Page 9 of Ignition

I whipped around and spotted guys hovering by the water fountain, filling up balloons at the bronze taps—no doubt seeing it as a public service each time they splashed someone. One of them locked eyes with me, and his lips curled into a dark smile.

Apprehension sliced between my ribs.

I spun on my heel and sprinted.

Thump, thump.

Heavy footsteps rushed after me, and more balloons kissed the ground. They broke and splashed inches away from my calf, sending droplets of icy water crawling up my skin.

My heart pounded in my chest and for a split-second, I was back in middle school—or kindergarten—and someone was pulling my pigtails again.

Panic nipped at my heels, urging me forward. Faster.

Twack.

A balloon collided with my shoulder, and another one hit me squarely in the back.

Something white-hot roiled inside me as I considered throwing something at their head—or saying something scathing to make it stop. But I was wearing a white shirt. Practically a siren call.

The familiar outline of the clock tower waved at me and relief flooded me, only for panic to swallow me whole a second later.

It was a coordinated attack. Two guys waited near the entrance to the main building, tossing balloons lazily in their hands.

Girls squealed and ran alongside me, and a bubble whizzed inches above my head, slung from above.

I hissed and pumped my legs harder.

Then, as if in slow motion, another barrelled straight towards my chest. The impact stole my breath, and my shirt turned into an icy second-skin at once.

The leers cranked up in volume.

It’s literally the first day! How am I supposed to survive this place?

So many girls were willing victims, playing along and running, only to gasp and giggle as water doused them, like they welcomed the sudden chill. Like it was just a game to them, too. For a flash, I wondered if I wasn’t the uptight one. But then, another hit my collarbone and splashed all over.

Why keep going, if not out of sheer malice?

Every eye clung to my skin, following the path of the soaked fabric. Goose pimples bloomed all over, from the furious blush creeping down my neck to the back of my thighs.

Pulse spiking, I spotted a familiar figure by the entrance. Josh. Grinning. Holding—

Is that my blazer?

Molten anger climbed up my chest, chased by something else I couldn’t name as my focus narrowed on the crimson cloth he held up.

“Looking for this?” he taunted, grinning in a way that drew my stomach into a warning tumble. “You should really lock your stuff better.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head at me, like I was a slow child.

I barrelled towards him, nearly colliding with him as I lunged.

He snatched it away and held it higher.

My feet skidded to a halt just in time to not crash into him.

“It’s not funny,” I growled.

My stomach bottomed out at the leers of the crowd that had formed a semi-circle near the entrance, one I’d have to breach through, as good as half-naked.

“Really? Cause from where I’m standing, it’s hilarious,” he drawled, wiggling my blazer right up above his shoulder.