Made You Up(14)

Miles and Jetta stood at the scorer’s table. When I walked up to them, they fell silent; I was pretty sure they hadn’t been speaking English.

“What?” Miles snapped.

“Do you need me for anything or can I go home?”

“Yeah, go.” He turned back to Jetta.

“Bis sp?ter, Alex!” Jetta smiled and waved as I walked away. Apparently any feelings I’d hurt by not shaking her hand had been forgotten.

“Um. See you,” I replied.

Outside the school was pandemonium. I expected big crowds after football games, but this looked like the entire school had formed one huge tailgating party. At eight at night. After a volleyball game. On the first day of school.

There was no way I could do a sufficient perimeter check here, so I went for plan B: Get out. I wheeled Erwin out of the bushes where I’d hidden him, and hoped to God no one noticed me. The people closest to the school entrance were the men still standing on the roof, the few football players probably waiting for their girlfriends, and Celia Hendricks and two other girls, doing who the hell knows what.

“Nice bike!” Celia called over her shoulder, flipping her bleached hair out of the way. Her two friends stifled laughs. “Where’d you get it?”

“Egypt,” I said, trying to figure out if she was serious.

Celia laughed. “Remind me never to go to Egypt.”

I ignored her and continued past the football players. I didn’t get far; all 230 pounds of Cliff Ackerley fell into step beside me. “Hey, you’re the new girl, right?”

“Yes.” His closeness sent shivers crawling up my spine. I veered away to put some distance between us.

He planted himself in front of me, pointed at my hair, and yelled, “HILLPARK FAN!”

A thunderous, rolling BOO instantly rose from the crowd. Most of them probably had no clue I’d actually gone to Hillpark, but brandishing any kind of red around here was asking for trouble.

I tried to move around Cliff, but he stuck his foot on Erwin’s front tire and pushed. “What the hell?” I stumbled backward to keep Erwin upright.

“What the hell?” one of the other guys mocked in a high falsetto, a million times more sinister than when Tucker had done it at work the night before. The rest of Cliff’s friends circled around me. I squeezed tighter against Erwin. Either these guys were all drunk or they were all douche bags. If they were drunk, they were less likely to see reason but also less likely to catch me if I ran for it. But I couldn’t run with Erwin. Maybe I could use him as a shield. That meant leaving him behind, and the last thing I wanted to do was leave Erwin behind. No matter how I played this situation, Outlook not so good.

“Why don’t you stop being a dick and get out of my way?”

“Ooh, harsh words.” Cliff grinned. “Here’s the deal— I’ll let you by if you agree to let us dye your hair green.”

“My hair isn’t dyed; it’s naturally this red. And no.”

“Fine, then we’ll shave it off. Jones has a razor in his car, don’t you, Jones?”

I backed away, tugging on a lock of hair. I’d seen documentaries about stuff like this. Bullying, student brutality. They wouldn’t really shave my head, would they? But there were so many people, all watching, waiting. The men in suits on the roof weren’t doing a thing—so much for school security.

The ring of people drew in tighter. There was no . . . I wouldn’t be able to get out . . . Maybe I could kick Ackerley in the balls and call it a day . . . .

Then everyone went quiet. Cliff’s gaze roamed to a spot above my shoulder.

Miles stood there, staring Cliff down. The Light triplets at his side.

Cliff scoffed. “Need something, Richter?”

“Not at all.” Miles shrugged. “Please, continue.”

Cliff narrowed his eyes and took a step back, looking me over. He leaned to the side and peered around me.

“Problem?” I asked.

Cliff scoffed again and stepped out of my way, his lips curling in distaste. Miles and the triplets moved to flank me, helping clear a path through the party. There were no more boos, no jeering, no search for razors. But when I looked back, Cliff and his friends had their heads together, and past them, Celia glared daggers at me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Didn’t do it for you.” Miles stopped beside a rusty sky-blue pickup on the far edge of the parking lot. He yanked the driver’s door open and tossed his bag in. “I really hate that guy.”