Chapter 38

Iprobably needed stitches, but the blood slowed eventually. I wrapped my wrist tight with white bandages and tape, and when I went to sleep that night, I set my alarm for every hour. I suppose it didn't matter, because if the bleeding restarted and I ended up dead, I wouldn't wake to hear it, but every time I did jolt awake, I liked knowing I was still alive. I needed to still be alive because if I left this earth, Scott Henderson was coming with me.

The next morning, Chris dropped me off in front of school again, and this time, it wasn't to avoid Hunter.

"Have a good day," Chris said, already checking the rearview mirror.

I leaned over as I held the door open. I smiled at him. "You too, Chris."

He blinked at me, staring out the window even after I closed the door.

As expected, Scott was leaning against the front railing, surrounded by six or so friends as everyone else bustled past them. I joined the crowd, and like usual, his eyes found mine. His friends talked and joked, but he ignored them, watching me instead.

I held up my middle finger and stared straight back at him as I shifted my backpack on my shoulder. His mouth spread into a smirk, his eyes darkening, and when I was a few feet from him, still holding my middle finger over my head, he called out to me. "You better watch it, Matthews."

I knew how he operated by now. I knew I was only riling him up, but I still smiled back. "Go fuck yourself."

* * *

I leaned back in homeroom,listening to the morning announcements with disinterest.

Suzanne sat in front of her normal background as she shifted a stack of papers. "There's a change of schedule today. We have a morning assembly at ten o'clock. Everyone is instructed to head to the auditorium directly following third period. Please stick with your third-period class, as you'll be seated accordingly." She glanced at something off-screen. "This assembly's topic is bullying."

I had my feet propped up on the chair in front of me, but they slammed to the floor as I burst out laughing. It flowed out of me, becoming more hysterical by the second until the entire room was staring at me. I looked at the kid next to me. His name was Timmy Gonzalez, and he was as quiet as they came. "Can you believe her?"

Timmy stared back at me as if petrified I might drag him into my insanity. His round eyes flicked to my hands placed on my desk. White bandaging poked out from beneath my long-sleeved shirt, and his gaze darted between my wrist and my face multiple times as I watched him with raised eyebrows.

"Alice!"

I rolled my eyes to our homeroom teacher standing at the front of the room. "Yes?"

"Why don't you excuse yourself and go get a drink of water."

I folded my arms. "I'm not thirsty."

"Well, be quiet then. You're being extremely inappropriate."

I tilted my head, putting my feet on the chair in front of me again. "Did you know she was part of the upstanding little crew who spray-painted slut on my locker Monday and whore yesterday? I think that's far more inappropriate than I'm being."

"Snitch," someone coughed, and I whipped around in my seat.

"Why don't you come say that to my face, Bradley."

He was seated in the back corner, and he startled under my glare. He glanced between me and Mrs. Morton, his face already settled into an apology.

"Alice!"

My gaze snapped back to her. "What? The only thing Bradley is good for is being a huge dickwad, and you know it as well as I do."

Her face scrunched tight as a slow pink sprawled across her fair skin. But it wasn't embarrassment. I was pissing her off.

I sighed. "Fine. I'll get a drink of water." I dragged myself from my seat but paused to glance at Timmy. "Let me know what else I miss from our fearless leader."

He stared at the desk in front of him, like maybe I'd go away if he concentrated hard enough. And though he didn't say a word, the side of his mouth twitched before I stalked out.

* * *

I grumbledmy way into the assembly after third period. My history class filled a few rows in the middle of the left section. Since freshman year, I'd only stepped foot in the theater during our several pointless assemblies, and every time, it left me breathless. Our auditorium was old wood and intricate colors, the ceiling painted like the Sistine chapel. The chairs were deep red, not quite comfortable but too vintage to consider swapping out. The theater had an additional front entrance, and I'd heard it existed for years before they built the high school beside it. When you stood on stage, it felt as if you were on Broadway instead of in a high school auditorium, and in all my pathetic existence, that had been, by far, my favorite feeling in the world. Except for maybe when Hunter kissed me.

I scanned the crowd for Scott, but I didn't see his buzzed head. I spotted Hunter down in front, on the left side as well. His class was filing into their seats, and my heart rate sped off as I watched him saunter along, following the person in front of him. He managed an aisle seat out of sheer luck, and when he slumped into it, he pulled his hood up and leaned back as though he planned to sleep his way through the presentation.

