The Slippery Slope Pt 2 (Patreon)

It didn't take long before the results of my innocuous text message began to bear results. Two days later, I began to notice the same few boys loitering where I was, going from class to class at the same time. They were never intrusive, never too close for my liking, but they were always there.

And then, as I was going downstairs on the third day, I heard a scuffle behind me. Looking around, I saw Sophia sitting on the steps, one of my shadows between me and her. She was glaring at him; he shrugged and said, “Sorry, didn't see you there.”

I quickly pieced it together; she'd been about to trip me down the stairs, and he had intervened, body-checked her into the wall or something. There was no way he'd not seen her; boys drooled over her all the time.

I moved on; I didn't want Sophia knowing I'd seen her like that. The boy followed me to my next class, then paused and murmured, “Peter says hi,” before strolling off.

I sat through the class, somewhat stunned. Peter had actually lived up to his word. I was being protected. On one level, I was elated; on another, disturbed. Nothing good happened to me, not these days. There was another shoe waiting to drop, another bolt of lightning waiting to strike. Another price to pay.

None of Emma's cronies were in Mrs Knott's computer class, so I had relative peace and quiet there. Pulling out the phone he'd given me, I dashed off a quick text: Thank you.

Moments later, I got one back; another smiley face. I would have liked to send another text, but Mrs Knott had heard the chime, and was looking my way, so I applied myself to the work.

<><>

That was Friday; on the Monday, things started warming up again.

<><>

It began simply enough; in World Affairs class, Madison's friend Julia tried to get close enough to pour glue on my book. However, someone sitting behind me stuck his foot out, and she tripped; glue splashed all over the floor and all over herself. She got up, hotly accusing me of tripping her. Before I could answer the accusation, the boy behind me stood up.

“Sorry, sir,” he addressed Mr Gladly, “it was me. I tripped her.”

Mr Gladly looked suspiciously at him, then nodded curtly. “Sit down, and don't do it again.” He turned to Madison's friend. “Julia, go and wash yourself off. Why were you carrying an open glue container, anyway?”

She mumbled some sort of excuse and fled; I glanced around to look at the boy, who seemed to be totally engrossed in the lesson at hand; beyond him, I could see Madison glaring at the both of us. I gave her an innocent shrug – I didn't do anything – but it didn't seem to help.

“Hey,” he murmured, once Gladly was facing the board. “Swap books?”

I frowned; I wasn't sure why he wanted to do this, but he'd helped me out once, so I passed my book back, and received his in return.

When Julia returned, she came straight over to me, pretended to trip and planted both hands on the open textbook. Then she went on back to Madison, with a satisfied smirk; on the book was a mass of pink hand soap, ruining the page. I stared at it; what the fuck?

But then there was a tap on my shoulder; the boy behind me wanted to swap books back.

“She put soap on it,” I hissed.

“I know,” he murmured back.

I blinked; if he wanted a damaged textbook …

We swapped books once more, and I kept a surreptitious eye on Madison and Julia from then on. However, it was getting pretty close to the end of the lesson then, so they didn't try anything else.

<><>

I went to the next class after sending another thank-you note to Peter; he sent me yet another smiley face. Once again, I was shadowed to my classroom; I nodded to the boy as he peeled off. He nodded back, ever so slightly. It was a weird feeling; I had bodyguards.

There was no-one to bother me in Mr Quinlan's math class, but my head was still reeling from the realisation that Peter – or someone – was going to some lengths to ensure that I was undisturbed by bullies while at Winslow. But even if Peter hadn't organised it, he had certainly set it in motion.

The trouble started during the lunch hour, when I went upstairs to the girls' bathrooms. I noticed that the boy who had body-checked Sophia was following me; I slowed to let him catch up.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” I told him bluntly. “You won't be able to follow me in there.”

“Ah,” he noted, and pulled out his phone. I watched, mystified, as he sent a text.

“What was that about?” I asked, as he finished.

“Reinforcements.” he replied, as we kept going up.

I got to the third floor, and my heart sank. There was a bunch of girls standing around the bathroom door, and I thought I recognised them all. All of them were Emma's friends … or rather, Sophia's patsies. Doing her dirty work, because she saw me as a threat.

Hoping against hope that it was just a coincidence, I approached; however, when they saw me coming, they closed ranks.

“Sorry, Taylor,” one of them told me with false sweetness, “but the bathroom's occupied.”

