The Slope Rules Page 16

  It can’t.

  Tears well in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re putting up with this.”

  My chest tightens just thinking about Bri, but it’s not like I have a choice. “She can’t do this forever. One of these times I’ll see her coming and I swear I’ll knock her on her bunnied-ass.”

  “I want to be there for that!”

  But the morning is oddly quiet. Mike and I eat in the cafeteria, but as far away as we can get from her former friends. I catch Evan looking at us a couple times, but so far he hasn’t approached me. I’m a little surprised he’s caving to Brianna after everything he said, but I can’t say I blame him. After seeing how she’s treating me, maybe he’s decided it’s easier to be a follower.

  But still.

  I leave lunch a little early to meet Blake outside of English and breathe a sigh of relief when I see him leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, arms crossed over his chest. He smiles that adorable crooked smile when he sees me. I want to fall into his arms but there are too many people around, even for the end of lunch, plus we haven’t really kissed since Saturday and I don’t think Ms. Simpson would appreciate having to climb over us to get into her classroom. I settle for stopping inches in front of him.

  He scans my face. “Everything okay?”

  I haven’t told him about the non-stop onslaught, but he has to have heard something by now. “Just a little tired.”

  “I wish it was already Friday.”

  Friday, when I can finally escape their harassment, but wait—he’s smiling at me again and—oh! He means our date! I smile a moment too late. “Me too.”

  He cocks his head. “You sure?”

  “Yes, more than you know.” Okay, that might have been overkill, but I can’t help it. He’s so freaking hot that I just want to—oops, now I’m touching his chest. It’s like my body has a mind of it’s own and—oh! He’s leaning in. Finally! His lips press against mine and I relax against him. His arms wrap around me and I’m reaching for his face when something hits me in the back of the head and my lip explodes in Blake’s mouth.

  Blake opens his eyes. “What the hell was that?”

  I run my tongue over my lip. Blood. I am freaking bleeding.

  That’s it. I slam my books on the ground and whirl around. “Enough!” I shout. To my surprise, Brianna’s standing there, hands on her hips. Her presence startles me and I lose my momentum. Why didn’t she run away? Why is this time different?

  Blake steps around me and glares at Brianna.

  Her steely gaze falters for a beat, but she doesn’t back down.

  “What. The. Hell. Was. That?” Blake enunciates each word so sharply that Brianna blinks with each one. She glances over her shoulder like maybe she’s regretting staying this time, but it’s too late now.

  She points at me. “Ask your girlfriend.”

  I shrug. “Brianna’s got the hots for me and has reverted to elementary school where you assault the one you love.” The look on her face—eyes wide, blush rapidly covering her face—almost makes the abuse worth it.

  “I—what?! No!” She steps toward me but Blake blocks her approach. She points a perfectly manicured finger at me. “You know exactly what this is about.”

  “Yeah, I called you out for being a bitch and—shocking—you’ve responded by being an even bigger bitch.” I’m about to accuse her of stealing Dad’s notebook but I suddenly realize that all traffic in the hallway has stopped, pushing the three of us into the middle of an MMA cage. Any minute bets will be placed on who will win. Considering I’m already bleeding, my guess is the odds are in her favor, but they don’t know that my body can take a hit and keep going.

  Blake looks between us and settles on Bri, but points at me. “I don’t know what crawled up your ass and made you worse than usual, but it’s gone too far. She’s bleeding.”

  I touch my lip. My finger comes away bloodier than I expected.

  Brianna’s faces shifts from red to ghostly pale in a heartbeat. “She deserves it for—”

  A shrill whistle makes everyone jump. “Get to class!” Ms. Simpson stands at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. Her gaze rakes over each student. “Now.”

  Brianna turns to flee but Ms. Simpson catches her arm. “Not so fast, Miss Vines.” She looks at me, then Blake. “All three of you to the principal’s office.”

  The crowd scatters and Blake and I fall in step toward the office, Brianna trailing a dozen yards behind us.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he says low enough so Brianna can’t hear.

  I press my sleeve against my lip, then yank it away. I’ve ruined my favorite sweater! “That bitch!”

  “Cally.”

  “It’s about Mike.”

  “She wasn’t even there.”

  “I know. I convinced Mike to break up with the Snow Bitches and they’re taking it out on me.”

  He stops with his hand on my arm, then looks back at Brianna and keeps moving. “You’re taking this abuse for someone else?”

  “Mike’s the one being abused. I know she’s not like them and I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.” The weight of the past week lightens from finally telling someone. I don’t regret going through this for Mike, but you can only be pushed and tripped for so long before you start to question if it’s worth it.

  He squeezes my arm. “She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

  “Only if I survive.”

  We enter the principal’s office but Ms. Simpson must not have called down yet because the secretary doesn’t know why we’re there. Brianna enters behind us and I clench my fists at my sides. Falling on her bunny-ass is minor compared to what I want to do to her now.

