Once I’m considered to be deescalated, Coach has me escorted to the school guidance counselor, Miss. Cherrybroom.
She stands outside of her office waiting, perfectly manicured nails curled into a fist at her hips. I walk through her open door and chuckle because her office is everything, you’d expect a high school guidance counselor’s office to be: plain and intimidating with a touch of warmth. You know, to remind the unruly that she’s in charge but still understanding.
Miss. Cherrybroom opens my school file as she settles in behind her desk. “Danika Winters.”
My manila folder is thick, having been forced into guidance sessions in California, every emotional outburst, every tear, every fist thrown was documented. I was considered high risk. Relocated from my friends. Terminal mother. Blah blah blah.
“It’s your first day and you’re already getting into a fight.” A sigh escapes Miss. Cherrybroom’s thin coral lips, “I guess this is my fault. I should have scheduled to meet with you this morning,”
I shift in the oversized plush chair. “No. You should switch my classes. Melody is the devil.”
“Seems like you’ve always been a fighter.” Miss. Cherrybroom ignores my request. She flips through my file, silently skimming through each page. “Until the spring of last year. The fighting stopped, even while you were a victim of bullying.”
Her big eyes widen as she mumbles “oh my” under her breath. I know what she sees. I don’t need her to remind me of what I’ve been through. I clear my throat and Miss. Cherrybroom abruptly shuts my overstuffed manila folder. “Your last counselor was very...uh...detailed in her notes.”
“But not in her actions,” I whisper.
“Hmm?”
“Look, ma’am, Melody doesn’t like me for whatever reason and she’s made it clear that I’m on her radar. I want out of that class.”
Cherrybroom’s thin lips press into a line. “Miss. Winters, I’m not sure how they did things at your old school but here at St. A’s, students don’t make demands.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, you’ve glanced at my file. Last year was shit.” My Apple Watch vibrates, alerting me that my heart rate is well above normal for a resting rate. I bet it is. Just thinking about last year makes my skin crawl. “You don’t want to intentionally subject me to additional bullying and risk me hurting myself or others as an act of retaliation. Do you?”
Miss. Cherrybroom raises one perfectly shaped, penciled in eyebrow at me. “Do you honestly think changing one class is going to make any difference?”
“Did you really just ask me that?”
Miss. Cherrybroom sighs and sags back into her seat. “No. I guess I didn’t. Let me see what I can do.”
3
Danika
I smile down at my new schedule. Miss. Cherrybroom moved P.E. to second period, swapping it with math. I know she’s right, switching one class won’t make a huge difference if Melody is intent on making my life hell this year. But the less time I spend with her, the less opportunities she has to try and torment me.
“Hey!” I shout as the paper is snatched from my fingers.
Logan glances at my new class list, a frown falling across his face and even then he’s still beautiful. Beautiful but hateful. I bite the corner of my bottom lip. These feelings he’s stirring up are going to break me if I don’t get them under control. I do not like him. I do not like him. I do not like him….
“Are you stalking me?”
“Says the guy who sought me out and stole my paper.” I reach for my schedule, but Logan holds it in the air, just out of my reach. Black ink of a tattoo peeks from beneath the long sleeve on his left arm, which instantly knocks Logan’s hotness down from nine to one. I hate tattoos. Do I though?
“You switched your roster to be in two of my classes.”
I stop jumping and set my hands on my hips. A crowd has begun to form around us and I refuse to be their circus monkey. “Why are you being such a dick? This isn’t like you.”
Logan shoves the paper at my chest, knocking me back a step and against the locker. He leans in close, whispering, “I swear to god, Danika, if you breathe one word about that night, I’ll end you.”
“What night?”
“Exactly.” He pushes off and strolls down the hallway, grabbing the red-headed girl from P.E. by the hand as he goes. She’s more than happy to follow, skipping like she’s just won the lottery.
I swallow hard and try to remember that somewhere deep deep inside Logan is the kid I used to be friends with. Whatever it is he thinks I know has got him wound up tighter than a gnat's ass.
“What was that about?” Sarah asks, looking over her shoulder as Logan pulls the red-head into an empty classroom.
I shake my head. “I don’t honestly know.”
Sarah shrugs and links her arm in mine. “Men.”
I stare out the window on the ride back to my house. Sarah’s rambling on about her day and the newest gossip. I’ve tuned her out, trying to scan my memories for whatever secret Logan thinks I know.
We went to school together from kindergarten all the way through the eighth grade, as did more than half of the senior class. I didn’t know Logan back in my elementary years. I mean, I knew him but didn’t know him. That was when boys sat with boys and girls sat with girls. Except for Piper. When she came in the second grade, Cooper never gave her the chance to sit with us. He took Piper to her own table and it’s been that way ever since.
I didn’t take notice of Logan until halfway through the sixth grade. He was always the quiet, blend into the background type. That particular day both Piper and Cooper were absent. Sixth grade was when the cliques began to form, the same stupid cliques roaming our high school halls today. Logan sat by himself that day, not having any friends of his own that weren’t Cooper’s, and I felt bad for him.
That was the day we became friends.
We ate lunch together up until we graduated middle school, just the two of us, even though it made Sarah ridiculously jealous. But nothing we talked about stands out. I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is he thinks it is that I know.
Sarah waves her hand in my face. “Earth to Danika.”
“Huh?” I blink twice and realize we’re sitting in my driveway. “Sorry. I guess I zoned out.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
Sarah looks at me skeptically. She was the only person that kept in touch after I moved. Even though years had passed since we’d hung out, we picked up this past weekend like I’d never left. “I know Melody can be a royal cunt but give her time. She’ll get used to you.”
“I don’t know. She seems to hate me.”
“Don’t take it personally. Melody hates everyone, herself included.”
I force a smile and Sarah squeezes my arm. “Hang in there. It’ll get better. First days are always the worst.”
We both turn our heads at the roar of Logan’s engine as he skids into his driveway. He gets out, slamming his car door and glares our way. I know he can see me; Sarah’s windows are barely tinted. Logan flips us the bird then hurries up the front steps into his house.