"Zoe Taylor, watch your mouth."
Ethan Johnson slammed his pencil down and shot to his feet, unable to listen any longer. His voice, usually lazy and harmless, rang sharp across the classroom.
A few heads jerked up.
Most, though, did what teenagers did best when things got dangerous: pretended not to see.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, heavy and crackling. And because the next period was P.E. and anyone late would be squatting in the sun, people were quick to grab the excuse to flee.
Groups of students tugged at each other's sleeves, whispering, "Come on, come on," as they hurried out, choosing the safety of the track over the storm building at the back of the classroom.
"Jayna, let's just go to class," Calista said urgently.
She was angry too—her hands were clenched around the strap of her bag—but under that anger was fear.
Zoe and her little circle had power. Real power. The kind that came from families and money and things no teacher quite dared to touch.
And then there was Lydia Westbrook, with her soft voice and razor-edged smile.
Calista didn't believe, not for a second, that Jayna could win a head-on fight with people like that.
"This has nothing to do with you two, Calista, Ethan," Zoe said sweetly. "I just want to have a little talk with Jayna."
She dragged over a chair and sat down right in front of Jayna, smiling as she reached out to flick the fountain pen lying on her desk, spinning it idly between her fingers.
"Ethan, you should get downstairs," called Roy from the doorway. "You're sports rep, you need to be there early."
He gave Ethan a pointed look that said very clearly: Don't be stupid. Don't get involved.
Ethan hesitated, jaw tightening.
"Come down with me," he said to Jayna.
"I'm fine," Jayna answered with an easy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Go on. I'll be right there."
She held his gaze a second longer, silently begging him not to make this harder.
After a moment, Ethan nodded reluctantly and left, shoved along by Roy.
Once his footsteps faded down the stairs, the classroom felt twice as quiet.
Jayna lifted her chin and looked at the girl in front of her.
Zoe was big-boned and broad-shouldered, her stance radiating the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were the strongest person in the room.
"What did you want to talk about?" Jayna asked coolly.
Zoe smiled without warmth.
"About how you're going to get the hell out of this class," she said. "You covered for Ginevra last time with that little book stunt. Don't think nobody noticed.
"Why bother?"
Jayna let out a short, humourless laugh.
"So what?" she said. "I admitted to reading a book. That's some kind of mortal sin now?
"If anybody should be 'rolling out' of this class, it's the ones using trashy, disgusting tactics like this because they can't handle someone doing better than them.
"You want a fair fight, try to beat her grades. Oh, wait—you can't."
Zoe's eyes narrowed.
"Funny," she said slowly. "I'm not asking your opinion, Jayna. I'm telling you.
"Don't think just because your family owns some chemical factory and has a bit of money you can go against me.
"Remember the last girl we didn't like?"
She turned her head, looking to the side.
Lydia picked up her cue at once, her delicate features arranged into a mask of regret.
"Oh, right," she said softly. "She was doing really well in school. Top marks.
"But then she dropped out.
"Rumour was she got cornered in the street one night by some thugs. They did… disgusting things.
"She lost her mind afterward. Ended up in the psychiatric wing at St. Mary's, I think.
"No one knows exactly how it all happened. Such a shame."
Her voice dripped sympathy. Her eyes were ice.
She shifted her gaze to Calista.
"So maybe you should convince your friend to get on her knees and apologise to Zoe," she suggested. "It might still help."
"Jayna…" Calista's voice shook.
Fear had finally pushed past her temper.
Because she knew, from half-heard stories and whispers in the dorm, that what Lydia had said… wasn't a lie.
These girls weren't just mean.
They were the kind of mean that had resources. The kind that didn't stop at rumours and notes on desks.
"I honestly don't get it," Jayna said quietly. "I don't remember ever doing anything to you.
"If you can't stand me, fine. I'll apologise. I mean it. I'm sorry."
She met Lydia's eyes, then Zoe's.
"My fault, okay? I'll stay away. You never have to see me again.
"But this has nothing to do with Calista. Leave her out of it."
She swallowed her pride like broken glass.
If bowing her head could keep Calista safe, she'd bow.
If a few words could keep Ginevra's name out of their mouths, she'd say them.
Zoe's lip curled.
She snatched Ginevra's glasses off the desk and slapped them onto the floor. The frames bounced once and skidded away under a neighbouring chair.
"That's what I hate about you most," she sneered. "Always sticking your neck out for other people.
"And yeah, I hate how close you are with Ginevra. People like her are supposed to stay buried.
"Top of the year? Big deal. She's just a boring little bookworm. Her family runs a tiny shop, right? How far do you think she'll actually get?
"Or maybe that cold, quiet thing is an act. Maybe she's a little freak behind closed doors.
"Bet if she met guys like the ones in that post, she'd be exactly the same."
Something in Jayna snapped.
Her hand shot out, fisting in the front of Zoe's shirt and yanking her forward so hard the chair scraped.
"Watch your filthy mouth," she hissed. "Pick up her glasses."