“What, by all of you?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Sure,” one of her friends added. “You can go down and use the boys' toilets. I'm sure they won't even notice.”

The girls laughed, and I felt my face grow hot. “Come on, I need to go to the bathroom,” I insisted. “You've had your joke.”

But as I tried to push my way forward, they pushed me back again. I glanced back to the boy who had accompanied me, but he was standing off a little way, casually observing us.

Great. Well, I won't get much help out of him, then. Thanks a bunch, Peter.

Just then, Emma emerged from the bathroom, and another girl entered.

“Oh, hi, Taylor,” Emma greeted me brightly. “So sorry, the bathrooms seem to be occupied.”

I was starting to feel the pressure on my bladder. “Emma,” I ground out. “Seriously. Blocking me out of the bathrooms?”

“Oh, we're not blocking you out of the bathrooms,” Emma informed me. “But everyone else was here first. You know how it goes.”

“Well, I don't know how it goes,” a voice behind me observed, “but I am going to the bathroom.”

I looked around; a girl had approached the group from the stairs. Blonde, with strong features, she was almost my height, and maybe twice my weight; I figured her for a senior.

Moving toward the little group around the door, she simply didn't stop; they were forced to step aside. Emma didn't move quickly enough, and the girl gave her a jab in the ribs with her elbow; surprised, Emma reeled away. The older girl stopped as she opened the bathroom door, turned to me, and tilted her head in a come-on motion. Jolted to action, I followed her in.

Within, Madison and Sophia were just washing their hands, along with a third girl. They turned to stare as I followed the senior into the bathroom.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Hebert?” demanded Sophia.

“Going to the bathroom,” I retorted. “What did you fucking think? Waiting for the fucking train?”

In the silence that followed, Madison's jaw slowly dropped; Sophia's suffused with anger. At the same time, I saw the senior going along the row of cubicles, pulling on the doors. The second one opened, and she held it that way, a clear invitation to me.

“You do not fucking talk to me that way,” Sophia growled.

“I'll talk to you any way I fucking like … bitch,” I replied, giving her the finger. Not giving her a chance to reply, I entered the cubicle and locked it behind me.

<><>

Despite the urgency of my bladder, it took me a little while to calm down enough to actually pee; by the time I finished and got out of there, the bathroom was empty, save for the senior.

“Where'd they all go?” I asked as I washed my hands.

She shrugged. “Decided they had better places to be, I guess.”

“Well, uh, thanks,” I told her. “I appreciate it.”

She smiled briefly. “Any time to help a sister out. Besides, Peter asked me to.”

I cleared my throat. “I … uh … is Peter someone special? He seems to have a lot of influence … ?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Peter is … Peter. He's a good guy, in case you're wondering.”

“But … why's he helping me?” I asked; a question I had posed myself a few times in the last hour. “I'm no-one special.”

“Everyone's special,” she told me. “But most people can take care of their own problems. Peter saw that your problems were overwhelming you, through no fault of your own, and he likes you, so he asked for help.”

“Because I'm a sister,” I repeated the term, perhaps just a little sarcastically.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don't knock it. When they try to push you out of where you belong, when they try to tell you that you don't deserve what you've worked for, because of some government equal-opportunity bullshit, you'll be glad to have a brother or a sister at your side to help you out.”

“Oh, I appreciate it,” I told her. “I'm grateful as hell. I just don't know if I've earned this sort of help.”

She smiled as she shook her head. “You don't earn it. You accept it, and pass it on to the next sister or brother who needs it.” She held out her hand. “Jenna.”

“Oh, uh, Taylor.” I shook her hand; she had a strong, firm grip. “And really, thanks.”

She shrugged. “Hey, help out a sister sometime, and we'll be even.”

We exited the bathroom; my shadow was loitering near the stairwell. Jenna gave him a nod as we neared him. “Kelly.”

“Jenna,” he replied. “Thanks for stepping in.”

“Any time,” she responded, bumping fists with him. “See you round. And you too, Taylor.”

“See you round, Jenna,” I told her, and watched as she went down the stairwell two at a time.

I checked my watch. “Shit, I won't have time to get through the lunch line.”

“We figured as much,” Kelly told me easily as he strolled down the steps. “Bronson's in the lunch line now. He's getting what you had with Peter that time. Peter'll meet you out at the front steps with it; that okay?”

I stopped, my jaw dropping slowly. Kelly turned to look at me. “What?”

“Why?” I stared at him. “Why me?”

