Page 88 of Jerk

I nod. “Am I in trouble?”

His eyes wander around my face before they fall to the bracelet on my wrist. “Have you had orientation?”

“No.”

“No,Sir,” he corrects.

“Uh, n-no, sir.” I hate the way I stammer, but this place is something I’ve never experienced before. The room quiets, and I hope he can’t hear me gulp down a glob of spit, my throat drier than this room. Crossing his arms, he looks me over again. It’s a look I haven’t felt in months, like I’m not the problem.

“Go to your room,” he sighs, glancing at the door behind him. “You don’t want to be here when he comes back.”

My brows knit as I whisper, “The Rockstar?”

His forehead creases, a look of confusion washing over him. I can’t tell how old he is. He could be my mother’s age, but he could also be fresh out of college. He glances at the door behind him again.

"Go to your room and write a reflection," he says. "Something about obedience.” He juts his chin towards the back of the room. Looking over my shoulder, a long red carpet leads to two large wooden double doors. “Go.” There’s an urgency in his calmness that I don’t miss. So I take my cue and head to the door.

I can't make sense of this place, and I'm not sure I want to.

A long hallway greets me when I’m through the chapel doors, beige stone and wood colliding. This place is older than Saint Bons. Definitely older than The Hill. A skylight brightens my path as I rush down the hall, this place feeling more like a monastery than a school. Stone archways. Large gothic windows. If I’m being honest, I don’t even want to go back to my room. It’s so Jail Cell Couture. Basic. But at least I’ll be alone again.

Moving by a large bookcase with leather-bound titles, I do a double-take when I pass someone who looks familiar.

My feet slow as I come next to a bench, my head turning to my potential hallucination. “Krystal?”

She looks up from where she sits, a rosary in her hand. Her face twists as she looks around, then back at me. The dark circles under her eyes remind me of mine, and her skin looks paler than ever. But I can see it turning red by the second.

She blinks, as if she's asking herself the same question. Is she really here?

Then, after a beat, she charges at me.

I hold my ground as my hands turn to fists. A blaze burns through me I’ve never felt before, the events from the last weeks flicking through my head. Krystal with my friends. Krystal on the podium. Krystal covered in blood. This rage usually causesme to go into master-planning mode, devising a way to get the upper hand. This time I just want someone to have it. And that someone is her.

Her rosary drops to the ground. My body stiffens.

The last thing I hear is a loud screech from deep within me before our bodies collide.

My fists fly, so do my legs. A pain comes to my arm and my torso, but I keep swinging. It’s not long before we’re on the floor, my body slamming into the hard stone. The pain burns through me as I swing again. She’s quick, getting on top of me before she lands a slap to my face.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she yells.

With my hands on her face, I get on top of her, proud that I managed to flip her around. “Like you killed your father?” I bring my hands to her throat and squeeze.

“Agh!” She claws at my face. I slam her head back, her brother in my head when I do. “This is all your fault!” she screams, trying to flip me over. “You’re the reason I’m here!”

“Ditto!” She gets on top of me, but I manage to kick her off before she pins me. My body aches when I push to my feet. That's when I hear whispers.

The blood drains from my face when I look around. I’ve drawn a crowd again.

That includes the Rockstar from the circle.

The crowd's whispers quiet as Rockstar takes a step forward, students parting for him. “Fighting on Academy property, are we?"

“You don’t want to be here when he comes back.”

Krystal scrambles to her feet. Rockstar stands between us, gazing at Krystal, then at me. My robe is open, revealing my white tank top and shorts. The buttons on Krystal's polo lay on the floor, a rip in her collar.

His eyes linger on Krystal’s blouse. “This is unacceptable.”