Chapter 6 In need of rescue

Maya's POV

The first period ended. The bell rang, shrill and final, and I gathered my books with hands that wouldn't stop trembling. I'd spent the entire fifty minutes staring at the same page of my textbook, not reading a single word.

Pity Justin couldn't follow me to the lecture hall. Instead, I sat all alone in my seat, just breathing and surviving.

You're stronger than they expected.

Justin's voice played in my head on repeat. I clung to it like a rope in a storm.

You're stronger than they expected.

I almost believed it.

I stood up and my legs felt like they belonged to someone else, someone heavier, someone older and someone who hadn't been destroyed forty-eight hours ago. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked toward the door.

The hallway hit me like a wave.

Noise, crowds, lockers slamming and underneath it all, the stares.

I felt them before I saw them. Eyes on the back of my neck, on my profile as I passed and on every part of me, dissecting me like I was a specimen under glass.

Damn. Where the hell was Justin when I needed him?

"There she is."

"That's her."

"I heard there are more pictures."

My jaw tightened. Keep walking. Don't look down. Don't run.

A group of sophomore girls parted as I approached, like I was carrying something contagious. One of them whispered something behind her hand and another giggled.

I kept my eyes forward.

You're stronger than they expected.

But the hallway felt endless. Every locker I passed seemed to have a cluster of students leaning against it and watching me. Some with pity but most with disgust. A few with amusement.

"Hey, Maya!" someone called from across the hall. "You free this weekend?"

Laughter rippled through a group of junior boys.

I didn't respond.

The morning light slanted through the high windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Dust motes floated in the beams. I focused on them, anything but the faces.

Then I saw them. The cheerleading team.

All of them, standing in a row across the hallway like a wall I couldn't walk through. Red and white letterman jackets, ponytails high and their arms crossed.

Brittany, the captain, stood at the center. Her blonde hair was perfect, her makeup was perfect and her smile was a knife.

My stomach dropped.

I thought about turning around, going back to the class, or…or hiding in the bathroom until lunch. But my feet kept moving. Maybe because some stupid, stubborn part of me refused to run anymore.

"Maya." Brittany's voice was flat.

"Brittany." I stopped a few feet away. The other cheerleaders fanned out behind her, forming a semicircle and blocking my path.

"We've come to collect the uniform."

I blinked. "You said Friday. You gave me until Friday."

Brittany's lips curled, behind her, I saw Chloe shift her weight. Vanessa looked at her shoes. The others just stared at me like I was something they'd scraped off their shoes.

"Yeah, well," Brittany said, drawing out the words like taffy, "we didn't know then what we know now."

A cold finger traced down my spine.

"Know what?"

She tilted her head and studied me like I was a puzzle she'd already solved. "That's how you behave in Colombia, right? Jumping from one man to another?"

The words hit like a slap.

I felt my face drain. My hands curled into fists at my sides. Colombia. She said it like it was a punchline, like my home was a joke.

"That's not…." I started, but my voice cracked.

"We heard from a very reliable source," Brittany continued, stepping closer, "that you're also shagging the hockey coach."

My blood went cold.

Reliable source indeed.

It was Sarah, of course. Who else?

"That's not true," I said. My voice came out quieter than I wanted. "He's just…."

"Just what?" one of the other girls, Maria, I think snorted. "Just giving you private lessons? Just driving you to school? Just wiping your tears?"

More laughter. It bounced off the lockers and echoed down the hallway. Students were stopping now and watching. Phones were coming out.

"Maybe that's how you got on the team in the first place," Brittany said, her voice syrupy sweet and absolutely poisonous. "Cheered your way to the top, or whatever you call what you do."

The implication landed like a stone in my chest. They think I slept my way onto the squad.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab Brittany by her perfect ponytail and shake her until the truth fell out. But what was the point? They'd already decided. They'd already convicted me without a trial.

"Fine," I said. My voice shook, but I forced the words out. "I'll get the uniform."

I turned and started walking toward my locker.

They followed, all of them. I could hear their footsteps behind me, the click of their shoes and the rustle of their jackets. They were whispering and laughing under their breath.