His teacher stood in front, and she said something in his direction. He didn't move, and she said it again, motioning at her own head. He pushed his hood back, and she gave him a double thumbs-up and matching bright smile. I bit the corner of my lip. Hunter was either rolling his eyes or grimacing, and I wished I could see which.

The lights dimmed, and I settled back into my chair, positioning myself so I had a view of the back of Hunter's head. Mrs. Rosin's heels clicked onto the stage and paused at the podium. "Good morning."

There was a rumble of return greetings. Mostly teachers.

"I am very pleased to announce that we have a special guest with us this morning. Mr. Robert Lawson." There were a few random claps, and she smiled in acknowledgment before bending her head to read straight from a paper. "Mr. Lawson is a social worker by trade with an impressive work history. He has worked in schools, mental health facilities, and even prisons. His primary passion lies in anti-bullying campaigns, and four years ago, Mr. Lawson started his own nonprofit organization, Words Hurt. Words Hurt envisions a world without bullying. A world where every student can feel comfortable and safe at school."

Mrs. Rosin took a breath. "Earlier this week, one of our own experienced a vicious act of bullying." Hunter lifted his head. "A student's locker was defaced, and we're here today to remind each other that we have a strict no-tolerance policy at Franklin High."

I snorted, the noise earning me several dirty looks despite my being the poor bully victim she referenced.

"Please put your hands together to welcome Mr. Lawson."

The round of applause was pitiful, but he still bounded on stage with enough energy for a metal concert. "How are we doing on this magnificent Thursday morning, Franklin High?"

"For the love of god," I muttered, settling farther into my chair. Sure, the school might have had the right idea, but if anyone was going to convince Scott Henderson to stop breaking noses and convert from Satanism, it wasn't this guy.

"Thank you so much for that dazzling introduction, Mrs. Rosin. Like Mrs. Rosin said, my name is Robert Lawson, but you can call me Rob. A few years ago, I started Words Hurt after seeing the numerous negative effects bullying has on our youth and teenage populations."

He strode across the stage, comfortable beneath the bright lights and peering faces. "I was working in an inpatient psychiatric facility at the time, and I saw the detrimental and sometimes life-taking effects of bullying firsthand."

He waved a hand at a PowerPoint slide that lit up behind him. "Slightly over fourteen percent of students in high school consider suicide. Seven percent act on it. Take a moment to think about that. Think about how many people are in this room right now."

There was a period of silence, accompanied by shifting. Hunter's head lolled to one side, his long legs stretched into the aisle. I was pretty sure he was dozing at this point.

"This is where it really gets scary. Victims of bullying are two to nine times more likely to consider suicide than students who aren't bullied." He paused, appealing to the crowd. "Two to nine times." He held up a finger as he moved across the stage again. "Another study found at least half of suicides among young people are related to bullying. And here's the real kicker—it's all completely preventable."

I turned to the girl next to me. "Am I in The Twilight Zone?"

She scrunched her nose.

"Like, is this all really happening right now?"

She faced the front with a hushed whisper. "Shhh."

I looked down at the white bandaging wrapped tight around my wrist and pressed one finger to it. I let go with a sharp inhale, because it hurt like hell.

"So if I could please have four volunteers ..."

My hand shot into the air. I didn't even know what I was volunteering for, and I'd never volunteered for anything in my life, but as his gaze drifted over me, I waved my hand, sitting up even straighter.

"Okay, yes," he said. "Someone's enthusiastic. That's what I love to see. You, in the blue. Now I need three others. Come on, don't be shy."

I launched forward and shuffled out of my row, grinning to myself as I made my way down the aisle. Maybe it was all an extension of my mental breakdown. Maybe I was still right in the thick of it. Or maybe I'd lost so much blood my brain had suffered permanent injury. Either way, I kept walking. I passed Hunter in his aisle seat, and at first, he glanced up in disinterest, but then he did a double-take, his entire body going rigid. I circled around front, climbed the five steps, and then I was on stage, shielding my eyes with one hand from the familiar bright lights as I met Rob in the middle.

He was still coaxing out three other volunteers, and I stood there like an idiot, staring out at the crowd staring back at me. There were X's taped to the floor, similar to the ones I'd followed when I performed in front of the entire school as JoJo. I stood near one now, and I stepped toward it. I looked out at the audience again, the same sea of faces that used to energize me. My mom and I had sat a few rows back from where Hunter sat now when Chris first stunned the audience with his rendition of Mulan.

I reached for the microphone. "Can I say something?"

Rob pulled it back on instinct, his eyebrows furrowing.

