Now I was sleepy and I learned pretty quickly that trying to navigate the crowded halls of the high school while half-asleep could’ve been a plot straight out of one of the dystopian novels I’d read.
Dumping my speech textbook into the steel-gray tomb of my locker, I grabbed my first two classes’ texts, knowing I’d have time to swing by to switch out books later. I closed the door, doing everything in my power not to think about seeing Rider while telling myself that if Keira talked to me today, I would totally respond like a normal person. The door got stuck. Sighing, I pulled it out and put a little more effort into slamming it shut. It latched this time. Satisfied, I hitched up my bag and started to turn.
“You?”
Twisting at the waist, I searched out the sound of the voice and then I saw her. The girl from speech class. The girl who had touched Rider in a way that said that happened a lot and Rider was okay with it.
“It’s you.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “I want to live a life of denial right now, but it’s really you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl with the tiny braids who’d said hi to me yesterday stop a few feet from us, eyeing the locker this girl stood in front of. She backpedaled and spun in the opposite direction.
Oh, man, that wasn’t a good sign.
The girl in front of me pursed glossy pink lips. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
Slowly, I shook my head.
“I know who you are, and not because you’re in my speech class. I just can’t believe it’s you,” she continued. “I figured you’d be dead or something by now.”
My heart dropped to my feet. Second day of school, and I was already getting death threats?
The strap of her beat-up, olive-green messenger bag slipped an inch on her shoulder. “I’m Rider’s girlfriend,” she said flatly.
Oh.
Oh.
Well, that did explain the touching.
There was a weird sensation in my chest. Wasn’t quite disappointment. More like acceptance. Of course, I figured as much yesterday when I saw them walking into class. And he was gorgeous. This girl was stunning. It made sense, even to someone like me who had no experience with the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. But I did watch TV. I read books. I had Ainsley. I knew Rider’s relationship with this girl made sense.
She eyed me speculatively, like she was trying to figure something out. “He’s talked about—”
“What’s goin’ on?” Jayden appeared at the girl’s side. Like out of thin air.
Up close this time, I realized he was probably younger than this girl and me. Maybe a freshman or sophomore? His eyes, the same light green color as Hector’s, weren’t as red as they’d been yesterday when I’d seen him in the hall.
The girl glanced down at him, as surprised as I was to see him. “What do you want?”
“Don’t be a puta, Paige.” Those green eyes rolled, but his lips twitched into a grin as he reached over and tugged on her thick braid. “What are you today? The ghetto Katniss?”
She snatched her braid free. “You don’t even know who Katniss is, you little punk. You probably think The Hunger Games is what happens after you get high.”
Um.
“Sounds about right.” Jayden winked at me, his smile sly. “I know you. We ran into each other in the hall yesterday.” He paused. “And I saw you talkin’ to Rider after class—out in the parking lot.”
My gaze darted to the girl—to Paige. Her stare was glacial. “Are you mute or something? You haven’t said one word to me,” she said.
I was so not mute.
Jayden’s brows knitted together as he eyed her. “That’s a stupid question, Paige. I just said I saw her talkin’ to Rider.”
“You know what?” Her face scrunched up and somehow she managed to still look good. She twisted toward him, planting her hands on her hips. “Boy, you have enough shit going on, you don’t need to be all up in my business.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Brave words from the chick who’s always all up in mine.”
They were obviously distracted with one another, and as the two bickered in a way that said this wasn’t the first or the last time they would, I pivoted around and eased into the mass of students heading to class.
Are you mute?
My cheeks were burning by the time I reached my class, and the embarrassment quickly festered into anger—mostly at myself. I could’ve said something to her, anything, instead of standing there like I didn’t have a functioning tongue.
And God. She was Rider’s girlfriend. For real. The girl that asked me if I was mute, the girl I’d just stood in front of like a loser, was his girlfriend.
I resisted the urge to bang my head on my desk.
Mute.
I hated that word with a passion.
Everyone had believed I was mute—Miss Becky and Mr. Henry, group home workers, CPS. Even Carl had thought that when he and Rosa first met me. Only Rider had known that it wasn’t true. That I could talk just fine.
But I didn’t speak today.
Dr. Taft had this fancy phrase for why I hadn’t spoken for so long—post-traumatic stress syndrome, he called it, because of...of everything I’d experienced as a small child. Half of our therapy sessions had been dedicated to working on coping mechanisms and ways to combat it.
It had taken so much to get to where I was today, to a point where I no longer felt like I needed the therapy sessions, and a handful of minutes made me feel like I’d taken twenty steps backward. Like I was the Mallory I’d been at five years old, and then at ten, and at thirteen—the Mallory who did and said nothing. The Mallory who just stood there in silence because that seemed like the safest route.