Chapter 1

My mom thought I was suicidal.

Maybe I was. Maybe there was a difference between wanting to die and wondering if the ground would hurt from thirty stories up—hoping it would.

It was the minor inconveniences that set me off. Like having gym first period, which made me want to swap my orange juice with lighter fluid. I wouldn't have minded as much if boys and girls were separate or if I wasn't a junior in a class full of seniors. Our required gym attire didn't help either. Unlike the baggy sweats the boys wore, our light orange booty shorts and matching white T-shirts left little to the imagination.

I nudged my way into line on the indoor basketball court as Mr. Downs huffed his way toward me. He wasn't the best representation of health and wellness with his monstrous beer belly and constant wheezing, but I guess it was only high school.

"Alice Matthews," he heaved, rolling his bulging eyes when he reached me. "How many times do I have to tell you? That sweatshirt is not part of the required uniform."

The group of girls closest to me snickered, but I bit my lip and tried to ignore them. "I'm sorry, Mr. Downs, but I'm freezing." I tried to sound confident, but my voice was small and weak.

"From now on, every time you wear that sweatshirt, I'm docking a point from your grade."

"That's fine." I wasn't taking my sweatshirt off even if he threatened to fail me.

He rolled his eyes again and continued down the line. He always threatened to dock points from me but never did. It would have meant extra effort on his part, and if there was one thing Mr. Downs hated, it was extra effort.

He gave a brief explanation of his expectations for a full-court basketball game before splitting us into two teams and sitting his lazy ass on the sidelines. As usual, all the athletes somehow landed on the same team. Gym class wasn't competitive for them; it was a form of sheer entertainment. A few of my teammates always tried, and though it was humiliating to watch, I admired their determination. They ran around in circles, sweating and shooting the rest of us dirty looks, but we weren't the problem. The problem was they had two left feet, and while we all went home after school, our opponents drew crowds at their sports games.

I hung around the middle of the court and picked at my fingernails, daydreaming of my neck snapping from the ropes course dangling above me. I was so lost in the painful peacefulness I didn't register the ball spinning toward me, followed by four madmen chasing after it, until it was far too late. My brain prompted me to step out of the way, but my body was too sluggish to respond. I froze in place while the chaos swirled around me. And then everything happened all at once.

Something solid knocked into me, and my knees slammed to the gym floor. I knew I should have felt pain, but my utter confusion numbed it. The gym class heroes kept playing, unfazed, but the guy who'd hit me extended his hand to help me up.

I tried to grasp what had happened while assessing the throbbing pain in my knees, so I took his hand, distracted. As soon as my fingers made contact with his, I cringed at the warmth covering my own. A pair of humorous blue eyes, alight with mischief and cockiness, greeted me when I looked up. Most girls would have killed for a run-in with Scott Henderson, but my nausea was instant.

"Sorry about that, Alice." His voice pricked at my skin. I hadn't moved an inch, and Scott Henderson was the school's star athletic performer. The best our town had ever seen, apparently. How had he managed to run into me?

But then his hand slid lower and cupped my ass, confirming the collision was no accident. I stiffened when his predatory fingers glided across me. Goosebumps rose as full-fledged panic took over my entire body, but it wasn't useful panic. My brain didn't activate any reflexes to step away or push him off me. I didn't move, and his lips curved into an even wider, approving smirk.

Terror pulsed through me as familiar images poked and prodded my consciousness, but I was paralyzed. And though his fingers drifted away, I could still feel them. He pulled me up, but my body was total deadweight. I wanted to shove him. Hard enough that he sprawled to the floor, maybe slamming his head so violently that it changed his composition altogether.

"Sorry again, Alice." He hadn't moved away from me, and his breath felt hot on my neck.

I didn't say anything. My body was in the gym, and I could feel my feet anchoring me in place, but I was gone. I concentrated on the floor, but it rolled beneath me.

"Walk it off!" Mr. Downs called from the sidelines.

I took a few steps, my right knee not quite holding my weight properly. I was slow to register Scott talking to another senior a few paces from me, and I tried to focus on them, but my brain lagged, all dreary and wimpy, a hundred miles behind.

I recognized the other senior, but I didn't know his name.

"How are you so invested in a gym class basketball game that you can't help yourself from body-checking a hundred-pound girl?" His voice was ice-cold, clipped with anger and annoyance, and my eyes flew to his face in surprise. I knew his slow drawl. He wore black Vans and was the sort of nonathlete who would be on my team—not one of the ones who tried, though. He probably failed the mile because he wandered off halfway through the first lap to hang out under the bleachers.

The scowl on his face was lethal, and I couldn't tell if it was directed at me, Scott, or the world in general. I stared at him, lost in his expression, but faltered when his bright green eyes met mine. He eyed me with an intensity so painful it felt physically hard to maintain eye contact, so I snapped my gaze back to the floor.

"It was an accident, bro." Scott jabbed a finger into the guy's chest, but I didn't hear the rest of the escalation or even offer my appreciation, because I was already limping away.

Mr. Downs sat on the sidelines in a foldable lawn chair.

"Can I go to the nurse?"

He waved a hand, not even bothering to glance up from his crossword puzzle. "Yeah, yeah, fine."

I slipped out of the gymnasium without another word. The nurse's office wasn't necessary for my particular injury. In fact, the pain subsided with each step. I crept into the girls' locker room, then paused to appreciate the complete stillness before I wrenched open my locker and fished through my front backpack pocket. I grabbed hold of the small glint of silver at the bottom.

I darted into the first open stall and collapsed onto the toilet, breathing as though I'd run a marathon. I took one calming breath and glanced toward the ceiling. His hands crashed down on me like a self-destructive tsunami, igniting goosebumps that spread like wildfire. I could feel the calloused roughness of his fingers as they reached for the inside of my thighs, creeping to places he had no permission to explore.

I shoved my sleeves up and gasped in admiration, taking in the zigzag lines covering my forearms. I pressed the cool metal into my skin and dragged the small razor across. Droplets of blood surged to the surface, and I felt my rage, disgust, and complete lack of control drip out and fall to the floor.

As I said, I wasn't suicidal; I just wanted to know if it hurt.