He just walked into the room, his steps slowing as his gaze finds the table where his friends are seated. Bennett, Giovanni and Jamie all give him cold looks—while Parker doesn't even bother glancing his way—causing his shoulders to slump. Looking defeated, he goes to join his football teammates instead.
My heart squeezes in my chest at seeing Liam like that. Even after what he did, I still manage to feel sorry for him.
"Serves him right," Quinn scoffs, apparently watching the scene as well. "He totally deserves their hostility." She pauses. "Do you think Parker will kick his ass after school? I'll make sure to watch."
"I doubt it," Brayden says. "Their friends would be there to stop it."
"What friends? They won't even let him sit at their table. He's no longer a part of the Hot Boys Club. God, I can't wait for his popularity to hit rock bottom."
I doubt that will ever happen. Liam is the star quarterback and the team captain. And now he's dating Peyton, a cheerleader. Regardless of how their relationship started, they're still very much a perfect match to everyone's eyes.
Then they'll see me as someone who tried her hand at being popular but ultimately failed. That would be devastating if I cared at all about social hierarchy. But I'd rather stay on the sidelines, away from the drama.
Now, if only that's easy.
*******
When the last period bell rings, I step out of Math class and weave my way to the girls' bathroom, ignoring the different sets of eyes boring into me.
I can't wait for the next hot gossip to hit the school. It's only been a day, but these pitying looks and mocking stares are already getting old. Why can't they just direct all their attention to Liam and Peyton? They're the only ones at fault, not me. I'm just unfortunate to be caught in the drama.
Walking into the bathroom, I go rigid when my eyes find Peyton's in the mirror.
Everyone inside stops what they're doing to stare at us.
The feeling of being closed in by walls sets in once again, and it's all I can do not to turn back and run away from here. To put some space between us. To not be around her if I can help it. But why should I? I didn't do anything wrong. There's no reason for me to hide or avoid anyone.
Plus, I really need to relieve my bladder.
Breaking eye contact, I enter one of the stalls, silently hoping she's already gone when I step out.
No such luck, though. She's still in front of the mirror, reapplying makeup and fluffing her short brown hair. Is she going on a date with Liam?
My chest tightens, pain shooting through me at the thought, but I brush it off, not wanting her to see the emotion showing on my face. I can't give her any ammunition to use against me. She's done enough damage.
Putting my poker face on, I approach the vanity and park myself next to Carson, so she can serve as a "buffer" between us.
Tossing her dark red hair over her shoulder, Carson raises an eyebrow at me, silently telling me that she knows what I'm doing.
I give her a faint smile before turning to the mirror, running a hand down my uniform.
It consists of a white polo shirt underneath a blue V-neck sweater bearing the school's crest, and a black plaid skirt that stops above the knees. Students are allowed to pair uniforms with different shoes and colors as long as they're closed-toe, so my feet are enclosed in a pair of black low ankle boots today.
Since my hair is already swept up in a neat ponytail, and I just reapplied makeup an hour ago, I don't bother with touch-ups. I simply wash my hands. The quicker I get done anyway, the faster I can get out of here.
"He always wanted me."
Gasps ring out in shock just as my back stiffens. So much for thinking I'd be able to get out fast. Regaining my composure, I snap my head to Peyton.
Carson looks just as taken aback, but she quickly recovers. "Everyone out," she orders.
When the head cheerleader issues a command, everybody follows, until there's no one left other than the three of us.
"You're welcome," she tells us just before stepping out of the bathroom herself.
But I can't muster gratitude right now. Her words just dawned on me. "What did you just say?"
Peyton lifts her chin, smug. "I said, Liam always wanted me. I'm the one he wanted from the start. Not you." She punctuates that by looking me over from head to toe, as if to tell me she doesn't think I'm pretty enough to be wanted by my ex-boyfriend.
I may not be as gorgeous as Peyton—who's easily one of the most beautiful girls in school—but I'm happy with the way I look. I'm confident in my own skin, and I'll never let anyone make me feel inferior, least of all her.
But something tells me she's not talking about my physical appearance at all. It's deeper than that. In fact, I sense bitterness and resentment coming off of her. But why? Between the two of us, after what she did to me, I should be the one feeling that way.
"Why are you acting like a total bitch right now?" I snap back at her. "Shouldn't you be asking for my forgiveness?"
"Why should I? You took Liam from me."
I gape at her. "What are you talking about? When was he ever yours? Parker was your boyfriend. You've always had him, not Liam."
"That's what you think. Parker never wanted me. Not really." Her gaze turns colder, harder. Like it's my fault that her ex-boyfriend feels that way.
But it doesn't make sense. I have nothing to do with however Parker feels toward her. It's between the two of them. And she said I took Liam from her? Where did that come from?
Seriously, is there even a point to this conversation? She's
