Pusher

twenty-one.

It was three days before Maverick made his next move.

Part of me still expected a black eye for all the trouble I had put him through, but I was discovering Maverick was a lot more versatile than I originally thought.

I filed into the lunchroom along with the stream of other hungry students, tugging at the rough material that circled my neck. I had run out of my own scarves, so I had to resort to borrowing Ellie's. The mark Maverick left was still too dark to cover up with makeup alone.

My mother didn't say anything about it, but I was pretty sure she caught glances when I was being careless. Not for the first time, I wished I could break down and tell her everything I've been doing for the past weeks. She had always been honest with me, after all, no matter how much it hurt.

But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. Through everything we had endured, she was forced to be the strong one, to make the sacrifices, to summon insurmountable courage. It was my turn to carry some of the burden, even if I felt her drifting farther and farther away at every silent meal.

"What is he doing now?" Ellie said, disgust in her voice. Her nose wrinkled up as she stared across the cafeteria. I followed her gaze.

Maverick caught my eye as he stood up on his seat, preaching over his table. A leather-bound journal was fanned open in his hand, held out in front of him as he read the words in his smooth tone. My journal.

Maverick's voice already carried enough on its own, but with him projecting he was heard from wall to wall of the overflowed mess hall. Thankfully most people were more interested in their lunch than my awful poetry, but enough people had upturned their faces to meet Maverick's words for my face to turn a bright scarlet.

"Blacktop, by Angelica Moore," Maverick said. A grin twisted his words as he saw me throw down my lunch and storm over to him. He began reading anyway.

Maverick wasn't one for senseless revenge. He had some sort of angle. Sure, I was playing right into his hand by letting this get to me, but I wasn't about to sit here and listen to him mock my thoughts right in the middle of the lunchroom.

When Maverick first saw my journal, he called it a diary. He wasn't exactly far from the truth. All my secrets were poured into those pages. Everything I couldn't tell Miles or Ellie or my Mom ended up stained into the paper. Worst fears. Senseless dreams. Money problems. My bisexuality. My father. My crushes. Everything.

And now all of those secrets were in the hands of the one person who would ever dream of using them against me.

"Give it back, Maverick." It was as if I hadn't spoken at all. He carried on with his reading, his voice booming even louder than before. Stares were sticking to us as I waited beside his chair, arms tightly crossed over my chest. My cheeks were growing redder by the second.

"Cut it out," I groaned in frustration, making a move to get closer. He spotted me out of the corner of his eye and hopped up on the table, rooting his black boots among styrofoam lunch trays. My gaze glanced down to Ducky and Sticks. Solomon's lips were tweaked with laugher, but Ducky's usual frown had only deepened as Maverick almost kicked over his water. I wasn't about to get any help from them, or anyone in this lunchroom for that matter.

"For Christ's sake, Maverick! What do you want?" I practically screamed out in exasperation. His voice dropped in an instant and the arm holding my journal fell to his side. Nonchalantly, he hopped down off the tabletop, landing close enough to send me stepping back out of reflex.

"I'm glad you asked," he smiled. It was far from friendly. He was back to his cool and collected self, a fire blazing behind a mask of steel.

By now I'm sure he had figured out that I was bluffing about the security cameras. The administration wouldn't come after him. Even if I owned up to Mr. Harlow, it was questionable if my testimony alone was enough to get him expelled. There wasn't any actual evidence.