ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Four

  "Hey, Loser!" Trevor's fingers are tangled through my hair as he slams my face into some kid's locker. The cold metal stings my cheek.

"Screw off, Trevor." The words come out muffled with my cheek pressed into my face. I can hear the gasps and giggles from behind me.

"I know you killed my girl," he says. "Why'd you do it? Cause you have some weird crush on her?"

I push back with all my weight. This time he lets me go. I hit the ground hard, sending my books sliding across the concrete. My cheeks go hot as I slide the old exams and half-used notebooks into my bag.

Trevor leans in close, his Axe body spray stinging my throat. He narrows his eyes. I never noticed how bright they are behind the smug grin plastered on his face.

I stare back, biting my cheek. I want to head-butt him but the pounding in my skull reminds me to control my temper.

Our stare-off has attracted quite the audience. Even the Spanish teacher is standing toward the back of the crowd. My sincerest gratitude to the faculty at Jefferson High. Always standing up for the underdog.

"Kyle's going to nail your ass." His lips pull into a cocky smirk as he high fives one of his football friends and they walk away.

I let out a slow breath and continue pushing the books into my backpack as students step over me to get to lunch.

"Hey." Allison clutches her binder to her chest.

"Finally want to talk to me?" I let out a single laugh. She's been avoiding me all day. The walls begin to spin as I push to my feet.

Allison grabs my elbow. "You okay?"

I push my palm into my forehead and close my eyes until the spinning melts away. "It's just the concussion."

We start walking to the cafeteria together but Allison is standing so far from me, you'd think I had a life-threatening disease. "Let's be real. What do you want?"

She shakes her head and stops walking, clutching the binder tighter. "I actually have a study group I need to be at." Her voice shakes. It always shakes when she's lying. "I'll see you around." Her eyes are glued to the ground as she darts down the hall.

I make my way to the cafeteria and stuff myself into a corner table. Without Allison, I'm a loner. Everyone stares at me; whispers about me being a murderer. Or maybe it's all in my head. Maybe nobody cares at all.

Every time I think I've heard all the conspiracies about me killing Claire, another one pops up. Some of them are insulting, some hurtful, all of them are bullshit. But I try not to hold a grudge. I would be curious too.

There's a small tap on my shoulder. I turn to the bald and wrinkled Mr. Smith, our guidance counselor, still holding a sandwich in one hand.

"You have an appointment. You're excused for the rest of the day," he says as he takes a bite of his sandwich, sighs, and walks back to his office.

I have mandatory counseling once or twice a month until the case is cleared up. They're hoping they can jog my memory and get more information about Claire's death. Or disappearance. Whatever they're calling it now.

If people weren't staring before, they are now. The room is thick with silence as I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. It's that kind of energy that begs for answers.

Someone, probably Trevor, lets out a hearty, "Freak!" It echoes off the walls until the room is exploding with laughter.

I ignore it and walk to the parking lot as fast as I can. I want to get as far from this place as possible, but as I pull my dad's keys from my jean pocket, a slick, black Mercedes with a pink bedazzled license plate holder and windows tinted dark enough to hide whoever's inside pulls in front of me.