Chapter 8

Iwaited at Margo's locker on Monday morning, biting my nails as I scanned the overpopulated hallway. I tried to pretend I was there to socialize, but I was far more dedicated to looking out for a particular dark head of hair than the conversation. When I caught sight of the back of his head through the crowd, I craned my neck to get a better view, nodding along to Margo's story about what an embarrassment Alex Hill had been at the party.

I watched as Hunter filled his backpack with the books he'd need for the day, but something was off. His motions were slow and lethargic. He moved in uncoordinated spurts, his whole body seeming unwilling to cooperate. When he finished, he slammed his locker and turned in my direction. There was a blur of people in front of me, and they blinked like strobe lights at a school dance. I wasn't sure if the world had switched to slow motion or if my brain slowed everything down on purpose, delaying the unfolding images.

One eye was encircled in violent purple, the eyelid black, and the other had a lighter shade of purple beneath it. His lip was split, and he had a cut along the side of his jaw and a smaller one across the bridge of his nose. He wore a dark gray long-sleeved shirt instead of his usual T-shirt, and several of his fingers were taped together with white strips of bandaging.

His effortless stroll was gone, and he winced with each stride. He walked past without noticing me, not even bothering to look up. His avoidance wasn't a sign of weakness or defeat, though. I had the crawling feeling that Hunter focused on the floor because he'd murder the first person who met his gaze for one second too long.

Before I could contemplate my decision, I followed him. Margo's annoyance trailed behind me, but I ignored her. I weaved through the throng of students between Hunter and me as I tried to catch up. He turned right toward his homeroom, and I touched his arm as I rounded the corner. He spun around so fast I jumped back, but when he saw it was me, he relaxed, wincing slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Alice, hey. How was the rest of your weekend?"

A soft smile touched his lips, but instead of returning it, I gaped back at him. "My weekend? What happened to you?"

He glanced down at himself, and for some reason, he grinned. "I very clearly got my ass kicked."

We stood in the middle of traffic. People brushed past us, mumbling their irritation. "At the party? But you said ... you said you'd be fine."

He scratched the side of his head. "I did say that, didn't I?" He shrugged. We shifted to one side of the hallway. He leaned his shoulder against the wall with a comfort I knew he couldn't be feeling. His eyebrow arched the smallest bit, and I wondered if it was painful. "You know, my ego was a little bruised, but standing here admitting to you that I got my ass handed to me ... well, let me tell you, I've never felt manlier."

I'd watched Hunter pin Scott against the wall, the effort nothing but a flick of his wrists. And based on that performance, I was confident Hunter could defend himself against two people, maybe even three. "By how many people?"

He pinned me with an exasperated stare. "You cannot be serious. You know I like you, right? Like, in a romantic way? I mean, I assume that's been obvious. And so you understand how that would make this conversation humiliating?"

I stared at him. My heart jackhammered in my chest as I tried to get a grip on my body's homeostasis. Usually, everything functioned without my direction, but while he remained as cool and stoic as ever, I had to beg my internal organs not to go apeshit on me. And I didn't know how he did it. How he'd mastered the art of dishing out compliments or declaring his feelings as though they were bland statements about the weather.

"You knew it was going to happen," I said. "Why didn't you say anything? Why did you let me leave?"

He pitched his eyebrows even higher as his lips shifted into a smirk, not at all offended that I hadn't acknowledged his romantic confession. "I'm sorry, do you have a black belt I'm not aware of?"

As I took a half step closer to him, my breath hitched. It was because of me. All it took was a slight grab of my wrist, and Hunter was left with bruises.

His smile vanished, replaced with a pulse along his jaw. "It would have happened if you were there or not," he said, seeming to read my mind.

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

He studied me, his eyes narrowing. "I'm telling you, aren't I?"

I sighed. "You know what I mean." The hallway began to thin out as everyone headed for homeroom, but neither of us moved.

His face grew serious as he looked over my shoulder. When his gaze met mine again, he opened his mouth but then hesitated, closing it. He exhaled a breath and tried again. "Because I live for the violence. Same as you."

