She frowns at me, and I am close enough to smell the faint scent of mothballs and shoe polish emanating from her, which isn’t surprising given she’s wearing a long-sleeve swing dress circa 1950s and a pair of leather boots that stop at her ankles. Not a single strand of salt-and-pepper hair escapes the tight bun at the back of her head.
Headmistress is probably about to throw a demerit my way. She opens her mouth to say something, but a clamor breaks out behind me as an unfortunate boy trips and sends a war diorama flying into the air, raining toy soldiers and fake cannons down on passing students.
“Mr. Jones!” Headmistress shrieks. My shoulders tense at the unforgiving grate in her voice, and I hurry away, grateful her attention is no longer on me.
My stomach pinches again as it grumbles.
I am actually looking forward to chemistry today. Heck, I look forward to it every day because my lab partner reminds me of Ian in all the good ways and none of the bad, except that he too refuses to intervene in Finn Berkshire making Molly’s life miserable.
I have lost count of how many times Archie has asked me out. It has become a joke at this point. While Ian looks at me like he will literally explode if I decline him—which sadly never works—Archie just laughs when I say no. If he would stop refusing to stand up for my friend, I might take him up on his offer, but then again, his reputation precedes him. That boy has so many notches in his bedpost I’d be surprised if his mattress wasn’t already on the floor.
Ian hasn’t given up though. Monday through Friday like clockwork, he hectors me daily, always interjecting naughty words that warm my cheeks and ignite a spark between my legs. He likes to get it over with in the morning and hasn’t destroyed anything else of mine since the notebook-ripping incident. Thank God.
Last week, after Ms. Edmonds complimented me on my interpretation of Troilus’ motives, he spread a rumor that I sleep with my teachers in exchange for good grades. The rumor ended with this poem.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Harlow’s in bed with the Headmistress too.
Pestering me has become like a game to him, and I feel like a freak because I look forward to every turn to play. He’s my secret guilty addiction. Whereas Finn bullying me felt hostile and full of rage, Ian mostly stays to some strange combination of flirtation and pranks.
I try to not think about Ian though because I can’t give in, not to Archie and not to him. Last Friday night, I went to a football game with Raven. We won, certifying the football team’s position in the New York semi-championships. As Raven took a picture for the school newspaper, Ian unstrapped his helmet. He was smiling and laughing, still riding the high of the win. He looked up in the stands, his gaze scrolling over the crowd. When he found me, he stopped searching. He just stood there and stared at me until, like a true weirdo, he blew me a kiss, to which Raven—while fanning herself dramatically—muttered, “Oh. My. Gawd. You better call the fire department, girl. That was freakin’ hot.”
As I step outside, the cool air of autumn nips at my cheeks. The stone walkways are nearly deserted, everyone packed into the dining hall or in class. With the Headmistress preoccupied and no patrolling professors, I run, the soles of my shoes slapping against the concrete.
The scent of fresh-cut grass slides into my nostrils as I dart through a parterre garden formed in the shape of the circle, the bushes sculpted with neat, geometrical precision. A fountain in the center bubbles water into an enormous basin lined with small blue tiles. I continue on, running past beds of blue and white hydrangeas that dot the campus alongside gigantic maple trees.
It is a long, mostly uphill walk to my dorm from the main building, but thanks to my desire to not end up on the bad side of Professor Collins, I am at my building within five minutes. My lungs burn, and I know William would smile if he could see me now. I sort of get what he meant about running being cathartic because my mind has calmed to still water.
As I turn the corner to head to the front doors of the dormitory, I hear her scream. I have seen Molly cry and bore witness to the shit she has to endure, but I have never heard anything like her wail. The sound disturbs the stillness inside my head, and the darkness peeks out from along the edges.
Please, not now.
Molly always takes her lunch in the dorm, so it’s no surprise that she is here, but what surprises me is Finn holding her by the throat against the stone wall. Her books and papers lie scattered everywhere, the screen on her tablet shattered.
“Maybe I should just do to you what you did to Darcy,” Finn growls. He is so red with rage his pink scalp peeks out from under his blonde hair.
“Finn,” Molly pleads, but it’s just a whisper I can barely make out. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
“Words won’t bring him back!” Finn roars, and I am frozen, my feet glued to the ground.
Ian said I saw the world in black and white, but now I am seeing it in brilliant color. I want to help her. I want to stop this. I want to know why she’s apologizing.
The only color left on Molly’s face is her nose, red and snotty from crying. She doesn’t even fight Finn. She just clinches her fists like she is determined to control any defense her body may want to provide. Everything I’ve seen done to her, all the times I have watched her cry, yet she never raises a
