She knew Regan’s euphoria wasn’t solely the aftereffect of a soccer victory, no matter her performance. And it was one hell of a kickass performance. Nope, this wasn’t all about soccer. This was about a girl who finally made a decision. A girl who stood up for herself.
The melody built to a fantastic explosion, and the girls yelled at the tops of their lungs, pumping their fists in halftime to the downbeat.
“Must we deal with the screaming, too?” Mr. Walters asked.
“For tonight? Yes,” Mrs. Walters replied. She took her husband’s hand and led him down the hall. “I’ll explain,” she said softly.
She glanced back to see Regan facing her direction, smiling brightly as she nodded her head to the music. Her mother nodded back—the unspoken understanding between them. And then she lifted her hand to her hip discreetly and curled it into a fist: the devil’s sign.
Rock on, baby. Rock on.
~
The scariest part of my plan is the realization that I’ll be caught. There’s no other way. I’ll be caught, arrested, tried for murder, convicted, and jailed. I know this, and it’s something I’ve been preparing myself for ever since I devised the plan. Sure, there are outs. 1. I could kill myself, but I’ve no reason to do that. Haven’t done anything wrong. Killing the bad guys is what’s saving my life, so why on earth would I turn around and take it? Makes no sense. 2. I could have a shootout with the police. But I don’t wanna do that either. I don’t want to risk an innocent person becoming a victim. Not trying to sound like a badass or anything, but I’m a pretty fucking good shot. If they kill me, that’s fine. I understand they can’t see me as anything other than the perpetrator. The bad guy. It’s not their fault. So dying that way is okay. I wouldn’t blame them for doing what they thought was right. 3. I could give someone inside the building the opportunity to kill me. That could work, too. An altercation. They magically get the gun somehow. Maybe I can even help them sort of pull the trigger. They end up being the hero! Who doesn’t want to be the hero? Although, maybe they don’t want to be that kind of hero. People are weird about self-defense. Even justified, if they’re defending themselves with a gun, they still believe they did something wrong. I can’t have that on an innocent person’s conscience.
I guess that leaves me with surrendering. I’ll kill the bad ones, put down my guns, and wait for my justice.
~
“Are you seeing this?” Hannah asked, standing next to Jeremy at his locker.
He nodded.
“I mean, not like I really care or anything, but man. She’s getting hit pretty hard.”
He said nothing, watching in silence as Regan called out to Casey, who ignored her and walked away.
“She’ll go cry about it and then, in a week or so, wanna hang with us,” Hannah joked.
“Would that be bad?” Jeremy asked.
“Considering she’s dating my mortal enemy, uh, yeah. That would be bad.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe she’s changed.”
“Putting shiny stickers on your face does not mean you’ve changed,” Hannah replied. She paused, thinking. “She must have broken some popular kid code, and they’re punishing her for it. I’m sure everything will be better tomorrow.” Her sarcasm-laced words instantly irritated him.
“Maybe,” Jeremy said.
He wanted to approach Regan, but it still didn’t feel safe to speak to her at school. He wasn’t afraid of Brandon anymore, but he also wasn’t searching for a fight. Not yet, anyway.
Regan stood fixed to her spot, staring down the hallway. Confusion twisted her face, and he thought she momentarily forgot where she was. Forgot where to go. Forgot her name. She lifted her hand to her cheek and picked off a jewel with her fingernail. He watched it fall to the floor. And then another. And then another until they all disappeared from her face. Her sparkle, gone.
He couldn’t stand it and headed toward her. He heard Hannah’s voice behind him, her words tinged with disbelief and bitterness: “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Hey,” he said tentatively, standing close to Regan.
She looked up at him, brows knitted close together, like she was trying to remember who he was.
“You okay?” Jeremy asked.
“They’re ignoring me,” she replied. A faint whisper he couldn’t hear.
He bent his head closer and asked again.
“They’re ignoring me!” she screamed, and he reared back, shocked.
He shook his head. “Who’s ignoring you?”
“My friends! All my friends!” She looked back, staring down the hallway and whispered, “Casey.”
“Why?”
Regan whipped her head around, lips drawn in a thin line, eyes narrowed. The words were fighting to break through, and she clamped her mouth tighter.
“Just say it,” Jeremy said. He had an idea. He wanted her to confirm it.
Her breathing came faster as the anger rose—an emotional locomotive building steam at dangerously swift speeds. She knew she was about to derail, and she was taking him with her.
“You,” she said low and threateningly.
Jeremy scowled.
“You,” she repeated with more conviction.
He thrust his face in hers. “Me what?” he dared her. “Me what, Regan? What about me?”
The first period bell clanged above their heads, but neither moved. Neither so much as flinched at its shrill scream. No teachers in the hallway. No principal shouting for tardy students to move faster. They were quite alone.
“You did this to me,” she said.
And then her face registered the revelation, like she’d finally discovered the answer to a problem she’d been tackling for years. Years! Just like that, her brain understood. A connection made, and with it came a sort of twisted comfort in being able to legitimately lay blame on someone else. Not my fault but yours. Yours yours yours.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jeremy spat.
“It’s all your fault!” she screamed. “You did this to me! You rejected me! You forced me to go to them! I never wanted to go to them—to be friends with them! But you made me! And now look what you’ve done! I have NO ONE!!”
She’s crazy, he thought. She’s fucking crazy.