Page 15 of Dirty Roulette

Chapter nine

Payton

Monday morning wages war against my sins. I clench the map and dig my nails deep into the paper when I pass the group of senior girls with Brittni and her gang. They sit on freshly cut grass in the courtyard and their heads follow me like the Mona Lisa effect.

“Do you think she’s seen it?” Brittni turns to her friends, pretending to gossip quietly, but purposely saying it loud and clear. I guess high school antics die hard.

Naomi twirls the stick of a cherry red lollipop. Her sunglasses slip to the tip of her nose, following my steps.

Gum twirls around Brittni’s finger. “Why is Charlie friends with that girl again?” She asks.

I turn on a heel in the opposite direction.

Ryder tosses a football back and forth between hands, engrossed in talking with Jared as they stride down the sidewalk to the dining halls.

Their laughter dies when Scottie P nudges Ryder, and points his chin to a group of girls ogling at them with their jaws scraping against the floor.

My caged heart thrashes inside my chest, watching Ryder eat up the attention as he gives the girls the football. They squeal in glee, running off.

Ryder’s good at pretending nothing happened. Being a notorious running back who is breaking records isn’t going to kiss and tell. Especially when it’s the girl coming from Cloud Nine. I need to bathe in holy water to wash him off my lips and push the memory into a bottomless pit.

I unfold the map with my schedule and room numbers I scribbled down in a hurry.

The dorm is a mess with unfolded clothes and textbooks.

Not to mention my hair is twisted into the messiest bun in existence, and I’m pretty sure I smeared my mascara this morning.

Which, of course, I didn’t bother to fix.

My brain is on fire and my inner self is screaming at me to pull myself together.

“Hey girly,” Charlie pops out of nowhere, snaps gum between her teeth, and pulls at my damp hair. “You went with the fresh-out-of-the-shower look today, huh?”

“Yeah, I woke up late and forgot to shower last night.” I crumple the map with my heart about to burst open.

“How’s the dorm? Ryder dropped my stuff off after you left.”

“It’s nice.”

“This is bugging me. Can I at least braid your hair?” Charlie digs in her purse for a tiny comb and scrunchy.

Before I can object, her fingers tangle into my hair, working their magic, twisting and weaving a Dutch braid.

She yanks on my hair like a mother does a child. “So, what’s your plan for later?”

“Just unpacking,” I say. She finishes and grabs her stash of lip gloss in her purse.

“Pucker up.” She squeezes the tube and dabs it on my lips.

I shrug. Needles of guilt flood into my bloodstream.

I’m not sure what my plan is. The past two nights, I imagined different scenarios and held conversations with myself about breaking the news to Charlie.

Sleep ceases to exist and I’m running on an empty tank.

She pulls out a compact mirror and admires herself. After every class in high school, she’d be welded to the bathroom mirror, reapplying eyeliner.

“See any cute guys yet?” She asks.

“Not really,” I lie. Her brother is cute, and something is wrong with that thought.

Charlie shakes her head with an annoyed eye roll. “Okay, well, we need to find one to entertain you. I have plans later with Noah. The dude can write some pretty damn good music.”

I glance down at my phone and there are five minutes left before my first class starts.

Hell equals this two-hour advanced psychology course I magically placed in.

I catch Brittni and the other cheerleaders swinging bags over their shoulders.

Some of them glance back at me with resting bitch faces; so I look away, pretending I never saw them.

Charlie keeps talking, her mouth moving, but I shut out her voice like she’s on mute without the subtitles.

I’m looking beyond her and when Ryder half-shakes Scottie P’s hand, his eyes come into my line of vision.

His gray eyes immediately take my breath away.

He smirks at me and it short circuits parts of my brain.

It’s like he ripped out my heart and ran off with it, knowing full-well the damage he’s done.

He hangs onto one leather strap of his book bag, and like clockwork, his right-hand dips into his jean pocket.

His footsteps are smooth against the grass as he heads off.

Immediately, I drop my gaze to my Converse and pretend everything’s fine.

The make-out session lingers at the tip of my lips, and an ominous feeling digs into my chest cavity. At this rate, I’m heading for a panic attack.

“Okay, I’ll see you after lunch. I’m so excited we have French together.

Love yah!” Charlie and I hug, and I inhale a mixture of strawberries and stale cigarettes.