He shrugged. “Peter says you're a sister, so you get protection. I don't know what those bitches have against you, and it's none of my business. I'm just here to make sure shit doesn't go down.”

I fumbled money out of my purse. “Give this to Bronson, whoever he is. I pay for my own meals.”

“Sure,” he agreed, accepting it. “Gonna meet Peter out on the steps?”

I nodded. “Yeah. The steps.”

<><>

“Hey, Taylor.”

I turned around as Peter pushed open the school doors and joined me at the steps. “Peter.”

He sat down just close enough to pass me my lunch, then looked at me quizzically. “From your less than overjoyed expression, you've got a beef with me.”

“Yeah.” I reconsidered. “No, not really.” Closing my eyes, I let my head bump back against the concrete wall. “Fuck, I don't know.”

“And now that we've cleared that up … ” he murmured, sounding amused.

I opened my eyes and glared at him. “Don't you fucking start.”

He shrugged. “Taylor. I just got here. I'm really pleased to see you, but please don't come over all pissed at me without actually telling me what I've done.”

Conflicting emotions chased through me. He's pleased to see me. A warm flush spread through my chest. This was followed by embarrassment and guilt; I had snapped at him for no good reason.

I took one deep breath, then another. "I'm just a bit unsettled, I guess. And kind of weirded out."

"Why is that?" His expression was polite, his tone mildly curious.

"Because of Kelly, and Jenna, and Bronson, and the others," I burst out. "They're actually helping me. Getting in the way of the bullies. Stopping shit from happening."

One of his eyebrows raised slightly. "And this is a bad thing?"

"No, but I didn't expect it to happen like this," I confessed. "Not like I'd have bodyguards running interference for me."

He looked somewhat bemused. "Well, how did you expect it to work?"

"I don't know!" I paused and lowered my voice. "I don't know. I don't even know if I really expected it to work. I know I didn't expect anything this blatant."

"Well, I'd prefer it that way too," he assured me. "But those bitches are pretty determined to get to you. Bitch-face must be pushing them hard."

I shook my head. "I don't even know what I did to piss her off. I'd spoken to her about once, before school started. She was a bitch to me then. I'd never even met her before."

Peter nodded sympathetically. "Emma was your friend back then, right?"

"Yeah," I told him. "I went on summer camp, and visited Emma when I got back. Sophia was there, and she told me to fuck off, and Emma -" I paused, breathing deeply. "Sorry. Emma just looked at me. Like I was a stranger. Told me that she'd basically outgrown me."

"Oh, that's easy then." Peter's voice was light.

I frowned. "What?"

"Sure." He sat forward and twisted around so as to face me. "Emma's popular. Well, she's good-looking, her dad's got money, and she's got a strong personality. Which pretty well translates to 'popular', yeah?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "But I was never interested in all that. She was just my best friend."

His beaming smile lit up his face, and caused my heart to lurch, just a little. "That's just one of the things I really like about you, Taylor. You're so genuine. You don't do the bullshit thing."

I found myself flushing, and there was a lump in my throat. "Uh, Peter," I managed, "you were talking about Sophia?"

He nodded. "Yeah. See, she meets Emma. Emma's popular, she wants to get in on the popular thing, so she gets her hooks into her. She's kind of good-looking, if you're into that sort of thing, and she probably fed Emma a line of bullshit about how cool she was. Meanwhile, she's just using Emma to pretend that she's better than she is. So when you show up, Emma's actual friend, she's got to get rid of you fast, before you uncover her for the lying parasite she really is."

I thought about that. The warmth that had filled me from Peter's compliment had drained away completely, leaving me with a cold empty place inside. It made sense; it made a lot of sense.

"So, what you were saying, earlier, about Sophia knowing that I'm better than her ... "

"Well, duh," he replied, with a warm chuckle. "She's a lot of things, but she's not fucking stupid. Of course you're better than her. If she let Emma see that for even a moment ... "

"You're saying that Emma would be my friend again?" I wasn't sure what was in the tone of my voice.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe she's bought too much into the black-is-better thing. In any case, would you really want to be friends with a turncoat race traitor who would dump a friendship of years to be with a manipulative black bitch like Sophia?"

Tentatively, I shook my head. "I ... I guess not."

"Of course not," he agreed. "It's this sort of thing that teaches you who your real friends are."

Slowly, I nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

He tilted his head. "I detect a note of doubt in your voice. What's up?"