The words rattled inside of me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He considered me for so long it grew uncomfortable. His expression urged me to say something, but I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. I wasn't sure what words he was waiting for. "Come on, Alice."

I blinked. "Come on, what?"

He kneaded the back of his neck, flattening his hair as he shifted from foot to foot. "You really want me to say it?"

"Say what?"

He was tenser than I'd ever seen him. He ran a hand through the front of his hair and revealed a small bruise that had been covered by dark strands. "When was the last time you wore short sleeves?"

My eyes shot up to meet his as panic scorched through me. The noises of the hallway around us became a steady thrum above the blood pounding in my ears. My sole mission in high school had been to slide past unnoticed as best I could, and as I blinked up at him, I couldn't quite figure out why I'd followed him in the first place. Suddenly I was terrified he might uncover all the rotten things growing inside me and tear me open in front of the entire school, shaking me as my secrets oozed out.

All my excuses were filed in neat rows inside my brain. Usually, they flowed from my lips as easy as breathing, but this time, they came stumbling out. "I'm ... I'm always freezing."

He stared at me, and for one quick moment, his face transformed into an expression of disappointment, maybe even offense, before he shrugged, fishing into his front pocket for his packet of cigarettes. "Right. And I fell down the stairs."

* * *

I skipped gym.It was so pathetic it made me wince, but I skipped it anyway.

I had met the school nurse freshman year after I blacked out in English class. The teacher told her I'd overheated and fainted, just like that, but that wasn't what happened. The truth was, Tyler Conrad had told me I was hot but would look hotter pinned beneath him. At first, it wasn't a big deal, but then it did feel like something was pinning me down, and it wasn't idiotic Tyler Conrad. My teacher sent me to the nurse's office, and after that, I kept going because Mrs. Baker smiled and nodded instead of asking me why.

I still got like that from time to time. Spinning with no sign of stopping. Remembering with no sign of forgetting. Sometimes it got so awful I faked illnesses so I could stay home from school, and while my mom knew my symptoms were bullshit, she could detect they were symptoms of something.

My mom asked my doctor what was wrong with me, and he told her depression, plain and simple. That glib, airtight label somehow seemed to make her feel better. I didn't feel any different, but hey, at least there was an explanation. But I wasn't sad for no reason. I was sad for one reason and one reason only. That's not depression; it's cause and effect.

I sat on one of the bright orange chairs, the purgatory of the high school nurse's office. It was in those retro chairs that Mrs. Baker felt foreheads and examined motives, determining the authenticity of symptoms. Most students were left slumped outside the angelic white gates and shooed back to class, but she always admitted me.

I knew where Mrs. Baker kept her cotton balls and reserve Kleenex boxes. I knew the precise time she ate her lunch and which cot was the most comfortable. I was a nurse's office regular, and I was still trying to figure out if that was just plain depressing or somewhat cool.

When the principal, Mrs. Rosin, walked in, I sat up a little straighter, guilty and nervous because I wasn't sick, just spent. She clicked into the small room to the left of the main office without breaking her purposed stride to notice me. I was so invisible she didn't even bother to close the door all the way. I shifted in my seat and stared at the ceiling, tuning in to the heated conversation in the other room.

"It's just protocol," came Mrs. Baker's kind voice.

"I already told you, I got in a fight. I don't see what the big deal is."

I jolted at the sound of Hunter's voice.

"Listen, Hunter, we're not going to go through all of this again," Mrs. Rosin said. Her voice had her usual air of authority, clipped with mild annoyance.

"I got in a fight outside of school. I don't know what else to tell you."

"You can start by telling us who you got in a fight with."

Hunter was silent. I heard the shuffling of papers and a few clicks.

Mrs. Rosin must have moved closer to him, because her voice grew softer. "Hunter, we're trying to help you. We're not going to turn a blind eye when you show up to school every few weeks with bruises."

"Thanks, but I don't need any help."

Someone exhaled, long and steady. "Was it Scott?"

I stilled, and there was a moment of shifting silence. "No."

"Hunter, your psych report—"

He snorted. "My psychiatrist is under the impression that my chakras aren't aligned. Brutal stuff ... chakra misalignment. Can I go now? I can't stand the thought of missing gym."