My locker was at the end of the north hall, near the stairwell. The walk felt like a mile. Every student I passed looked up and watched. They saw the cheer team marching behind me like I was being escorted to my execution.

Don't cry. Don't let them see you cry.

My hands were shaking as I spun the lock. The numbers blurred in front of my eyes. 24. 12. 36. Wrong. 24. 10. 36. Wrong.

"Having trouble?" Brittany called from behind me. "Need us to call the coach to help you open it?"

More laughter.

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried again. 24. 8. 36.

The lock clicked. I pulled the handle and the door swung open.

And the photographs spilled out.

Dozens of them, printed on cheap, glossy paper. Tumbling onto the floor like falling leaves, like an avalanche of shame. Every single one the same, me, unconscious, eyes closed and the boy on top of me. Some were folded, some were crumpled while some looked like they'd been handled a hundred times.

They just kept coming out of my locker and onto the floor. Piling up around my feet.

For one horrible second, the hallway was completely silent.

Then the laughter started. It came from everywhere. Behind me, beside me, from the stairwell, from the classrooms with their doors half-open. A wave of sound that crashed over me and pulled me under.

"Nice moves, Maya!"

"Can I get an autograph?"

"Hey, do you give discounts for hockey players?"

Someone whistled. Someone else howled like a wolf. A phone camera flashed in my peripheral vision.

I couldn't move.

The photographs were everywhere. On the floor, sticking to the bottom of people's shoes and floating in the air where someone had thrown a handful like confetti.

Where the hell was Justin?

I felt like dying already.

Behind me, the cheer team laughed the loudest.

"Wow," Brittany said, pushing past me to look at the mess. She picked up one of the photos and held it like she was examining a piece of art. "Looks like someone wanted to make sure everyone saw. What's the matter, Maya? One copy not enough?"

"It's not…." My throat closed up. "I didn't put those there."

"No?" Brittany dropped the photo. It fluttered to the floor and landed face-up. There I was again, ruined. "Then who did? Your imaginary friend?"

Sarah. The name burned in my chest.

But I couldn't say it. What would be the point? They'd never believe me. They'd never believe the poor immigrant girl over Sarah Dean.

"The uniform," Brittany said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "We don't want to be seen with you any longer than we have to."

My legs moved on their own. I turned back to my locker, pushed aside a few stray photos that had lodged themselves between my textbooks, and grabbed the red and white uniform. It was folded, neatly. The last clean thing in my life.

I held it out and Brittany snatched it from my hands like she was taking out the trash.

"Finally," she said. "Now maybe we can forget you ever happened."

She turned to go and the others turned with her.

Then Maria, the girl who'd laughed about private lessons—shoved my shoulder as she passed.

My foot slipped on the photographs, the glossy paper slid beneath my sneaker like ice and the floor rushed up toward my face.

I closed my eyes.

This is it, this is how I break.

But I didn't hit the ground.

A hand caught me.

It was strong, warm and steady. It wrapped around my arm and pulled me upright before I could fall. The grip was firm but gentle, like someone who knew exactly how much pressure to apply.

I opened my eyes.

Justin.

He was standing right there. In the middle of the hallway and in front of everyone. His dark hair was messy, like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times. His jaw was set and his eyes, those tired blue-gray eyes, were scanning my face, cataloging every tear, every tremor, every crack in my armor.

Then his thumb brushed across my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn't even realized were falling.

The whole hallway went silent. Everybody went completely silent like they'd all forgotten how to breathe.

Justin didn't look away from me or acknowledge the crowd. He didn't even acknowledge the photographs scattered across the floor as evidence of a crime, he just held me steady and wiped my tears like I was the only person in the world.

Then he looked up. His voice was low and calm but it carried through the hallway like a bell.

"Who dares make this beautiful angel cry?"

No one moved, no one breathed.

The cheer team stood frozen mid-step. Brittany's mouth was half-open, Maria's hand was still in the air from where she'd shoved me and the students with phones raised forgot to film.

Everyone just stood there.

And Justin's eyes, which were cold now, hard as the ice on his rink, locked onto Brittany like a predator spotting prey.

The silence stretched, the moment hung.

And I realized, standing there in his arms with my tears still wet on his fingers, that nothing would ever be the same after this.