The Center

Chapter 2 - it's who is going to stop me."

"What in the ...," Jackson bites back a curse as he fumbles with the gate lock.

"Wasn't me," Fisher whines.

I take in another deep breath, but it doesn't work. The next time I open my mouth, projectile vomit covers the handsome guard and splatters against the corrugated floor.

I close my eyes as my abdomen contracts again.

And again.

And again.

I want to beg Nanny Bella's baby Jesus to make it stop, but since I don't believe in him, I doubt he'll help me much. Doesn't matter anyway, like every other trial in life, the vomiting stops on its own.

Another breath.

Behind me, the sound of giggles reminds me I'm not alone. I collapse against the seat and angrily rub away the hot humiliation leaking down my face. Stupid stomach. Stupid trip. Stupid life. How long before this nightmare stops on its own?

"Are you okay?"

Uh no.

I wipe my mouth, happy to know what I was thinking didn't escape. I check my shoes to see if any puke splattered on them. Nope. Clear from this angle. Above me, Jackson appears more concerned about me than his uniform covered in peanut bits and bile. Idiot. He can keep his pity. "I'm fine."

Jackson locks the gate and hurries off the bus. "I'll be back."

I exhale and turn to see what the others are doing. This is the worst way to start a new school. Seriously, the worst. To my left, Dee Dee's sorrow has turned to shame. And not for herself. She can keep all that feel-sorry-for-me junk. I slug the seat in front of me. This isn't my life. It isn't. My uncle-who does love me by the way-is a senator in New York. I've forgotten people better than these, but a strong sense of fight returns to me.

This situation needs to be taken back into control. I can't enter The Center this low on the food chain. I slide out of my seat and away from the noxious pile of ooze on the floor. In the back of the bus, Fisher bursts out laughing. Not a hard boy laugh, but a surprisingly, sweet, contagious chuckle. He slaps the seat and stomps his unshackled foot. The corners of my mouth pull up. Not just because of his laugh, but because the troll has it right. I haven't done anything that requires pity. And while I don't care what any of these people think, I need to regain some control here.

"Man, that was super cool." Fisher takes another breath and beats the seat again. "The princess lost it all over pretty-boy!"

He offers Jose a high-five and the Latino reaches across two seats to accept.

From their perspective, my humiliation is entertainment. An authentic reaction. I giggle with the boys. What else is there to do? Besides laughing works just as well on the stomach as screaming.

I catch Dee Dee's smile before she hides it in her hand. She faces the window. Faker. I regret wanting to help her. People are so lame, especially those who pretend to care when they really don't. Had too much of that.

For now, I have one piece of business with Fisher before our handsome guard returns. The reform school we're headed to may be a stupid place for parents to store uncontrollable kids, or it could be the hell described in some blogs. Either way, I'm not about to let this back-woods jock think he's the boss.

After a quick glance out the window, I take a step toward the back. Fisher still laughs and points at me like a second-grade bully on a playground.

"You like that?" I ask. Adrenalin tickles its way through my skin. The urge to slap or slug or kick tingles. Probably because I'm fully aware that I can't and won't do it here. I've always understood when and where a fight should happen.

"That was the best." Fisher exhales a deep breath and shakes his head. "The absolute best."

"I guess you no longer want to shank me."

"Sure. You keep up-chucking on the guards, I'll leave you alone."

"Good," I take one last step, estimating the range of his grasp, then lean forward. The curve of my cleavage draws his attention. "Because," -I shine the most flirtatious smile I have in my repertoire- "the day you make a shank and try to use it on me and my little friend here, I'll cut off both of your tiny testicles with it."

Fisher narrows his eyes.

"OHHH!!!" Mario covers a big grin behind his fist.

The jock lunges for me.

I stumble back just out of reach. My heart racing. Anxiety burns on the edge of my flesh. Me and my friend... Not sure why I said that. I don't do friends. I'm all about taking care of me. But something vulnerable about the stupid girl with beads in her braids tugs on me. I shake my head. I roll my eyes at Fisher and the world. I can't keep wasting my time protecting others.

"You'll pay for that." His southern drawl is thickas the mullet on his nape.

"Really?" The mixed surge of satisfaction and fear pulses through my veins. I promised myself that I'd stay out of trouble, but not at the expense of being somebody's toy. I'm scared spitless. No one in this bus can know that, so I harden my voice. "You have no idea who I am and why they sent me here. And until you do, I suggest you keep your douche-bag opinions to yourself." It's a bluff of course. I'm here on drug charges, but I could be a murderer AND a bank robber for all they know.

I blow the short Latino a kiss, hoping that he doesn't notice my hand shaking.

Fisher continues to shout threats as I step over my puke, the putrid acidic smell assaulting my nose. I sit on the front row and lean back. My hands continue to shake as I cross them over my chest. I know how to confront people, but that doesn't mean I like it. I actually hate it. I hate that and I hate boys. Not just the Neanderthal on the back seat, but all of them. Fisher. Father. The flirt, Daniel, who got me sent here. All those Y-chromosome-toilet-wipes can find someone else to mess with because I'm not the one.

Jackson returns wearing a pink, Grand-Junction-Colorado sweat-shirt. I bite my lip to keep from laughing, but Fisher roars.

"Glad you like it." The guard models the puke-free pink. He unlocks the cage and hands me and the three other inmates a bottle of water. "I had no idea you were so nervous."

"I'm not." I sneer at him and even though I'm thirsty, I shove the water into the crack between the seat and the window.

Jackson's laugh lands hard in the air like a shout. The annoying sound triggers more melodic chuckles from Fisher. The guard takes a fifth bottle and dumps it all over the pile of puke on the bus floor. I stare out the window as he cleans up my mess. He can't make me feel bad about that. He can't. Instead, I stare at a sarcastically blue sky and its mocking white clouds. Colorado and the entire world can bite me.