RINA'S POINT OF VIEW
10 YEARS EARLIER
Kyle was a rat. I figured as much after our date—if you could even call it that. It's not like I'd expected him to take it well when I'd ditched him mid-party without a word or a text back. I just didn't expect Jen to inform me Tuesday morning that the whole school was talking about what a slut I was for going down on Kyle on the first date.
By lunch, it was obvious that my plan of flying under the radar for the rest of senior year was officially out the window. I expected the whispers and giggles from the girls—nothing flamed the gossip train more than a young woman exercising her own sexuality—but I didn't appreciate the lingering looks I was getting from the boys. Suddenly, I was not only no longer invisible, but I was beginning to feel like I was treading water in a sea of sharks. Many of the looks I was receiving were neither flattering nor mocking; they were predatory. I felt like an object on display as I walked down the hallways, and it made my stomach twist into knots. Kyle made it sound like I was easy prey, and living as the daughter of a prostitute, I knew how dangerous men could be when they started viewing you as foregone conclusion.
Even still, I tried not to let it bother me. My classmates had circulated far worse rumors in the past. This one? A measly little one-night stand? I'm sure it would die down by the end of the week.
It was Friday and I was at my locker, packing my backpack before I heading to the bus. I had a long weekend ahead of me, with a lengthy research paper due for my history class and an anatomy exam the following Monday. It was as I was zipping the last of my textbooks into my backpack that I heard a commotion from down the hall. I glanced towards the sound, recognizing a fight when I heard it, and watched as a sea of other students rushed in its general direction.
I could have called it concern, the way I slammed my locker shut and followed suit. But really, I was used to going to schools in much lower tax brackets in which fighting was a weekly occurrence. I'd been in Wellsprings two months, and this was the first fight that'd taken place. I wasn't about to miss it.
When I approached the semi-circle forming against the lockers, at first, I couldn't see what was going on. There was a mass of other students in my way, most of whom were boys tall enough to block my view. The closer I got, though, the more heads began to swivel in my direction. By the time I'd reached the outer edge of the semi-circle, the swarm of students began parting like the Red Sea.
The first thing I could make sense of was Kyle pinned against the lockers, his face as red as spilled paint and his fists clenched at his sides. We seemed to spot each other at the same time, his eyes meeting mine like a deer caught in headlights. Standing in front of him, his back to me and the rest of the crowd, was Easton's unmistakable head of chestnut brown hair. I couldn't see his face, but I could picture the expression on it after seeing it a dozen times: a furious scowl, his eyebrows pinched together and his mouth in a thin line. His whole body was rigid, his shoulders hunched, and his right forearm against Kyle's throat, pinning him against the lockers.
I felt like I was in a wind tunnel at first, unable to hear anything around me except the rush of blood in my ears. Then, slowly, the sounds around me began to filter in, and I started catching whispers of "That's her," and "That's who this is about."
A cold chill went down my spine. I'd been the cause of rumors before, but never the cause of a fight. Then I heard Easton, his voice thunderous as it echoed off the lockers, "Admit you're a fucking liar."
"I'm not lying," Kyle sputtered out, his eyes bulging.
"So then what happened at that party?" Easton demanded, pressing harder against Kyle's neck.
"We hooked up," Kyle breathed, his voice shallow but loud enough for me to hear. I scoffed when he said it, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the blonde girl beside me look at me, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Easton stepped back, releasing his hold on Kyle's neck before cocking his fist back and slamming it into the right side of Kyle's jaw. His fist made an audible smack before Kyle's head flew back and hit the lockers.
"Ooooh," the blonde girl winced, no longer looking at me.
Blood started to leak from the corner of Kyle's mouth. He raised his fist to throw a punch but got nothing but air as Easton dodged it and then knocked him again, this time in the nose. That one made a crunching sound, and Kyle cried out in pain. I could see something crack in his expression, like he was giving up.
"Okay, okay, cool it," he yelped, his voice louder now that Easton wasn't pressing on his neck. A trickle of blood started coming out of either nostril, mixing with the blood pooling out of his cracked lip. "Nothing happened, alright? We just hung out."
The admission was vindicating, but I couldn't stop myself from adding to Kyle's public humiliation. Not after he'd deliberately spread a malicious lie about me to protect his own ego.
"So, you've been lying about this for days now to, what?" I asked, stepping forward. Easton whipped his head in my direction in surprise, like he hadn't even known I was there. When his eyes flickered to the growing crowd behind me, it became apparent that he'd been so focused on Kyle that he hadn't really known any of us were there. "Make everyone think I'm a slut just so they don't think you're a loser who can't get laid?"
The whole hallway got quiet as I spoke, and it seemed every eye in the vicinity was now trained on me. "Why don't you tell everyone what actually happened? How, after your fourth attempt trying to get me to leave with you in your big, black jeep, I left you in the backyard and walked home? How you texted me all weekend and I ignored every message? How we haven't spoken since? That's what actually happened, right?"
"Rina, I'm so—" Kyle started, but Easton slammed him back against the locker.
"Don't fucking talk to her," he snarled. "Stay away from her. If I catch you even breathing in her general direction again, I will break your fucking jaw. Are we clear?"
Kyle said nothing. I'd never seen him look anything but smug, but in that moment, he looked like a little kid who was in over his head. Easton, on the other hand, looked like he still wasn't done. He had his arm against Kyle's throat again, his shoulders still hunched as he stood directly in front of Kyle, their faces level with each other. He looked like he wanted to throw another punch, like Kyle's bloody nose and busted lip weren't good enough for him.
"Easton, just let him go," I commanded. His head swiveled in my direction, his expression still twisted into a snarl. We locked eyes, but he made no move to drop his grip on Kyle's throat. It wasn't until the principal and his assistant came barreling down the hallway, screaming at everyone to break it up, that he finally dropped his hands into fists at his sides and took a step back.
"Mr. Clarke! Mr. Campbell!" Principal Harris boomed from behind us. "My office, now! The rest of you, go home."
Easton went to pass me on his way to the office, but I grabbed his forearm to stop him. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me," I snarled.
"I didn't do it for you," he retorted, his voice a low growl, before he ripped his arm out of my grip and stormed down the hallway.