I took a deep breath, and took the plunge. "I really don't want you to think that I'm not grateful, because I really am, but ... "

My voice trailed off, and he looked at me understandingly. "But you're wondering what it's all about, yeah?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted awkwardly. "You're getting your friends to protect me, and it's really nice, but I can't help wondering where the price tag is in all this. Like, you protect me for a while, until I'm used to it, then you tell me that it'll all go away unless I do something for you, like, uh, commit to joining the Empire, or give you some money, or ... " I blushed again, involuntarily.Sleep with you.

"Or that you have to be my girlfriend?" he finished for me, teasingly.

"Uh, yeah, that," I agreed gratefully. He knows damn well what I meant, but he's being nice.

He shook his head. "Taylor," he told me, his voice firm and warm and sincere, "we would never do that to you. I would never do that to you. I mean, sure, I'd love to be your boyfriend – and I do mean just your boyfriend – but I'd never coerce you into a relationship. Or anything else. That would be totally up to you. And as for the rest of it ... well, you have to want to join the Empire. I can't make you do that. Nor would I even try. And you're a friend of the Empire. We don't extort money from our friends."

Stunned, I was unable to talk. He just said he'd like to be my boyfriend.

I didn't know what to think of that. On the one hand, he was a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. On the other, he was good looking, polite, nice to me, and was organising his friends to make sure I didn't get bullied. In short, he was treating me like a girlfriend should be treated, without even being my boyfriend.

“Taylor?” he asked.

I blinked, and realised that I'd been staring at him for about thirty seconds without speaking. “Uh, sorry?”

He grinned. It was sweet, it was cute, it was engaging, and it was aimed at me. I hadn't realised until right then how much I liked his grin.

“I was just asking if there was anything else you were worried about,” he explained.

“Um,” I began, “if I wanted out … would there be any trouble?”

“Nope,” he assured me. “Just tell me, and it's done.” He tilted his head. “Do you want out?”

I thought about that for just a few seconds, then shook my head decisively. “Not unless things change,” I told him. “I still don't see what's so special about me, but you're doing what you said you would, and oh god you have no idea what it feels like for me to know that someone else is on my side.”

“I actually think I do,” he replied simply. “I'm a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Doesn't matter that I'm still a teenager. I need a hand, someone's got my back. Any hour of the day, I really need it, all I gotta do is make one phone call, and there'll be someone there to help.” He grinned at me. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It does. It really does.” I looked back at him. “And there's no price I have to pay? Really?”

“Only what you can afford,” he told me. “And only what you're willing and able to do. Right now you haven't got much; I get that. But if you see one of our guys getting a hard time from the ABB or the Merchants, you call me. Or if we need a message passed along, you could do that. Nothing illegal; just, you know, stuff. Help us out. Little favours.”

I thought about this. It seemed reasonable. “Bronson and Jenna and Kelly, they're putting it on the line for me,” I pointed out. “Sophia might convince some of the boys or girls to beat them up or something, so they can't protect me.”

He smiled. “They can try. The Empire takes care of its own.”

“And you take care of me, too,” I agreed.

A serious nod. “We take care of our friends.”

I shifted along the step until I was sitting alongside him. He looked at me curiously. Carefully, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He didn't make any motion to touch me, to kiss me back; he just smiled at me. “You're welcome,” he murmured in return. “But hey, if you're interested, we've got a gathering coming up in December. You're invited, if you want to come along.”

“I, uh -” I was suddenly unsure. It felt like a huge step. I knew Peter, and I'd met Kelly and Bronson and Jenna. Meeting more people from the Empire Eighty-Eight …

“Your choice,” he assured me. “No pressure. You don't want to come, you don't come.”

I took a breath. “I … it's okay if I don't want to come?”

A nod. “Totally.”

“Then … yeah, I think I'll pass this time. Thanks anyway.” I smiled uncertainly. “We can still hang out, right?”

He laughed, cheerful and carefree. “Oh god yes. Did you think I'd be offended or something?”

“Um … maybe?”

Another chuckle. “Nope. I like you. That doesn't depend on you coming to gatherings.”

“And it's okay if I don't want to be your girlfriend?” I pressed. The word Yet bobbed up into my mind. I shooed it away.

He eyed me with a raised eyebrow. “I'd be worried if you wanted to be my girlfriend just so you could be with the 'in' group. No, it's fine. I like us just the way we are.”

“The 'in' group?” I asked curiously.