  Blake must notice my reaction because he tugs me to the far end of the office. I glare at Brianna with my arms crossed until Ms. Simpson opens the door.

  “We need to see Mr. Taft.”

  The secretary ushers us past her desk into the epicenter of the school.

  I met the principal my first week, but since then I’ve only seen him strolling the halls. Word is he likes to mingle with his students so he knows what’s going on, but right now his usual relaxed smile is replaced with scowl. His gaze lands on me and stays there. “Miss Clarke, why are you bleeding?”

  I point at Brianna. “She pushed me.” I leave out that it was technically Blake’s teeth that broke the skin.

  He turns to Brianna, but he doesn’t just turn his head—his entire body shifts so all his focus is on her. “Is this true?”

  Brianna shrugs.

  “A verbal answer, please.”

  “I might have bumped into her when I was adjusting my book bag. The halls were really crowded.” Her normally ice-cold expression melts into one of utter sincerity: wide eyes, full lips pulling into a frown, brow creased in concern.

  But all I see is her noticeable lack of a book bag.

  “Mr. Taft, you know I would never intentionally hurt anyone.”

  He clears his throat. “What I know is Cally is bleeding and Ms. Simpson felt that whatever happened was bad enough that she’s missing class to be here. So let’s try again.”

  Brianna seems to crumble under his stare. Her shoulders droop and the fake frown turns real. “Cally stole my best friend.”

  I choke on a laugh. Best friend?

  Their eyes shift to me, waiting for a response. Blake’s hand finds the small of my back and I draw courage from his touch. “Mike is not her best friend. She treats her like crap. Granted she hasn’t made her bleed...”

  Mr. Taft pulls a tissue from a box on his desk and hands it to me. “It sounds like we have some hurt feelings here. High school is a time for discovering who you are and,” he pauses, “that often means making new friends. Brianna, I’m sorry if you feel like Cally stole your friend, but I suspect this won’t have much ef
fect on your social calendar.”

  I cover my mouth with the tissue to keep from laughing. He can’t know how important that is to her, can he?

  “But—”

  Mr. Taft cuts her off. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t tolerate fighting in my school.”

  “I told you, I tripped.”

  Ms. Simpson coughs, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes meet mine and I swear she’s trying not to smile.

  Mr. Taft lowers his head until his chin is almost touching his chest. His stare makes me squirm and he’s not even looking at me. “You tripped, or you hit her with your bag?”

  “I—” Any attitude left in Brianna dissolves into tears. I’m a little offended she’s resorting to this. I figured she had more pride.

  “The penalty for fighting is three days suspension, but—”

  “What?! I can’t be suspended! Do you know what this will do to—”

  “BUT,” he continues. “Because you seem to regret your error in judgment, I’ll shorten it to one day.”

  The only thing Brianna regrets is getting caught.

  If the tears were fake before, they’re real now. “Mr. Taft, please don’t suspend me. My parents will kill me.”

  Ms. Simpson touches her back. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you started bullying Cally.”

  The word catches me off guard. Everything about Brianna screams bully, but I refuse to believe that’s what this is. That would make me a victim. And I’m not a victim.

  “I’m not a bully. I told you, I was upset because of Mike.” She sniffs as she looks Ms. Simpson in the eye. “I really didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  Maybe getting suspended will snap the attitude out of her. It’s doubtful she’ll change, but hopefully this thing with Mike will be over.

  Mr. Taft sighs. “You’re excused. Get a note for your class before you leave. A letter will be emailed to both your parents at the end of the day.” He smiles, but it’s a sad smile, like he’s said these words more often than he’d prefer. “I like to give students a chance to tell their parents first.”

  Brianna leaves without another word. Mr. Taft looks at me. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Just this week.”

  Blake stiffens. “Is she why you tripped on Monday?”

  I nod.

  “Do you need to see the nurse?” Ms Simpson asks.

  I touch my lip. The bleeding has stopped but it hurts like hell. “I’d just like to get to class.”

  She looks at Mr. Taft. “I’ll have the incident report to you by the end of the day.”

  “Thank you.” We turn to leave but Mr. Taft stops me. “Cally.”

  I face him.

  “Let me know if this continues. I don’t tolerate bullying in my school.”

  “Okay.” I hadn’t really considered what Brianna was doing to be bullying, but when seen from an adult’s perspective, I guess that’s what it was. Being surrounded by guys, I never gave two thoughts about being bullied because they always protected me. Another fun thing I’ve learned at my new school.

  Ms. Simpson leads us back to her classroom. “Cally, I’d like to talk to you about your essay.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, quite the opposite. I really enjoyed it. And I must say, I’m a little surprised that anyone who can do the maneuvers you can would put up with someone like Brianna.”

  “I was trying to help Mike. It seemed like as long as Bri’s energy was focused on me, she ignored Mike.”

  Blake slides his fingers through mine.

  She tucks her hair behind her ear. “So maybe what she said about considering Mike to be her best friend was true.”

