Page 32 of Hateful
“They’re a real threat!” Heath still insists. He leans against the tree and looks up into its branches. “These trails are nice, though. I can see why you’d want to come here.”
I watch him carefully. Jasper claims he didn’t tell Heath anything, not about me being a girl anyway … but whathashe told Heath? Does he know Jasper kissed me, that Jasper has feelings for me?
My stomach twists.Does Jasper have feelings for me?Or is he just … confused?
Or lonely, with Olive out of the picture.
If Heath knows anything, he doesn’t indicate it in any way. He just drinks out of his own water bottle and waits for me to be ready to move again.
We keep running. Thankfully, Heath doesn’t have the breath to carry on a conversation once we’re really moving. I like to use these runs to think and focus, and him jabbering away at me would disrupt that. I kind of wish he’d talk a little, though.
Just … something. The silence with him beside me is unsettling.
My mind keeps wandering to Beck. He’s been upping the ante, and I feel like it’s only a matter of time before he does something really stupid.
Yesterday he followed me into the bathroom, grinning like a maniac, and only left when he realized some other boys were in the stalls; and that’s on top of the usual things like tripping me, knocking my books onto the floor, shoving me against walls as he passes by.
A few days ago he knocked my books into the snow, completely soaking an essay I’d already written and making me have to rewrite it. And I can’t keep re-doing assignments. Schoolwork has already begun to pile up. I’m already almost a week behind.
I’d forgotten how much The Brotherhood messing with me really affectseverything.I’d forgotten what it was like to no longer be invisible.
“Time to head back,” I finally tell Heath, slowing to turn around once we’ve reached the furthest part of the trail I’ve taken to running. The path gets narrower here, and with the freezing air and snow, I don’t dare see where it leads from here.
“Sure,” he replies cheerfully. He follows my lead.
We run back together, but Heath drops his speed drastically at the first bend where I met him at the beginning of the run. I pause and look back at him, confused.
“Go on,” he says, stopping to bend down. “My shoe’s untied.”
I feel my foot bouncing anxiously. I glance back over my shoulder towards the school. It isn’t far.
“I can wait. We’re almost back to the school.”
But Heath just shakes his head again. I try to get a look at what he’s doing with his shoe, but it kind of just looks like he’s tying and untying the same laces.
“It’s really fine. Go on ahead.”
I stare at him for a few moments while he continues to fumble with his shoelaces. After the moment stretches on uncomfortably, with Heath glancing up at me and then down the trail awkwardly several times, I do as he asks.
I turn and jog back to the school alone. I look up as I get closer to the school, and I immediately understand.
The windows up there are at a weird angle to the hiking trails. I’d never thought of it before, but someone looking through them wouldn’t be able to see past the first bend.
It’s obvious now. Heath doesn’t want to be seen with me.
Fine,I think, increasing my speed as I reach the courtyard. Maybe I don’t want to be seen with him, either. Maybe it’s better this way.
But a pit forms in my stomach and stays there for days.
I keep wondering when these games are going to end, but in my heart, I know the answer.
The games end when I leave Bleakwood … one way or another.
* * *
History class looms again.I’m more than a little behind on my coursework, but the professor surprisingly gives me a little slack. I guess he’s seen a couple of times Beck has ruined my papers, and he’s actually being merciful about it.
The professor is nowhere to be seen when I walk into the room today. I’ve grown to dread this class since the professor is so often late. The Brotherhood is here, of course, and Beck’s eyes immediately snap to me. I try to scoot past his desk before he can do anything, but he rockets to his feet and grabs hold of the collar of my school jacket. I fidget, trying to pull away, but he’s got a good fistful of material.
