy, but after they laughed harder at my confusion, I finally understood what they meant.

I glare at my homework and want to toss it in the trash. I'm not good at any of this. Math is too hard to understand, and no matter how much I try to remember what Miss Edwards said in class, I can't make sense out of it. I would ask Mom to help me, but she and Dad left for a date an hour ago.

Jaxon's music thumps through the wall separating us. I raise my gaze, staring at the cream wall like I can see through it and watch Jaxon as he listens to his rock songs. I debate if I should go to him for help since I have no one else to ask.

Jaxon is older than me—and likely smarter, too—so he'd know how to do math. Plus, I want to make sure he's okay, no matter how much he hates my guts and insults me like those kids at school.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and peel off a flaky piece of skin. Jaxon won't like it if I go into his room, and I don't want to risk him burning something of mine if I piss him off.

I almost put my homework away and call it quits, but the fear of flunking my grade hangs over my head like a dark cloud. With my luck, I won't drop out of school but will be held back to suffer an extra year of being bullied.

Taking a deep breath, I get out of my seat and leave my room. Jaxon's door is shut, and I spot a sign taped to the wood, warning me to Stay Out. I pause and stare at the sign before I gently grab the knob, then hesitate as I think better about barging into his bedroom.

I let go of the knob, and I rap my knuckles against the wood instead, praying he hears it. Music still plays. A guitar riff wails through his boombox's speakers, louder than it was before I knocked. I steel my spine and knock again, this time louder. I wince as the door rattles on the hinges, then drop my hand to my side.

The door swings open, and I stumble back a few steps as Jaxon takes up the small space. His expression screams, How dare you?

I suddenly forget how to speak and why I'm standing outside his bedroom. My cheeks warm and my ears tingle as heat spreads from my face. I struggle to find my words and not sound stupid when I figure out why I'm out here.

Jaxon huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. "What?" he snaps.

I fumble with my trembling hands and avert my gaze. Now that I'm not looking at him, I remember why I'm here. "I need help with my homework."

"Get your mom for that." He tries to swing the door shut, but I catch it before it clicks into place. Jaxon's lip pulls back in a snarl. "You sure you want to do that, sis ?"

"She's not home, and I need help. Please!" Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I hate that I cry when I get nervous and embarrassed.

Jaxon's dark eyebrows lower into a sharp slash over his mean eyes. His lips thin, and I mentally prepare myself for him to go off on me. "Not my problem. Maybe you shouldn't be so stupid. Pay attention in your classes instead of fucking around with the preppy douchebags."

"You can't curse! "

I recoil as he lunges at me. My eyes snap shut, and I turn my head, giving him my cheek as I mentally prepare for the sharp sting of a strike. When nothing happens, I peek at him and find him standing several feet away from me in his bedroom. My lips part as horror mingles with his softer expression, like he can't believe I flinched.

I don't understand his reaction, but I don't linger on that thought.

Sniffling, I rub my eyes with the back of my hand to wipe away the tears. "I promise I'll be a good girl."

Jaxon rears his head back, his eyes flaring wide.

"I'll do your chores, even clean your room if you want. Just please help me with this. I don't want to flunk my grade and get held back." If I get held back, it will be the end of the world for me.

Jaxon sighs and runs a hand through his wavy black hair. All the fight leaves him, loosening his tensed muscles, and his shoulders sag. "Get your stuff, and I'll help."

I smile and race to my bedroom, grab all of my schoolwork, then run back to Jaxon's room. I worry that he changed his mind and locked me out, but the anxiety melts away when his door stays open in invitation.

Jaxon's sitting on a black eight-ball beanbag, his expression flat like he's bored and has better things to do. He flicks his fingers at the open door. I spin and close it, then go to his side. I plop onto the floor in front of him with a relieved smile.

"Thank you for helping me," I say. "You're the best big brother."

Jaxon stiffens, and he sucks in a sharp breath. I tilt my head, worried I said something wrong.

"We're not making this a habit. You got it?" Jaxon mumbles after a moment of silence.

I blink and nod in agreement, then pull out my math book and the workbook. I offer him a smile, hoping it keeps him in this nicer mood, but he refuses to look at me.

"Promise," I say.

Time passes quickly as Jaxon helps me. He shocks me with patience and kindness as he guides me through the math problems. When we finish, he helps me with science, too. That one frustrates me more because of how confusing it is, but Jaxon remains patient and finds a different way to simplify the information and questions in the workbook.

My stomach growls once we finish, and after glancing at his digital clock, I realize we've been here for three hours. Dinner will be ready any time now, and I wonder if our parents came home yet.

I close the books and stuff them into my backpack. Jaxon fiddles with his boombox, most likely changing the cassette tapes since the tape we were listening to ended ten minutes ago.

I should leave, but I can't look away from him. Under all that anger and rough exterior, I find him cute. He has long eyelashes, sharp cheekbones, and a jawline like those male models in magazines. Jaxon's longer hair showcases his waves, and the locks look silky soft. He's someone I would crush on at school if I wasn't some circus freak that everyone hates.

Also, if he wasn't my brother.

My cheeks burn from embarrassment and guilt from my wandering thoughts about my brother.

"I've got a question for you," Jaxon says.

I blink, my spine straightens, and I drop my gaze to the floor. I hope he didn't catch me staring at him and that he's not about to yell at me for it.

It's quiet between us, and I'm confused. Why isn't he saying anything?

Gathering courage and curling my fingers in my skirt, I meet his stare, already finding him looking at me like he's been waiting for me to do so.

"Has anyone hit you?" he says, throwing me through a loop with his blunt question.

My eyebrows draw inward. "Why?"

Music plays, filling the tense silence between us as Jaxon continues to stare at me unblinkingly.

"You flinched," he says. "I wasn't going to hit you, and you flinched."

I drop my gaze and pull at a loose thread on the seam of my dress. I shrug a shoulder.

"It doesn't matter," I mumble.

I wait for Jaxon to snap at me or say something snarky. Instead, he remains silent. The rock song plays, and I thank the stars for it because then Jaxon won't hear my heavy breathing as I panic. He won't care what I've been through. In his eyes, I'm a prep and a Goody Two-Shoes who wants to be Daddy's little girl . I'm not supposed to be this meek and broken girl.

"I should go. Thank you for helping me." I stand with my backpack in my hand.

Jaxon doesn't step in my path when I walk past him, nor does he call out to me and demand answers. He lets me go, just like everybody else in my life.

On my way out the door, I feel the weight of his stare on the back of my head.