Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [33]
“No. Stop!” I trip. I scrape my hand on the gravel. I try crawling away on my right arm, shielding my head with my left. “Ms. James read my journal.”
“What journal?”
“The one I’ve been doing in English.”
“You wrote about me?”
“It wasn’t supposed to get read.”
“Answer the question.” He squeezes the stone.
“Yes.”
“Bitch!” He whips it over my head. It clangs off the dumpster.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
Jason rages towards me, his face all twisted. Oh god, help! I scrunch into a ball. He jumps on top, yanks my arms down, pins me.
“Get off me. Ow!”
“What did you write?”
“Just stuff.”
“What stuff?” He knees my ribs.
“Leave me alone!”
“What stuff?”
“Nothing. Just stupid stuff.”
He’s right in my face now, talking hot and low. He’s sweating like mad. “Well, that’s real interesting. Because I had a talk with Barker too.”
“What?”
“She called me in. Said there’d been a complaint. No names, but we all know who, don’t we?”
“I didn’t complain.”
“Said I better be careful how I treat ‘young women,’ how I wouldn’t want to get misinterpreted. What’d she mean by that?” He squeezes his knee in my gut.
“I don’t know. Ow. You’re crushing me. Someone’s gonna see us.”
“Big deal. You fell. I’m helping you up.” He jerks me to my feet. “Last chance. What’d you write?”
Suddenly I don’t care what happens. “I wrote what you do to me.”
For a second, Jason goes calm. He chuckles, shakes his head and turns away. Then, before I know what hit me, he hauls off and smashes my shoulder. I crash back against the dumpster, crack my head, slide down into a heap.
“Where’s your journal now?”
“In Barker’s office,” I lie.
“Get it back. I want it burned.”
“I can’t.”
He boots the dumpster, to the right of my face.
Words spill out of my mouth. “I hate you! You’re a pig! A pig! You’re just like Katie said!”
“And you’re a ho. A cum rag.” He boots the dumpster again, closer.
“Go ahead. Kick me in the head. Kick me where people will see the bruise. Smash my face. Break my jaw. Why don’t you, coward?” I can hardly believe what I’m saying. “You and me, we’re finished.”
“Oh, yeah? We’re finished when I say we’re finished.”
“No. We’re finished when I say. And I say now. It’s over. O.V.E.R.”
I expect him to go crazy, but instead he laughs. “Hey, the bitch can spell. I wonder if she can spell ‘Sex Pix.’”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the sex shots I took that first night when you were passed out. I think your mother’d like to see the kind of slut she raised. Flexible. I’m surprised you didn’t make cheerleader.”
“Hah!” My cheeks burn. “I checked your cell. There was just a stupid video of me dancing.”
“On the phone, right. I saved the hot stuff to the memory card. I was upstairs hiding it when you came to. You think I want anyone finding out about my hobby?” He leans in, grinning. “Whenever I want, you’re up on the Net, bitch. A spread-eagled porn star.”
“You’re lying.”
“Try me.”
He spits in my face and turns away. As he saunters off, he calls over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the parking lot at three-thirty. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Twenty-Two
The books that fell out of my locker are probably being kicked up the hall by people changing class.
But that’s happening on another planet. I’ve only got one thing to think about besides throwing up, and that’s getting to Jason’s. Now, while he’s out. If there’s a memory card, I’m getting it back.
I leave the school grounds as fast as I can, grab a bus to the subway, take the subway to Sherwood station, then another bus to Jason’s subdivision. Walking up his street, I feel like an alien. I imagine all these rich housewives and nannies watching me out of their living room windows, getting ready to call the cops.
Nobody walks around here. Even if they wanted to, there’s no sidewalks, just curbs. It’s like walking is a crime or something. Like, if you don’t drive, you must be a lowlife casing a job.
Especially if you look like me. My jeans are ripped from the gravel, I’m covered in scrapes, my hair is a mess, and I’ve got a bump on the back of my head that