Chapter 13 - Slut

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MONDAY, DECEMBER 12

I moved through the halls of Capital High with confidence, determined to be noticed. I'd just gotten my history book from my locker when a perfectly manicured hand slammed the door shut.

Dakota Davis said, “I don't think we've met. It's Cindy, right?”

I nodded, cringing as the Bitch Patrol surrounded me. This was bad. This was worse than bad.

“So . . .” Dakota drummed her nails against my locker door. “My friends and I heard you went on a date with Scott. Don't you know senior boys belong to senior girls?”

I'd heard that, but never thought it was a rule, more like something senior girls said to scare off competition. “I can't help it if Scott likes me.”

Dakota said to her friends, “I don't think she gets it.”

“Evil” Megan Chu and Britt Saunders shook their heads sadly.

My eyes darted from one cheerleader to the next. “No, I get it, but—”

“There's no buts!” Megan shoved me against my locker so hard I blinked back tears.

Dakota stepped in and shoved her finger in my face. “Scott's mine! Every girl in school knows it. Well, the smart ones anyway.”

Megan cracked her knuckles. “I dunno, Dee. Maybe she needs a lesson.”

“A total lesson,” Britt added, flipping her blonde hair.

“Nah, I think Cindy wants to cooperate now. Don't you, bitch?”

“Y-yeah,” I stammered.

“Good,” Dakota said. “Then listen up: We will fucking ruin you unless you break it off with Scott. You'll say it's your idea, not mine, and you'd better be convincing. Got it?”

I was too shocked to do anything but nod.

Dakota smiled. “See how easy that was? You've got til noon. Do it.”

I watched the cheerleaders strut away like they owned Scott, the school, and everyone in it. They'd own me too if I let them.

I had a monster panic attack and spent the next class hiding in the bathroom, sobbing, until a teacher found me and took me to the Nurse's Office. I blamed it on cramps. I could have gone home—I wanted to—but that would have made me look even more afraid.

Lying on the cot, I thought about how being with Scott made me feel like I could finally be loved, needed. Desired. I couldn't let Dakota get in the way. But how could I stand up to her and her friends? The Bitch Patrol had everyone, everything going for them, and me—what did I have? Passion, definitely. Ambition, a little. But courage? Not so much. Was Scott worth getting beat up, humiliated, or worse?

The answer was yes.

The noon deadline passed. All I had to do was make it through the rest of the day, then the rest of the week, and it would be winter break. By the time it was over, Scott and I would be official and I wouldn't have to worry about Dakota anymore.

I texted Naomi what happened and told her to meet me at my locker. When I got there, I discovered the Bitch Patrol had written SLUT on my locker door in dark red lipstick.

Naomi walked out of the bathroom carrying some wet paper towels. “I saw,” she said. “I'm so sorry.”

“The whole school thinks I'm a slut.”

Naomi scrubbed at the letters, turning them into a waxy red smear. “Don't be so dramatic,” she said. “How many people even know this is your locker?”

I looked around, relieved to see no one paying attention. “I guess you're right.”

She wiped the last of the lipstick off. “You gotta believe in yourself. It's the only way you're gonna keep Scott.”

“I know. I'm just so nervous! What if the Bitch Patrol beat me up?”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “They won't. They just want to scare you.”

“Maybe, but you're not the one who's gonna get her ass kicked.”

My BFF smiled. “Trust me, Cindy. You're gonna be Scott's girl and I'm gonna be Ted's. Once they're ours, all the threats and lipsticked lockers won't mean a thing.”

I walked into English, heading for my new seat in the back of the room. When I passed Kim and Vicki Swenson, Kim said, “Hey, Cindy.”

The twins had never spoken to me first. I tried to sound casual. “Oh hi, Kim. What's up?”

“We heard you and Scott Carmichael went out Saturday. Is that true?”

“That's right.”

The twins exchanged a knowing look. “Cool,” Kim said, and Vicki added, “That's awesome. You must be happy.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I am.” I took my seat, a huge grin spreading across my face. The social ice was thawing, just like Naomi promised.

"Psst!" Faith whispered. She'd swapped the blue in her hair for electric purple, dying her pointed bangs to match.

“Wow,” I said. “I like your hair.”

“Thanks. I see the Barbie Twins are talking to you.”

“Yeah, they wanted to know about Scott.”

Faith smirked. “I bet they did. I have to admit, I'm curious too. How'd it go?”

“Great! I'm seeing him again this Saturday.”

Mr. Heap began talking, going on about how “alienation was a form of self-protection” in The Catcher in the Rye. “As you will no doubt have realized from the first few chapters,” he said, “the narrator feels isolated, trapped in a world in which he doesn't belong and feels he can never be a part of . . .”

Faith leaned over and whispered, “Sounds like you're getting what you want for Christmas. So is Scott gonna gift-wrap it for you?”

“Gift wrap what?” I asked.

Faith giggled. “You know—his package!"

From the front of the room, Mr. Heap said, “Miss Trent! Miss Weldon! Do you have something you'd like to share?”

“Not me,” Faith said, “but Cindy might have an announcement.”

I felt my face redden.

Mr. Heap sighed. “Do I need to separate you two?”

“No,” I said, “We'll be quiet.”

“See that you are,” Mr. Heap said. “Now, as I was saying, another theme central to our story is the pain of growing up—the loneliness—and how the narrator creates a fantasy world to compensate . . .” He droned on like this forever before telling us to talk to our neighbor about other themes we might have noticed in the book.

Faith used that as an excuse to ask, “You check out that Allura Demone yet?”

“A little,” I said. “It's pretty hot. Thanks.”

“No problem. Got plenty more when you're done.” Faith scribbled something down in her notebook, then tore it off and handed it to me. “Here's my address. You're coming over tonight.”

I took the paper, but didn't say anything.

Faith got a hurt look on her face. “Come on, Cin! It'll be fun.”

“OK, but just for a few hours.” The second I said it, a weight lifted.

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