Page 4 of Scream Little Sister

Ryder has the upper hand. With his fist gripping Mickey’s hair, he bends him over and punches him in the gut. Jaxon straddles Kyle’s chest as he pummels his face. Aiden and Hawk double-team Conner. One holds him, and the other punches the living daylights out of him.

I curse in my head, angry at myself for hanging out with Mickey after knowing the bull crap he does to other kids.

A whistle blows in the distance. A teacher will be here any second to stop the fight, and it’s not fast enough. I’m not worried about Mickey and his buddies. It’s Ryder and his friends that I’m frightened for. I don’t want them to get in trouble, and I especially don’t want them to get hurt.

Two teachers jog over to us, one still blowing the whistle to get their attention while the other talks through the walkie-talkie, most likely speaking to the office or the old security guard we have here at the school.

“Ryder!” I yell.

My brother ignores me, too lost in the fight with Mickey.

Look at me. Freaking look at me!

“Ryder!” I scream.

He stiffens and turns to me with narrowed eyes. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, and I can’t form words because of the hatred reflected in his gaze. Mickey takes that moment to shove himself out of Ryder’s grip, then hooks his fist into Ryder’s turned cheek. My stepbrother grunts and staggers to the side as Mickey tackles him to the ground.

The teachers shove themselves into the middle of the fight, throwing the boys apart and yelling at them to stop. All I can do is stand here, watching it happen and wishing there was something I could do to stop my brother from getting in trouble.

“To the principal’s office!” The teacher’s voice cracks from her shrill yell. “Stop hitting him!”

Jaxon punches Kyle repeatedly, not listening to a word the teacher says.

Ryder swipes at his nose. A bead of blood slips onto his upper lip as he gets up from the ground when the teacher yanks Mickey off of him. He backs away from Mickey, all whilekeeping his attention on me. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Especially with the unreadable expression on his face.

An apology clings to the tip of my tongue. I’m not sure what I’m sorry about. Maybe I’m sorry my “friends” attacked his friends. Or maybe I’m sorry about being a bother and getting him in trouble. Or that my mere existence annoys him so much that he ignores me, hoping I’ll leave him alone.

Before I can get the words out, the teachers herd the boys across the playground and inside the building. My heart pounds against my ribs like a drum, and my mind flies through so many scenarios about what will happen to my stepbrother.

If he isn’t already, Mickey will be mad at me for this. Ryder will also be angry and continue to treat me like a pesky ghost.

I do the only thing I can. I stand in the same spot with Nova and Olivia, watching my stepbrother disappear inside the school.

I’ll talk to Ryder after school when we’re home and no one can interrupt us. I’ll apologize to him and hope he’ll forgive me. If I just explain everything to him, then he’ll understand, and we can be friends.

11 years old

“LIMBO” FREDDIE DREDD

Igrunt as my stepfather’s fist slams against my bruised cheek. A shrill ring fills my ears until it’s all I can hear. I lose balance and rapidly blink to fight off the woozy feeling. Jerry fists my hair at the top of my head to hold me still before he slaps my face with enough force to deafen me.

This is his form of punishment for fighting at school earlier today—a fight he doesn’t care about. Really, he’s just looking for an excuse to beat me.

Jerry has had it out for me since he was dating my mother. No matter what I do or say, it’s never good enough for him. He tells my mother he needs a word with me while smiling to ease her worries, then he drags me into my bedroom and lashes out at me. It started off with words that can cut—and cut they did.

You’re a worthless son of a bitch.

You’ll never amount to anything.

Even your father couldn’t stand you, and that’s why he’s gone.

No one will ever love you.

I take each blow with a strangled noise in the back of my throat, but I don’t cry. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Besides, this is nothing compared to the other punishments. Sometimes he uses his belt, and I’d rather he punch me than force me to deal withthat.

He lands one more punch in my stomach before he backs away and sweeps his fingers through his messy salt-and-pepper hair. He takes a deep breath, like he’s the one struggling to fill his burning lungs with oxygen.

My stomach twists, and pain radiates through the rest of my body. I lean forward, my arms tucked against my midsection as I struggle to breathe. Tears sting my eyes, and I squeeze them shut to hold them back.