Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(10)

Jock Strap found a littered bottle, picked it up over his head, and smashed it on the ground. Short One hid behind his blinking red light. Then, with no other toys to play with, nothing else breakable, they turned to the girl. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

It began as a shove. The girl stumbled forward like a marionette doll into the arms of Circus Master. I could feel his sneer, breath hot on my face, even from a safe distance away. Another echo of a memory. I forced myself to watch.

Another shove. This time back to Jock Strap. Around she went. Push. A kiss on the cheek. Shove. Another pat to her ass. Rage clawed at my stomach.

Circus Master gave an order. Gestured with his hands. And then the girl was lowering herself to her knees amid the broken bottle and the shimmering moonlit asphalt. The sound of her whimpering cries reached me. Rage boiled my blood until it thickened and hardened in my veins.

I forced the rage down into the pit of my belly where it’d be forced to stew with the other acids there until the next evening. There would be no revenge tonight, I had to concede. The huntress inside me seethed, pulling at the reins to be let loose.

But the problem of the girl remained.

I observed her another moment before turning my back on her. It was official: Tonight had been a total waste.

As I disappeared around the corner, I could still hear cruel laughter. I could picture the humiliation spilling out in hot tears all over her face as clearly as if it was a portrait painted on a canvas in front of me.

It took me thirty seconds to reach the blue tower, to slam my hand on the button, for the sirens to swirl and to flash blue and white light on the pavement. They were thirty seconds the girl would never have back.

My breath shortened as I ran back to the apartment building adjacent to the parking lot. The boys had lifted their heads, listening. I pressed myself to the side of the old brick and cupped my hands around my mouth. “Hey,” I said in as loud and as deep of a voice as I could muster. “You. Over there. I’ve called the police.” The boys searched in my direction. I stepped partway out of the shadows, using the hood to mask my hair and face.

The sirens cut through the air. The police really would be there. Soon.

The red light on the camcorder blinked off. “Come on,” I heard Short One say.

As he left, Circus Master took one glance back at the girl still on her knees. He ruffled her hair before spinning to follow his friends.

She fell on all fours, palms biting into the asphalt. Sobs dampened the air. My shoes crunched toward her. “Here.” I grabbed her under the elbow and beneath her armpit and used my weight to pull her upright.

The girl squinted at me. Tears streaked her cheeks. She shook violently, lower lip trembling. Dark, sweaty bangs stuck to her forehead.

I let go of her arm. She nearly toppled over, but caught herself and still managed to stand there blinking at me like I was an alien who’d descended down from a UFO.

“My name’s Lena.” She offered it up like a gift. Her legs quaked and I steadied her.

“Marcy,” I said gruffly, wearily, wishing there weren’t any more girls like Lena but recognizing myself in her all the same. I held on to her until I was sure she could stand on her own. “Make sure you don’t need my help again,” I said, and there was nothing altruistic about my tone. It was a warning.

“But, w-w-wait, don’t I—?” she said. “That’s not your—” Her fingers slid down the sleeve of my sweatshirt as I pulled out of reach.

I didn’t wait. I couldn’t. I tugged the drawstrings of my hood tighter, turned, and walked swiftly away.





FIVE

Cassidy

Honor jabbed me in the ribs and I blinked awake.

“Watch it. You’re about to start drooling,” she said. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, nude flats tucked underneath the pew. Next to Honor, my mom followed along with the sermon in the Bible she shared with my dad.

“Is it almost over?” I whispered.

She nodded and turned her face back to the front. I wiped the corners of my mouth, just in case my sister had been right about the drool. This was hardly the first time I’d fallen asleep during one of Pastor Long’s sermons, but today, I’d managed to sleep through my alarm, plus I was still groggy from missing my coffee. I’d only barely managed to throw on a wrap dress and pin my hair into a passable bun before loading into my dad’s Tahoe. It wasn’t like me to sleep through my alarm. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure I could recall setting it at all.

I yawned and shifted my weight on the pew’s thin cushion. My family had been coming to Hollow Pines Presbyterian ever since we moved here. I’d always loved the purple and green stained glass and the way the windows refracted the light into geometric patterns that shifted on the red carpet of the church’s stage. Everyone that was anyone went to church in Hollow Pines. It didn’t matter if you drank yourself silly the night before or if you’d spent the entire six days prior getting to third base in the back of your boyfriend’s pickup. On Sunday morning, your rear end was in the sanctuary.

I scanned the congregation for familiar faces. Even though I was sleepy, the effects of the Sunshine still hadn’t worn off. Either that or I was truly getting over the last few months of my life. I knew because it hadn’t annoyed me when Dad put his blinker on a hundred yards too early or when Mom sang the hymns too loud. And I was dying to discuss hair choices for Friday night’s basketball game with Paisley. Hair choices! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cared about something as inconsequential as hair choices.