Page 77 of Finding Kyler
Someone slams into my back, and I’m thrown forward without warning. I crash into Brad, and he stumbles, losing his balance. He falls to the ground with me pinned to his front. He takes the brunt of the fall as I sprawl all over him, but I still feel a jarring movement shooting up my spine. He emits a loud moan as his head slaps off the tiled floor.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
“I think I’ll live,” he jokes, tentatively prodding the back of his head.
A few titters ring out, amid a chorus of developing chatter. The click of multiple cell phones snaps me into action. I scramble to my feet with as much grace as I can muster. Extending my hand, I help Brad up.
“Your reputation precedes you, and now I know everything that’s been said is true,” a shrill, catty voice says from behind me.
I turn around to match the face to the voice.
A stick-thin blonde with dull hazel eyes scans me from head to toe. A sneer contorts her face as she eyes my jeans and blouse combo with a look of obvious distaste. “Don’t they teach you how to dress in Ireland?”
A group of girls forms a line at her back, sniggering at her attempt to belittle me.
“Don’t they teach you any manners in America?” I shoot back.
“I show respect where respect’s due. And that doesn’t extend to ho-bags like you.”
Her posse purses their lips, tosses their hair, and nods their heads in agreement.
“Funny you should mention ho-bags.” I take a slow perusal of her body, noting the short black mini and snug cropped top that clings to her ample chest, baring a wide expanse of flat, tan skin. “Because you look like the stereotypical definition of one. Tell me,” I say, planting my hands on my hips, “how many guys have you blown so far today?”
An unattractive sneer creeps over her mouth as she moves all up in my personal space. “You think you’re funny? You think you can waltz in here and own the place in a day?” She jabs a pointy finger in my face. “This is my turf. My school. And I call the shots around here.”
I thrust her finger back in her face and square up to her. Brad moves closer, placing a cautionary hand on my lower back. Perhaps the smart thing would be to back down, but then they’ll think I’m a walkover. And that’s when the abuse will start.
I’m starting this as I mean to go on.
“I don’t care how you do things here. No one tells me what to do. Certainly not some delusional jumped-up slut with self-esteem issues.”
A sly smile spreads over her mouth as she tilts her head back. Then she smashes her forehead into mine with force. Black spots mar my vision as excruciating pain spreads across my skull.
I stagger back, swaying precariously on my feet.I cannot believe she did that!Wincing, I palm my sore forehead, hoping I don’t have a concussion.
I’m vaguely aware of a strong arm hauling me aside. Brad’s citrusy scent invades my nostrils as he pins me in close to his body. “Screw off, Peyton. You’ve picked the wrong girl to mess with.”
I tilt in Brad’s arms, struggling to focus my vision. A throbbing headache has taken up residence in my skull, and short jabbing pains stab me behind the eyes. It’s the equivalent of a hangover without the nausea and vomiting.
“What is the meaning of this?” an authoritative voice asks. I silently curse.
“Ask the newbie,” Peyton responds, sounding slightly dazed. “She started it.”
“Faye was minding her own business when you knocked her off her feet,” Brad corrects.
“The three of you, into my office. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’m having trouble focusing, and Brad props me up as we walk the length of the corridor. Mrs. Carter—the principal, no less—ushers us into her room. “I think Faye needs to see the nurse,” Brad supplies when we sit down.
I hold up a hand, blinking excessively as I try to bring my eyesight into focus. “I’m fine.” There’s no way I’m being carted off for medical treatment. I can’t imagine I’d ever live that one down.
Peyton clutches her head in both hands as she sits down. Even if it’s not much consolation, I feel some degree of satisfaction knowing she’s in pain, too.
Mrs. Carter gives all three of us a stern talking to and a caution that next time we won’t get off so lightly.
Try telling that to my pounding head.
