Gin

Friday is a total shitshow at school.

When I walk into the building after a nearly silent car ride with Chase and pull on the handle of my locker, I feel something thick and wet on my fingers. My stomach turns so hard and fast I fear I may puke right there on the floor. Instead, I race to the bathroom, my hand out in front of me like it’s carrying a plague, and when I make it, I crank up the hot water and coat my entire hand in gooey soap, rinsing it in the water before washing my hands together three more times.

I don’t even want to think about what it was. Is, actually. I still need to get into my locker. Fortunately, I was an office runner my freshman year, fetching coffee and doing errands for the administrative staff, so I go see the ladies there. They give me sanitizer, call the custodian, and ask him to remove the handle of my locker for me, and give me an excuse to be late for class.

When I get to third period, I’m horrified to see that someone painted “Gin is a cunt” on the teacher’s chalkboard. Fucking white paint. When the teacher walks in and sees it, her face pales and she immediately moves class to the library for the day.

I want to skip lunch, but I’m not giving anyone the satisfaction. When I sit down at the table, I give Lauren a glare that just dares her to fuck with me today.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, quickly adding, “About the chalkboard, I mean.”

A half smile pulls at my lips. “Uh-huh. Cause there’s nothing else you should be sorry for?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “All right, I’m sorry I was an asshole, okay? It’s just hard to watch all this. That fucker doesn’t deserve you.”

“I’m okay. I promise.”

“All this shit that’s happening to you is because of him, though.”

I glance around the cafeteria, looking for Chase. “I’m pretty sure he’s not having the best day either.”

Lauren grunts skeptically. “I didn’t hear about anyone writing ‘Chase is a cocksucking motherfucker’ on a chalkboard today.”

“Yeah, because too many syllables.” I meet her gaze across the table. “Roper kids, remember? They can’t spell those words.”

She breaks into a grin. Raj and Michelle sit down together on the other side of our table, him explaining something mathematic to her.

I pass Lauren a sandwich, leaving mine in the bag. Craning my neck, I look around the cafeteria for Chase.

Where is he? From what little I’ve overheard, he’s tied with me for first place on most everyone’s shit list.

Apparently, the football team still gathered and waited this morning, thinking Chase would be there to give out a rose. When he didn’t show, Sam Stockwell offered to take over and do it, but most of the guys didn’t want to go along with that.

So for the first time since I’ve been at Roper High School, no one got a rose on a Friday morning before a football game. I can’t imagine Chase will just come take his seat at his usual table like nothing’s amiss.

Girls are stunned and upset over Chase’s change of heart, and the football players I’ve seen today either look despondent or furious. I find the whole thing ridiculous and sad.

Chase didn’t say where he was going when we got to school this morning, and I didn’t ask. He seemed sullen and withdrawn. I can’t help wondering if it’s because he was second-guessing his decision to give up the Sweet Sixteen.

He never shows up for lunch, and for whatever reason, it really pisses me off. I’ve shown up in the cafeteria every day for the past two weeks, and it hasn’t been easy. But I’m not running away from the decision I made. I’m not afraid of the consequences.

I use several tissues to open my locker in the afternoon, after the custodian sanitized and replaced my locker handle. Then I go from class to class, my anger building as the day goes on.

At the end of the day, I’m bent over loading books into my locker, passing people calling me everything from lesbian to bitch. To my back, of course. I don’t think they’d be brave enough to say it to my face. Cowards.

I keep my expression neutral, relieved there’s no play practice today and I can just go home and not venture out until Monday. As I stand up and turn around, though, something flies into my face. I gasp and step back, reaching for my eye to feel what it is.

Spit.

I caught a flash of Jack Pearson’s evil grin before I closed both eyes, and now I’m furious enough to take him on. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. They’re a bunch of emotionally stunted assholes, and I’m done taking their shit.

I dig through my bag and find some tissues, wiping off my face. Several girls are giggling nearby as they watch me, and I feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

Not because I’m about to crumble, but because I’m just that angry. I’m mad enough to punch someone. For two weeks, I’ve endured nonstop bullshit because I don’t want to be gangbanged.

I’ve had it.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I move down the hallway so fast my hair flies out behind me. I’m on a mission, and it’s an emotionally charged one. If I can’t find Chase in these hallways, I’ll go confront him at practice. I’d walk onto the field in the middle of a game if I had to. My tolerance had a good run, but it went up in a mushroom cloud of ruin when Jack spat in my face.

Chase is at his locker, his tall, wide-shouldered frame dwarfing the open metal door. I stop when I get there, arms crossed in front of me.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s—”

“We need to talk.”

“Everything okay?”