“Some of us kids,” he explained casually. “Our parents are better connected in the Empire than others. There's not really a ranking system, but we've got sort of higher status. It's why I can ask Bronson and Kelly and Jenna to help you out. Dad says it's good practice for when I get older.”

I nodded. “So you are more important. I thought so.”

He gave me a shrug in return, though I caught a quickly-hidden half-smile; he seemed to be pleased that I'd figured it out. “I don't like to make a huge deal out of it.”

“So tell me something, Peter-who-pretends-not-to-be-important,” I began, “if I came to a gathering with you, I'd be just your guest, right?”

He nodded. “Right.”

“Would they assume that we were involved, just because I came with you?” I watched his face carefully.

“Hell, no,” he replied cheerfully. “Grandpa would've been be put out if I showed up with a girlfriend who wasn't Empire, but he was always old-fashioned.”

I tilted my head. “Would have been?”

He took a breath. “Died a few years ago. My uncle took over the family business.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I told him immediately. “I know what it's like to lose a loved one. My mom … “

I trailed off; even two years on, it was still painful to refer to it.

His arm went around my shoulders for the first time; lightly, gently, giving me the chance to pull away.

I didn't pull away. Instead, I leaned against him, my head on his shoulder, and closed my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I felt warm and safe. Almost as safe as I felt with my Dad.

But Peter can do more to protect me. The thought felt vaguely treacherous, even if it was true.

We sat that way until the bell rang.

<><>

December 2010

“Hey, Taylor!”

I looked around; Emma stood there, flanked by Sophia and Madison. I turned back around, kept walking.

“Taylor, I'm talking to you!”

Frowning, I turned back. Bronson faded into the background as I did so. “For fuck's sake, Emma, what?”

Sophia glowered and took a step forward at my tone; Emma murmured something to her and she stopped. Then Emma raised her voice. “You know that boy you've been hanging out with? Peter Ferguson?”

I nodded. It wasn't exactly a secret that he and I ate lunch on the steps every day. “Yeah, so?”

“Did you know he's Empire Eighty-Eight?” With an expression of triumph on her face, she watched my expression, looking for the shock, the denial.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” I asked. “Seriously?”

I turned away from her and headed down the hallway. Bronson was shadowing me today, because Kelly had been suspended after getting in Sophia's way once too often. I'd apologised to Kelly; he had shrugged and told me it was worth it.

“It's true!” she yelled after me. “Are you a fucking racist bigot as well as a loser, Hebert?”

I stopped and turned around. Slowly, I walked back to Emma. Face to face, we traded glares. I knew that Bronson was nearby, ready to interpose if things got physical.

“I'd rather be a fucking loser than to take my orders from Sophia fucking Hess, any day of the week,” I told her flatly. “The moment you want to stop being that bitch's hand puppet, come see me.”

“Hey!” yelled Sophia. “That's fucking enough!” She swung her hand at me, open, ready to deliver a stinging slap. I went to dodge away, but it wasn't necessary; Sophia's wrist slapped into Bronson's hand.

“You don't touch Taylor,” he rumbled. As he was about my height, and heavier than Jenna, he had a certain physical presence about him.

“Let go of me!” snapped Sophia, wrenching her hand from his grasp. She glared at him; he glowered back.

Emma stared from me to Bronson and back again. “The fuck?” she muttered. “Taylor, have you really fucking joined the Empire Eighty-Eight?”

“No, Emma, I really fucking haven't,” I retorted. “I've just got friends now. Friends you can't frighten away. So you can fuck off and leave me alone, or the next time you and your little friends try to get up in my grille, I'm going to punch your fucking lights out.”

“Touch me,” Emma told me triumphantly, “and my dad will sue your dad into a fucking smoking crater.”

I stared at her, trying to see in her the best friend I had once had. She wasn't in there; not any more. The Emma that I had known was dead and gone.

“That's low,” I told her. “Fucking low. But then, I bet you learned it from Sophia.”

Turning, I took two steps away from her. That was when something smashed into the back of my head, sent me sprawling forward on to the linoleum, head ringing. My glasses had gone somewhere, I didn't know where. Waves of blackness came and went. I heard shouts, screaming, bellows from Bronson.

I was still struggling to get my arms and legs into working order when I felt strong hands helping me up.

“Bronson?” I mumbled.

“That's me,” he agreed. “Let's get you to the infirmary.”

“Glasses,” I slurred. “Came off.”

“Shit,” he muttered. I vaguely saw him looking around, then he bent down and picked something up. They were my glasses, but someone had stood on them; the frame was bent. Carefully, he bent them back into something approximating normality, and fitted them on to my face.