I feel bad about missing half of the conversation, but Charlie didn’t seem to notice.

She blows me a kiss before strutting down the sidewalk.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket and when I pull it out, my skin crawls when I stare down at a text message popping up from an unknown number.

Unknown: Ryder and Crusty Trash sitting in a tree. K.I.S.S.I.N.G

Payton: Who is this?

Unknown: What do you think Charlie will say about this?

A link pops up, and I press it without a second thought. A series of photos and videos airdrop right into my hand.

Disgust with myself seeps into my nervous system, seeing my naked photos in the hands of some asshole.

Charlie and I are crystal clear and I can count each freckle on my shoulders.

An arrow button sits dead center of the embarrassing video of Ryder and I.

Dumb me presses it, and I’m glued to footage of him kissing me down my neck.

His hands are all over me and my thighs burn, reliving it.

Brody and some guys laugh in the background noise of the video, but I find nothing funny about any of it. My vision clouds with hot white light, and my bloody heart spills all over the floor.

I storm to class a heated mess, slamming the bag on the floor.

My thoughts spin and I can’t focus. It’s impossible to calm my leg shaking under the desk.

The professor goes over the syllabus and the types of assignments we will be getting, and the damn book required.

This one chick continues to ask absurd questions, keeping us all stuck in our seats.

Please, someone in here must have duct tape to shove across her mouth.

The classic analog clock on the wall ticking is worse than being in a night terror.

As he talks non-stop to answer every question, I pull out my cell underneath the table.

Payton: Where are you?

Crab: Weight room.

Payton: Is Brody there too?

Crab: Yeah, why?

“Now if you turn to the next page on the syllabus, we will talk about rules on using cellphones in class.” The professor flashes me a quick glance.

I couldn’t prevent the eye roll I gave him as I slid the phone back into my pocket. The packet stares at my face for another fifteen minutes. He tells us something about writing a biography and I miss half of the words he says.

When we are dismissed, I race out the door before anyone else. My gaze stays on the worn muddy blue tiles as I fume down the hallway, staring at the map for the weight room.

I push the Sports Center doors open and footsteps pound into my eardrums. It’s like my lungs are in a mosh pit – one second I can’t breathe at all and the next I’m hyperventilating.

At this point, I have zero control. The manual system is overridden and tossed overboard.

I guess the little voice in my head decided to pull a no-call-no-show on me today.

My brain screams. It’s legit, a building on fire, with filing cabinets tipping over.

Some subconscious part of me rocks in the back corner sobbing.

Nothing matters now. I storm into the men’s locker room like a full-blown category-five hurricane.

I funnel through the narrow metal lockers with clenched fists at my sides. Boys in their underwear or nothing at all stare with sweat skating down their faces. It stinks, and I can’t tell if it’s mold or the mixture of hormones perspiring off sweaty bodies.

“Girl, are you lost?” A guy asks in tighty-whitie underwear with a nice bulge greeting me.

I ignore him and shoulder-check another dude who tries to snag my attention.

“Hot chick at five o’clock!” A ginger guy winks, with his leg propped up on a bench with... ... Oh god...A wrinkling ball sack and his shriveled-up penis on full display.

I recoil when I inhale a whiff of cat piss and rotten feet. “Look, it’s the girl from Cloud Nine!” I hear the laughter bouncing off the metal lockers.

Stray clothes litter the benches. The howl of the showers gets closer with each step.

I spot him through the clear shower curtain.

That prick. I whip my backpack off and drop it on the wet floor.

The steam melts my face as I draw the curtain to find Brody.

Sizzling water hammers down his soapy back as he turns to meet my gaze.

His shaggy blond hair drips with foamy water, and his dreamy eyes fuel my blood with rage.

I push Brody hard in the chest. “You’re a piece of shit! Delete those pictures!” I ball my fists and slug at his face multiple times. My heartbeat burns a hole in my knuckles.

“What the hell!” He shouts.

I’m molten hot from the shower raining down on me. I thrash, kick, and slap him repeatedly. “Get this trash off me!”

My palms burn. My bones snap into position before I even know what I’m doing, and I punch him in the chest.

Brody’s bare feet slip on the tile; But he steadies himself, grabs my wrists, and pits me against the ceramic wall.

Drops of blood pour down his nose and into the gurgling drain below. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Delete those pictures!” I snap.