“No.” I overenunciate the word, my face hot with anger.

“Did I do something?” He gives me a confused look.

I shake my head. “You’ve got about one minute to get me someplace with fewer people, or I’ll blow my top right here.”

“Uh…” He looks up and down the hallway, which is still full of students. “Your car?”

“Fine.”

I turn on a heel and lead the way, my fury building steam with every step. Chase follows me out the main entrance and down the stone steps, people staring curiously at us the whole way.

Staring, but not saying a word. Because they don’t dare call me a bitch, cunt, or lesbian with him five feet behind me. And for some reason, that incites my anger even further.

We’ve almost made it to the parking lot, but I can’t walk another step without saying something. I turn and glare at him.

“Where were you at lunch today?”

He arches his brows in surprise. “I had lunch in my coach’s office.”

“Why?”

He scoffs and looks at me like I’m clueless. “To avoid the blowback.”

“Yeah?” I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. “What kind of blowback did you get today?”

“Gin, I have no idea why you’re pissed at me. Don’t play games about it, just tell me.”

I ask in a louder tone. “What kind of blowback, Chase?”

He sighs heavily. “The guys are all pissed at me, obviously. No one wants to sit by me in class or even talk to me.”

“And?” I demand.

“And what, Gin?” He raises his voice to match mine.

“There better be more than that.”

He scoffs again. “Yeah? I’m not getting what you think I deserve, is that it?”

I take a step closer to him, leaving just a foot between us. “There was bodily fluid on my locker handle this morning. Someone painted ‘Gin is a cunt’ on a chalkboard, and my entire class had to be moved. Jack spit in my fucking eye, Chase.”

His expression darkens. “Jack Pearson?”

I throw my arms in the air. “Yeah, Jack Pearson! I’ve been called every name in the book today. So many times. I’ve been stared at and whispered about, all because you didn’t give out that stupid rose this morning.”

I poke a finger into his chest, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? All that talk about it being disgusting and wrong, and now you’re pissed off that I’m not doing it anymore?”

I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “No, I’m not pissed that you’re not doing it anymore, you asshole. I’m pissed that I have to feel the fallout. All of it. While you sit in your coach’s office and avoid reality.”

He looks up at the sky, putting a hand on the back of his neck. “Come on, Gin. I’m doing my best here. I’m out, for good. But having football players brawling in the cafeteria isn’t good for anyone.”

“And Jack spitting on me—who is that good for?”

Chase’s eyes bulge in a look of frustration. “That’s not my fucking fault, Gin! I’ll handle it now that I know, and if I’d been there to defend you, I would’ve.”

“I don’t want you defending me!” I shove his chest with my palms, but he doesn’t move. “I show up, Chase. To this miserable school every day. To the cafeteria at lunchtime. I took a stand, and I’m not ashamed of it. But you? You took a stand and then ducked and ran.”

He shakes his head. “Not fucking fair, Gin. Because I had lunch in my coach’s office?”

“Not just because of that. When Michelle needed a friend, did you step up and be a friend to her, in front of everyone? No, you secretly asked me to do it.”

There’s a spark of anger in his darkened blue eyes. He leans in and speaks in a low tone. “You think it’s a coincidence, Gin? What happened to her, and me feeling guilt so strong I can’t even breathe sometimes? If I even look at her, I feel sick. Do you see what she’s become? And it started with something I did. She’s the walking proof of what a miserable prick I am. And that’s why I asked you—because you’re strong and…good.”

I close my eyes for a couple seconds, resisting my urge to back down. These things need to be said.

“Chase, you decided to take a stand, and that’s a good thing. So, do it. Stand tall and be proud.”

He looks away in disgust. “I’ve got nothing to be proud of. I decided to stop using girls, sure, but how many have I already used? How many have I damaged?”

I keep my eyes locked on his. “Own it, then. Apologize. Move forward.”

“How do you apologize for that, Gin? What words are good enough?”

“Sincere ones. If you’re sorry, don’t hang your head and hide.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Look, I hear you. But I can’t…I have to stay on the team. Football is my ticket out of here.”

“Right,” I say bitterly. “So you’re just gonna keep playing, not be part of the gangbanging, but not condemn anyone else doing it, either?”

“I said I think it’s wrong. What more do you want from me?”

I shake my head sadly. “Nothing. And I mean that in every way, Chase. I want nothing more from you. Don’t text, don’t come to play practice, don’t ask me for rides. Just stay away from me.”

I turn around and walk to my car, shaking all over. It’s not until I’ve gotten in my car, buckled up, and pulled out onto the road that I let the tears fall.

Finally. After two weeks, I cry.

I never would’ve thought a single rose would ruin me this way.