Someone huffed, and it must have been Mrs. Rosin, because it sounded far too irritated to be Mrs. Baker. "I'll be calling your dad today."

No one said anything, and I inched forward in silence. When Hunter did speak, his voice was edged with something I couldn't quite figure out. His words were cool and flat, but there was something else. It was as if Mrs. Rosin had offered to dig up a corpse from the town cemetery and call that person. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear from you."

I heard the scraping of furniture and crept to my feet, terrified Hunter might come bursting out of the office at any moment to find me sitting there. I winced when the brown paper bag in my backpack crunched beneath my arm as I tiptoed across the office. I'd earn myself detention for skipping gym without a nurse's pass, but acknowledging my eavesdropping was like admitting to Hunter's face that it had become a habit to click through the three pictures on his abandoned social media platforms. Sure, maybe it happened, but no one in their right mind wanted to have a conversation about it.

But I wasn't fast enough. The door opened a moment later, and Mrs. Baker said my name before I had the chance to dart away.

I turned around in slow motion, face burning. My eyes found Hunter's first. He was always intimidating looking with his tall stature, penetrating green eyes, and all-black attire, but the bruising made him look downright ominous. His eyes narrowed.

Unlike him, Mrs. Baker smiled. "Alice, dear. I didn't know you were here."

"Er, yeah. Just walked in." Hunter's gaze was scrutinizing, and I shifted beneath it. My face grew even hotter. "I don't feel well."

Mrs. Rosin marched past me. She had more important things to deal with than my make-believe ailments. "Stop by my office before you leave today, Hunter."

His jaw hardened. "Sure thing," he mumbled, avoiding my gaze as he followed her out.

* * *

I didn't seeHunter at lunch or in the hallways between classes, and he wasn't near his locker at the end of the day. I cut through the cafeteria, knowing he was long gone, but still glanced at his table out of habit. He wasn't sitting there, of course, but she was—bright pink hair and all—glaring back at me.

I kept walking, focusing straight ahead, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shove to her feet and stalk toward me. I walked faster, but by the time I reached the double doors, she stood in front of them.

"Alice Matthews. What a goddamn honor." Her voice wasn't like I remembered. Instead of high-pitched, it was low and dangerous. Her hair was styled oddly again, everything mismatched and different textures.

She inspected my face like a makeup artist who found my plain features offensive. Her eye shadow was bright green, and she chewed a wad of gum as if she wanted me to notice it. "You might fool Hunter, but I know girls like you."

I half nodded, anything to get away from her.

"The little damsel in distress thing is adorable, really it is. And clearly, it works for you. I mean, who doesn't want to save the pretty little unobtainable princess? But have some fucking agency."

I stared at her, hypnotized by the razor sharpness in her voice. What the hell had I ever done to her?

Her glare traveled down the length of me, then snapped back to my face. "I don't understand his obsession. I mean, what kind of awful person socializes with his tormenters right in front of him and then expects him to get his ass kicked on her behalf?"

I flinched. "I hate Scott just as much as he does."

I thought that much was obvious, but she rolled her eyes. "What about the rest of them?"

My brain faltered to a sudden stop, and I opened my mouth to retort, but Margo's voice cut through the air between us, the pitch of it laced with phoniness. "What's this?"

I wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but she stood next to me, all polite smiles and rapid blinking as she glanced between the two of us, then paused to assess the look on my face. Her polite expression turned sour quicker than a glass of milk left outside in the middle of summer. "Nice hair, Melody. Was that on purpose, or did you drop the hairdryer in the sink as you were getting ready this morning?"

Instead of responding, Melody stared at me in expectation, waiting for something. I stared straight back at her until she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me with a small shake of her head as if I'd disappointed her.

I was stuck in place as Margo examined her fingernails. "I can only guess what that was about."

"Yeah?"

"Losers are extremely territorial," she said, well briefed on the situation. "There will be plenty more of that if you keep insisting on talking to that psycho."

I turned to face her with a sigh. "What did you do that for anyway?"

"Do what?"

"Defend me?"

Her eyebrows dipped in confusion. "You're my best friend. Why wouldn't I defend you?"