That’s what I thought.
I made sure to look at each one of them before shaking my head and turning forward again. No one else said anything, and I didn’t worry about them tattling on me, because what were they going to do? Admit they were talking about Ivan’s crotch?
Slipping my flip-flops on and giving my toes another wiggle as I stretched my arches, I snatched up my keys and purse and got up, bending over to grab the handle of my duffel. I side-eyed the girls on the other side of the room who all looked like I’d kicked their puppy, and I didn’t give a shit. I put the lock back on my locker and headed toward the door, yanking the door open a lot rougher than necessary.
God, what was wrong with teenagers? I couldn’t remember talking about people’s dicks when I was their age. Seventeen, okay. But fucking maybe fourteen?
“—ugly and fat in that leotard.”
And there it was.
Children.
Thirteen, maybe fourteen-year-olds standing outside of the door. Two teens that looked a whole hell of a lot like the two that had been talking shit about me weeks ago.
And those two were standing in front of my two girls that always greeted me. The two sweet, but funny little girls that had just been grinning at me maybe five minutes ago but who currently had their backs to the wall and had glassy eyes that looked a whole hell of a lot like they were on the verge of tears.
Damn it.
Why did this have to happen to me?
I wanted to walk away. I really did. I’d already had my beef with these little shits, and I didn’t want to get into it again and risk getting in trouble.
But…
My outgoing little buddy had tears in her eyes, and one of these fuckers had just called her or her friend fat and ugly, and I didn’t play that bully game.
So, I stopped and made eye contact with my two friendly girls, raising an eyebrow. “You two okay?”
The more outgoing one of the two blinked away what had to be tears, and the action instantly made this strange feeling zip up my spine, and I narrowed my eyes as I glanced at the two mean girls that both looked like they regretted the decision they had made while I’d been in the changing room that had led them to this moment.
When neither one of the two nicer girls agreed that they were fine, the feeling in my spine intensified, and I recognized it for what it was: protectiveness. I hated bullies. I really hated bullies.
“Were they picking on you?” I asked slowly, calmly, keeping my focus on the two nice kids.
“We weren’t doing anything,” one of the little shits tried to argue.
I slid my gaze over to the one who had spoken and said, “I wasn’t asking you.” Then turning back to the one with the tears in her eyes, I asked again, “Were they picking on you?”
It took a swallow before I got a nod. From both of them. And that feeling in my spine only got stronger.
I bit the inside of my cheek before I asked, “Are you okay?”
Their little nods almost broke my heart.
But what they did manage to do successfully was focus on the two little shits as my best bitch expression came over my features as I said, slowly, slowly, slowly, wearing that smile that Jojo had called horrifying on more than one occasion, “If I ever, ever hear or see you picking on them—or anybody here—again, I’m going to make you both regret the day you decided to take lessons here, do you understand me?”
Neither one of them nodded or said yes, and that only made the tingle in my spine recharge. A better person would have added some inspirational shit. But that wasn’t me.
I turned my attention to the two nicer girls. “You get picked on again, come tell me, okay? I’ll deal with it for you. Tomorrow, next month or a year from now, don’t be shy, as long as I’m here, I’ll take care of it for you. Nobody deserves to be spoken to like that.”
I would know. I’d been through it enough. In return, I got two blank looks, but whether it was in alarm or what, I had no idea, before both girls nodded, fast, fast, fast.
And I smiled at them, to tell them it was okay. I had their backs. Not everyone was terrible, but the bad ones made it easy to forget that. I should know.
But then I glanced back at the two little shits and let the smile fall away as I focused in on their petty-ass faces. “And you two, I catch you doing that again and I will open a can of whoop-ass on both your rude—”
“Jasmine!” I heard a familiar male voice yell from close, but not that close.
Sure enough, glancing up, I found Ivan down the hall, one hand against a wall. He was too far for me to see more of him, but I knew from the shape and length of that frame it was him. That, and I’d recognized that voice anywhere.
“Let’s go, I’m hungry,” he called for no reason, I thought, until it hit me.
He’d heard me. That’s why he had yelled and stopped me from calling these girls motherfuckers like I had planned on.
It wouldn’t have been a good idea, but, well, whatever. They deserved it.
“Don’t be jerks,” I pointed at the two rude shits, then turned to the other girls and said, “and tell me if they pick on you again.”
When I got two nods in response, I made sure to give the other pair a nasty look like I was onto them before heading down the hall toward Ivan, who was still standing there waiting, except I could see him shaking his head from a few feet away. The second I was close enough, I realized he was grinning. Those straight, bright white teeth were all out there as he asked, “Is today your day to pick on little kids?”
I rolled my eyes as I stepped in front of him, having to tilt my head back to look up at him. “Those are monsters, not kids.”
Those eyes were focused on mine as his grin only grew and he said, “What I want to know is…”
I blinked, not sure what he was about to ask.
“What is a can of a whoop-ass and where can I get one?”
I didn’t mean to smile, and I sure as hell didn’t want to.
But I couldn’t help it.
I smiled so wide my cheeks instantly hurt and said the only thing that came to mind, “You’re an idiot.”
An hour later, I was heading down the stairs at my mom’s house, trying to wring more water out of my hair so that it wouldn’t soak into the light, tank dress I’d put on. I hated washing my hair every day—and my hair hated me washing it every day if how dry it was said anything—but with how much I was sweating with two-a-day practices, it just got way too greasy if I went longer than twenty-four hours without a wash. I was going through a bottle of conditioner every two weeks.
By the time I made it to the bottom landing, I could hear the voices in the kitchen. When we’d pulled up to my house half an hour ago, there was Jonathan’s and Aaron’s cars in the driveway. I hadn’t asked what my sister or brother were up to, but I’d seen both of them a few days ago when they had dropped by randomly for dinner.
I’d only gotten a chance to give my mom a kiss to the right of her bruised and swollen nose before Jojo’s dramatic ass had gone off with, Jas, how could you not call and tell me about Mom’s accident? I almost threw her under the bus and said that she didn’t want me to say anything… but I was no snitch. So I told him it was because I’d been too tired the night before to deal with his shit. That had gone about as well as I’d expected, and I ran up to get a shower five minutes later, watching Ivan shoot me a curious look that said he might have been putting the pieces together from what happened last night to what he was seeing on my mom’s face.
And… I didn’t care if he did.
Making my way across the living room toward the kitchen, the voices became clearer and louder. I recognized the sound of my sister and mom laughing… and thought I heard a light chuckle from Ivan mixed in there. Thinking about the moment in the hallway with the girls made me smile again, but I wiped it off. He really was an idiot.
“…did they make you tape everything up?” I heard Jojo ask.
Oh God.