That new kid, Masen, is a real piece of work, and I’d had to turn off my phone to ignore the Facebook notifications after lunch. Thank goodness no one had time to snap a picture of him dumping me on my ass in the cafeteria, but that didn’t stop Lyla from posting a meme online, joking about it and tagging me.
Of course, she was “only teasing.”
Whatever. I need to get home anyway.
I was able to get Pre-Calc done at lunch, but I still have some questions from the Novel Study and Government to do tonight.
“Whoa. Is that your locker?” I hear Ten say.
I look down the hallway and spot a pile of belongings spilling out onto the floor. About right where my locker is located.
Ten releases me, and we both jog up to the mess, seeing my locker door hanging open and part of it bent, as if it’s been pried open with a crow bar or something.
What the hell?
I kneel down, my lungs emptying as I sift through my clothes, iPod, and a mountain of papers laying astray from the folders they were neatly organized in previously.
“What the hell happened?” Ten bursts out. “Is anything missing?”
I swing the locker door open wide and survey the remaining contents. The little pink shelves and overhead lamp I’d installed are still in there, as well as my umbrella and fleece jacket I keep in there just in case. I kneel down, surveying the items on the floor and see that all of my books are accounted for as well as the Louboutins and the shirts I hide from my mom.
“I don’t think so,” I say breathlessly, still confused.
Why break into my locker and not take anything?
I look around nervously, noticing no one else’s locker has been vandalized that I can tell.
“I wonder what that means,” Ten says.
“What?” I look up, following his gaze.
He holds my locker door closed, showing me the word written in black Sharpie on the front.
Empty.
I stare at it, confused. What?
My lungs feel heavy, and I search my brain, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Empty? And why just my locker?
I gather up all of my belongings and pack them in my duffel, completely creeped out that someone was doing this while I was at practice. The office is closed now, but I’m definitely reporting this in the morning.
Slipping on my black fleece jacket, I head out to the parking lot with Ten and climb into my car as he hops into his. I immediately lock my doors.
I’ll have to get a new locker tomorrow, too. I can’t carry all this shit with me every day. Even if there’s only a little over a month left of school.
Goddammit. Who would root around in my stuff? Not everyone likes me—in fact, Ten is the only person who probably doesn’t have a motive to piss me off—but no one in particular sticks out. And what if it happens again?
I quickly drive home and pull into my driveway, parking in the garage and seeing no other cars home yet. My sister is probably still in class, and my mother’s car is parked at the airport, waiting for her when she gets back tomorrow morning.
I stare down at my phone screen, sending a quick reply to her text that she sent earlier.
I’ll be home late tomorrow. Cheer…swim…， I type.
K. Dinner will be waiting, she replies. Don’t forget to pack extra food tomorrow.
Yeah, yeah. I stuff my phone in my duffel. A couple nights a week, I stay late at school for cheer practice and then to teach swim lessons for a couple of hours afterward. I have a small break in between to eat something, since I won’t be home for dinner, and to get some homework done.
Closing the garage door, I gather my bags and enter the kitchen through the door off the carport, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge before dashing up the stairs.
I’ll feel better after a shower.
With what happened to my locker and the episode in the cafeteria today, it’s been a long time since I’ve had that feeling. People don’t laugh at me, and guys like him don’t put me in my place. I’m not going to let him in my head like I let them in all those years ago. I’m stronger now.
I swing my bedroom door open and walk in, my bags falling from my hands.
What the fuck?!
“What the hell are you doing?” I shout.
Masen, the new guy, sits in my desk chair, leaning back with his hands locked behind his head. I hear music and glance over at my iPod dock, seeing that he’s playing Garbage’s “Stupid Girl.”
He smirks and stares at me, relaxing as if he hasn’t broken into my house and planted his ass somewhere it doesn’t belong.
“Hello?” I bark. “What are you doing in my room, asshole?”