Zoe stared at her for half a beat, then dipped her head and laughed.
"And what are you going to do if I don't?" she said.
She shoved Jayna.
Zoe was taller, heavier, and she'd trained in taekwondo. The push slammed Jayna back into the wall, her shoulder and the back of her head cracking against it.
Pain exploded down one arm; she felt the skin scrape and sting.
"Jayna!"
Calista lunged forward, but Roy caught her around the waist, holding her back.
"Don't," he said tightly. "You really don't want to step into this."
"This is the first useful thing you've done as class monitor," Zoe called over her shoulder, amused.
"Roy, what are you doing?!" Calista shouted, twisting in his grip. "You're really taking their side?"
Roy's face was stiff, his eyes not quite meeting hers.
Lydia watched them thoughtfully, then smiled.
"The class saint you admire so much," she said lightly to Calista, "happens to enjoy spying on girls in the locker room when he's off school grounds.
"He and I have some photos to sort out. Isn't that right, Roy?"
Roy's jaw flexed.
"I'm helping you with this," he said, voice flat, "and then we're even."
Calista went cold.
She stared at him, hardly recognising the boy she'd quietly liked for so long.
"You lay a hand on her," she shouted at Zoe, eyes blazing, "and you think no one will find out? Jayna's dad will destroy you!"
Zoe snorted.
"Look around," she said. "How many people are left in here?"
The few remaining students all looked down, faces carefully blank.
Her loyal echoers.
"You can tell a teacher, if you dare," Zoe added, grinning.
Calista wrenched against Roy's hold, but he only tightened it, one big hand coming up to cover her mouth.
"I don't want to hurt you," he muttered. "So stop."
Zoe turned back just in time to see Jayna push herself upright, one hand braced on the wall.
Her legs wobbled; her arm throbbed where she'd scraped it, a thin line of blood glistening along the skin.
Zoe smiled brightly.
"All right," she said. "Any last words?"
Jayna straightened up, breathing hard.
"I told you," she said slowly. "Pick. Up. Her. Glasses."
"Is that the only line you know?"
Zoe's smile slipped.
"Fine. Let's see if you have anything else to say after this."
She grabbed a handful of Jayna's curly hair and yanked.
Jayna's head jerked back, a flare of pain lancing across her scalp.
"I've always hated this stupid hair," Zoe mused. "So messy. How about we cut it off?"
Jayna caught a flash of metal as Zoe produced a short-handled knife from somewhere—small, but wickedly sharp.
She forced Jayna face-down over the desk; Jayna's forehead slammed into the wood, the pain making her see stars.
She'd never been in a real fight. Not like this.
Zoe was taller, stronger, and her body felt like a brick wall.
Even if Ethan were here, Jayna thought dimly, he'd have trouble.
"Scared now?" Zoe asked, breath hot on her ear. "If you get on your knees and beg, I might let you off."
Her open palm cracked across Jayna's cheek, loud in the nearly empty room.
Not satisfied, Zoe grabbed a thick literature textbook and slammed it down on the side of Jayna's head.
White noise roared in her ears.
Jayna gritted her teeth, tasting copper.
"Beg my ass, you piece of garbage," she spat, voice hoarse.
Her hand shot up in a desperate arc, fingers raking across Zoe's neck.
She dug her nails in as far as she could, dragging them down with everything she had.
Zoe howled.
When she pulled back, there were faint red lines on her throat, beads of blood starting to rise.
"You little bitch," she snarled.
She fisted her hand tighter in Jayna's hair, hauling her up for another slap.
Her arm drew back, muscles tensing—
—and stopped.
Not because she'd chosen to.
Because someone had grabbed her wrist from behind and squeezed.
Hard.
She tried to yank free and couldn't.
The grip on her was like steel.
She twisted, furious.
"Who the hell—
"…you."
Recognition flickered across her face.
Then came the scream.
It ripped out of her throat high and raw as her whole body was slammed down onto the desk.
It happened so fast that everyone froze.
One moment Zoe was standing over Jayna.
The next, she was the one pinned, chest and cheek pressed to the wooden surface, her arm wrenched up behind her back, her legs scrambling uselessly for purchase.
A hand curled around the back of her neck, fingers digging into the soft place just above her spine.
"Tell me," a voice said, low and like ice, "which hand touched her?"
Zoe's lips moved soundlessly.
No sound came out.
The pressure on her neck increased; her lungs stuttered, her vision blurring.
Her back burned where it had slammed into the edge of the desk. Pain radiated up her ribs, hot and electric.
"Didn't hear me?"
The grip shifted, then slammed her down again, hard enough to make the desk rattle.
The girl holding her there didn't even seem out of breath.
Her ponytail was slightly mussed from the run back from the sports field. A faint sheen of sweat glowed on her forehead.
Her eyes were flat and cold.
Ginevra Volkova's fingers tightened on Zoe's wrist, twisting it just enough to make her gasp.
"I'll ask you one more time," she said, each word measured and soft enough to be terrifying.
"Which hand?"