  Blake snorts. “She sure has a funny way of treating her friends.” The bitterness in his voice is heavier than I’ve ever heard it.

  “That may be true, but maybe it’s the only way she knows.” She sighs. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you stop by my class at the end of the day? I’d like to talk to you about your other topics.”

  I freeze.

  Blake’s hand is still on mine and my sudden stop jerks his arm. He raises an eyebrow at me.

  Mom.

  By the end of the day, the entire school has heard about the pseudo-fight and Brianna’s suspension. “Her parents really are going to kill her,” Mike says. I’m glad Bri got the punishment she deserves, but I’m too focused on talking to Ms. Simpson about my mom to worry about that now.

  I knock on the open door to her classroom and she waves me in with a smile.

  “Have a seat.” She gestures to the seat directly in front of her desk but instead of sitting in her chair, she settles into the desk next to me. Her eyes are bright and she’s clutching my paper like it’s something far more valuable than a sophomore English essay. “I should start by telling you that I was on the ski team in high school.”

  “You?”

  She gives me the side-eye, but her smile makes it clear she’s teasing. “Yeah, me. I was in high school once, too.”

  I blush, feeling stupid. “Sorry. I guess I never really thought about teachers being kids.”

  “It’s okay. I’m telling you this so you understand why your essay has me so worked up. Cally, I’ve never met a girl who can do the tricks you describe.”

  I’m about to rattle off my heroes—Hannah Kearney, Devin Logan—when she continues.

  “I know there are professionals, but I’ve never met one in person.” She shifts in her seat. “I checked with Coach Michaels and he said you’re not on the ski team.”

  Her excitement is contagious, but one mention of the ski team and my energy deflates. “I was on the team back home but I moved here too late to get on this team.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  I shake my head. “My dad checked before I started classes. I’m planning to enter the Dash at the end of the season. The top finishers from here and Nederland get a guaranteed spot. If it was based on tricks and stuff I’d say yeah, I’ve got it, but it’s not.”

  “Have you been practicing?”

  I shrug. “Not as much as I should. I’m running but the altitude here is killer.”

  She smiles. “If you don’t win, will you still try out next year?”

  I cock my head. Not trying out never entered my mind. “Definitely. But if I can get on the team this school year, I can practice with them over the summer.”

  She straightens my paper. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  I like Ms. Simpson. It’s clear she has an agenda other than my writing prowess but she seems genuinely interested in me—she’s not faking like some teachers do.

  “The reason I want to talk to you about your other three essays is I want to make sure you branch beyond skiing for your topics. It’s clear you have a passion—rightly so—but I want to hear about the other things in your life.” She pauses. “Have you given thought to what else you’ll write about?”

  I knew this was coming, yet I can’t stop the anxiety that creeps through my belly, up my throat, thickening my tongue and making it almost impossible to breathe. I nod.

  Concern creases her face. She rests her hand on my arm. “What is it?”

  I take a shaky breath. “Actually, I need help with my other topics.”

  Her brows furrow. “This sounds more serious than skiing.”

  And it all spills out of me. Mom. The accident. How I miss her every day and wish with all my heart that she was still here with me and Dad. How I can’t ride on the left side of a car because—even though I never saw her after the accident—all I see is her battered body in the driver’s seat. How I’ve always gravitated toward boys because that’s what I know and suddenly I’m at war with the bitchiest girl in school when all I want is to be on the ski team and find friends who are normal.

>   I wipe my face with my sleeve and sniff loudly.

  Ms. Simpson is quiet for a moment longer. “Wow,” she says softly. “You’re carrying a lot with you.”

  I sniff again. “The best day of my life was easy. It’s the other three that terrify me. I’ve talked about Mom to lots of people, but I’ve never written about her. At least not when someone else is going to read it.”

  “I think it might be good for you to try. And I don’t want you to write it with the fear that others will read it. Part of your grade is to read one of your essays to the class, so read the skiing one and the rest will stay between you and me.”

  I smile, but it’s the most pitiful smile known to man. “So which essay should be about her? Worst day, most memorable, or event that changed my life?”

  She doesn’t answer right away. “Let’s use the process of elimination. For which topic can you most easily think of another day?”

  “I guess moving here for the event that changed my life. But that’s the last one.”

  “What if I allow you to shuffle the order a bit? That will give you more time to think about the other two.”

  “Really?”

  She rests her hand on my arm. “I’m here to help you become a better writer and hopefully gain some introspection. The order in which you write your essays won’t change that.” She winks. “Just don’t tell the other students.”

  I slump in my seat, suddenly exhausted. She’s so sympathetic that I’m tempted to tell her more about the bullying, to get her perspective on how to survive high school, but I hold back. This is about all I can handle in one day. “Thank you so much.”

  “Just promise me one thing.”

  “Sure.”

  “Save me a seat at the Dash.”

  ***

  My energy slowly returns on the drive to Eldora. Dad’s still quiet, but I can’t tell if his anger about the notebook has faded or if he’s bottled it up so tight that he’s going to explode.