Mrs. Rosin had been seated in the first row, and she clicked over to the bottom of the stage. She pinned me with her famous no-nonsense look, all warning eyebrows and hands on her hips. "Alice, do you need to return to your seat? This is not the time nor the place for a scene. Please follow Mr. Lawson's instructions."

I squinted at her. "Isn't this whole thing because someone painted the word slut on my locker?"

And that's what did it. Rob shifted forward, his kind face lined with compassion and ... opportunity? "Your locker?"

His eyes were bright, and I nodded, smiling back at him, because with me standing there, he was about to have the best damn presentation of all time. He didn't need volunteers or heartfelt stories. I was skin and bone and filleted wrists. I was a real-life example, and unlike all the other bullied kids who had sunk lower in their seats, I was offering up my services.

"I'd like to hear what she has to say!" Melody's high-pitched voice floated from the balcony.

There were a few murmurs of agreement, probably from people who were just interested in watching my train wreck. But whatever the case, the audience was captivated for the first time, and Rob knew it as well as I did.

He bent his head toward me, one hand on the microphone. "What would you like to say to your classmates?"

"I want to tell them the truth."

He hesitated. "You mean you want to tell them how their bullying has made you feel?"

I nodded in earnest, smiling up at him. "Yes, exactly."

He considered me for several moments, and then, like an absolute lunatic, he handed me the microphone. "I think this will be a learning experience for all of us."

Mrs. Rosin's wide eyes matched mine as I gripped the microphone with sweaty palms. I stared down at her in shock, waiting for her to order me off the stage, but she pressed her lips together. "You have three minutes."

I found Hunter then. He was leaning forward, his eyes latched on to my face, watching me with profound concern for my sanity. I tore my gaze from him, scanning the crowd again, and finally settled on Scott seated in the middle. We stared at each other, and despite his boredom with my theatrics, his eyes narrowed. There was some shifting and coughing, but besides that, the entire place was silent as everyone waited.

"Hi. My name is Alice Matthews. This is the first time I've stood on a stage since I quit drama club in ninth grade." I squinted, shielding my eyes with one hand. "I forgot how bright it is." My gaze darted to Hunter, and though he hated my guts, he looked amused for one blinking moment. I swear the lights went dimmer an instant later, and I aimed a silent nod at the balcony before staring out into the crowd again.

"I almost killed myself yesterday."

Silence. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hunter shift even farther forward.

"Yeah, it wasn't really intentional. I mean, it was sort of intentional." I lifted one arm. "I cut my wrist, and I meant for it to hurt, but I didn't mean to, like, actually die or anything."

No one moved. I glanced at Rob. "I guess I'm part of your statistics." Was I trying to make a joke about suicide? I shook my head. "That's not ... Christ." I took a steadying breath. "I would have become the poster child for an assembly like this." I waved an arm at the curtain behind me. "A banner with my face on it would have hung just there."

I looked out at the crowd, scanning the faces. "In a couple days, you painted slut on my locker, and you sent me awful messages, and you told me to kill myself all because you heard a rumor that I had sex with someone two years ago ... but that's still not why I did it."

"Alice," Mrs. Rosin said, but her voice was soft instead of irritated.

I put one hand over the microphone. "Just one more minute. Please." My voice was even but my cheeks were wet, and she just stared at me.

"None of you even bothered to ask me if it was true." I hesitated, redirecting my gaze to Hunter. His eyes were locked on me, wide with torment, and my heart stuttered because he wasn't looking at me as though he hated me anymore. He was looking at me as though I was the most painful thing in the entire world. "Well, one of you did."

I could see his chest rising and falling. I faced everyone else again, forcing my words to go louder.

"I've spent years hiding and blaming myself, but I'm done. And if you're going to make my sex life the topic of your lunchroom gossip, I want you to know the truth."

My gaze flickered between Hunter and Scott. "I went to a party at Scott Henderson's house my freshman year. You all saw the picture."

The room was so silent it was eerie. I couldn't bring myself to look at Hunter, so I settled on Scott instead. My throat caught and the words were thick, but I had to say them. I had to finally say them. "I went to a party that night ... I wore a dress that was too short ... I drank too much ... I kissed him in that picture ... and I even agreed to go upstairs with him."

We stared at each other. "I also begged him to stop."

His eyes gleamed with warning, but just like him, I didn't stop. And when I spoke the next part, my words were for him and him only. "But he went ahead and raped me anyway."

The microphone was wrenched from my grasp, but I let it go with ease. I watched Scott, unable to take my eyes off his face, and as I stood there in front of the entire school, the bright lights shining down on me, all I felt was calm.