He turned his back on me, stalking down the hall. He usually kept his head down, shoulders hunched; a smaller target. But something was different today. His chin was up and his long strides were aggressive.

Trying to fight Kyle would only make it worse.

I hesitated at my locker, guilt gnawing in my gut as Manson went into the men’s restroom. It doesn’t matter, I told myself, clicking my locker shut.

“Wow, tense in here today, isn’t it?” My best friend and fellow cheerleader, Ashley Garcia, squeezed out of the crowd to stand beside me. “Have you seen Kyle yet?”

“No.” My mouth was dry, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. God, all this stress was going to make me break out. “Do you have your flask on you?”

“Of course, girl.” She reached into her bag and withdrew her “flask,” a water bottle filled with vodka and clear soda. I took a generous gulp, hoping it would settle my nerves.

I handed it back as I spotted Kyle approaching, flanked by three of his friends. Alex, Nate, and Matthew were all part of the jock crowd and they followed Kyle around like loyal dogs. I waved to him with the best smile I could manage — which wasn’t great. It felt cold and plastic on my face. But instead of coming to walk with me to class, Kyle and two of his boys went into the restroom. Nate, a linebacker the size of a grizzly bear, posted up outside with his arms folded. The message was clear.

No entry. Kyle needed his privacy.

My heart plummeted into my shoes. I needed to do something, tell someone. Get the principal, a teacher, the security guard, anyone.

But I just stood there.

Someone brushed against my arm, and Ashley and I looked over to find Vincent standing beside me. He stretched his arms over his head with a lazy groan before tucking his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie.

“Ugh.” Ashley looked away, lip curled in disgust. “Volkov.”

“Garcia,” he responded in kind.

“Kill any small animals lately?” she snipped.

“Only the squirrel whose blood I drank for dinner last night.”

“God, shut up.” I turned to him, flinging my arm toward the bathroom. “Aren’t you going to help him? Or are you too stoned to care that your best friend is going home in a casket?”

Vincent snickered. “You think Manson can’t handle himself?”

“I think it’s three against one, numbskull!” I shoved his arm, my pink acrylics digging into his skin. “Kyle has never had a problem beating him one-on-one, let alone with his friends!”

“As if you’ve ever cared.” Vincent’s smile wasn’t so lazy anymore. It was bitter, frozen on his face. “I don’t think this concerns you anymore, Jess.”

Someone yelled from inside the bathroom, followed by a bang loud enough that I wondered if Kyle had ripped one of the stalls’ metal doors off its hinges. Students looked around in confusion, some gathering closer to the bathroom, but keeping their distance from Nate. Cell phones were out, everyone eager to record the latest drama.