A Bird in Flight | ✔︎

Chapter twelve: Fight and protect

Ensley

CALLAN BECKET IS NOT your type. Stay the hell away from him! I order myself Monday morning at school as I duck around a tall, red headed kid. My books are clutched to my chest, supported by my shaking arms.

Caught up over my worries and thoughts, I nearly collide into a group of girls. I swerve around them but in my haste I end up tripping over my shoes and slamming against the lockers.

Eyes slide over at the noise as the books topple from my arms. I don't go to collect them up though. My attention has been directed and diverted to Madeline Houghton and her shitty boyfriend Jason Bennett standing in front of my locker holding handfuls of flyers and strips of sticky tape. I see my locker coated with tons of these flyers.

"Oh and here she comes!" Houghton says with an evil grin before she accidentally-on-purpose drops the remaining flyers onto the floor. They scatter around and kids pick them up, laughing and exchanging amused glances over at me.

My face is on fire. Ignoring my books on the floor I storm towards her, my hands curled into fists. Pushing aside all thoughts of pretending to act weak and vulnerable so people won't want to befriend me, I stop right in front of the bitch and her boyfriend.

"Wanna see?" She shoves a flyer into my hand and I reluctantly read it. It's a picture of me, only it's photoshopped, showing my most dominant features: My flat chest, my damp cheeks, and wet eyes, my crooked tooth and a slightly fat lip. Besides the picture is Callan. Lots of pictures of Callan with half-naked girls sprawled across his chest and both their tongues in each other's mouths. My eyes follow his hands. Hands that are groping each and everybody lying on top or underneath him. Below all the pictures it says: Can you imagine this freak (probably virgin) with the most gorgeous popular bad boy at school? Or does it push past humanities' comprehension?

I don't cry. I simply stand there, my head hanging over the flyer, absorbing not the words, but the pictures.

The hallway is silent but you can feel the bracing and tense atmosphere brewing. Like there's a fuse and people are waiting for it to be lit.

"She's not crying!" Houghton gasps, putting her hand to her mouth in mock shock.

"I ought to take a picture!" Bennett exclaims, pulling out his phone.

"Hah hah." I roll my eyes, anger boiling the blood beneath my skin. "So funny. Can't you see? I'm laughing my ass off." I don't care what people think, what they say, what they could do to hurt me. I'm too pissed to give a shit. They can see me now. See that I'm not the wuss I make myself out to be. I am going to regret this later but screw it.

Houghton looks faintly surprised that I retorted, but doesn't seem to care. "Ouch, the virgin is sassy."

"I'm not a virgin," I snap.

She lifts her eyebrows, smirking. "Stop lying, honey. It only makes you look pathetic."

I grit my teeth. "Shut the fuck up, you bitch."

"See? Now you're getting all defensive. Nobody sane would sleep with you." Her smile widens.

"I'm not a virgin!" I scream at her, well aware of the crowd surrounding us. "You know nothing about me, you bitch!"

"Liar!" she yells back. "You're insane! You're just some lonely scum obsessed over her sisters who wants someone to love them! Well guess what, sweetheart, that's never going to happen because you're a crazy, sobbing bitch!"

"Well then go screw Callan again!" I scream back. "So kiss and touch him! But he won't love you no matter how many times you come crawling back to him!"