“Better?” he asked.

“'s'better,” I agreed woozily. “Wha'hoppen?”

“She hit you in the back of the head,” he stated flatly. “When your back was turned.”

I turned my head dazedly, not sure why she would have stopped at hitting me once. The crowd parted briefly, and I saw her lying on the floor. Blood pooled nearby.

“Bronson?” I asked, alarm cutting through the clouds of confusion in my head. “What did you do?”

“Punched her,” he growled. “And kicked her a few times.”

“Call Peter,” I mumbled.

“It's okay,” he assured me. “I got this.”

“No,” I insisted. “Call. Peter. Now.”

Because splitting headache or no, concussion or no, I knew that all the shit in the world was going to pour down on Bronson's head. I didn't know exactly why, but I knew that it was.

<><>

Peter arrived at the infirmary, as the nurse was examining me. He consulted in low tones with Bronson, and nodded; Bronson got up and left. The nurse ignored the byplay and shone a light into my left eye.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Concussion. Mild.” She looked at my face. “Split skin on your jaw. Bump on the back of your head. What happened?”

“Sophia Hess hit me in the back of the head,” I stated grimly. “I hit my jaw on the ground.”

She stared at me. “Sophia Hess? The girl who does track?”

Yeah, the black bullying bitch who does track, can't possibly do anything wrong, I thought sourly.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “The girl who does track.”

“Why did she hit you?” she pressed.

“I had an argument with one of her friends.”

She looked troubled. “Has anyone told the principal about this?”

“I'd say she knows,” Peter put in dryly. “An ambulance just showed up to take Sophia away to the hospital.”

My head jerked up, and the nurse scolded me. “Please keep still.”

“Wow, that was fast,” I muttered, letting the nurse check my right eye.

“It was,” she agreed. “Sometimes we've waited an hour or more for an ambulance to get here for injured children.” She paused. “Wait, what happened to her?”

“Police are here too,” Peter noted, with gloomy satisfaction.

“Wait, seriously?” I stared at him. “One little tiny brawl, and we get an ambulance and police here in the time it normally takes someone to drive out of the parking lot?”

“What happened to Sophia Hess?” insisted the nurse.

“I didn't see,” I told her honestly. “I was flat on my face, and my glasses were being trod on at the time.” I indicated my obviously-bent glasses on the tray next to me.

“Oh.” She didn't ask me any more questions.

<><>

The police, however, wanted to ask me lots of questions.

I was escorted into a conference room, and a female police officer sat down opposite me. “I'm Detective Graves,” she informed me. “I understand you witnessed the event?”

At this moment, a male officer pushed the door open and pulled a chair up next to Graves. He chose not to identify himself. I looked from one to the other.

“What?” I asked. “Don't I get a school counsellor to sit with me?”

“She's busy,” the officer told me shortly.

“Then I'm going to sleep. Someone call my Dad?” I laid my head down on the table, on my crossed arms.

“Hey, kid, this is a serious matter,” the male officer snapped. “She was seriously injured.”

“Good,” I mumbled.

“Good?” He was on his feet, shouting. “GOOD?”

I raised my head. “Yeah. Good. Because I'm the one she punched in the back of the fucking head and gave a concussion to, just before she got the shit kicked out of her. Now fuck off and call my Dad before I choose to sue the school, the police department and everyone in between.”

Closing my eyes, I laid my head back down on my arms.

They didn't ask me any questions after that, either.

<><>

I stayed home for a couple of days, until my head stopped aching at the slightest noise. Dad stayed home as well, fussing over me.

“But what happened, kiddo?” he asked me worriedly. “Why would this Sophia Hess hit you like that?”

I sighed; the cat would be out of the bag soon enough. “Because she hates me, Dad.”

His brow creased. “But what did you do to her?”

“I didn't do anything,” I stressed. I wanted to explain to him how she found me a threat to the hold she had on Emma, but that would involve explaining that Emma was no longer my friend, and that she had threatened to have Mr Barnes sue Dad … it was too big a can of worms. Better not to open it at all.

“I'm not blind, kiddo,” he told me after a moment. “I knew when you broke your glasses and came home with that black eye. I've seen the other times you came home with bruises. I gave you your space, gave you time to tell me. But you never did. Is something happening at school? Is someone picking on you?”

I took a deep breath. “People were,” I admitted. “But not any more. They've got friends, and I've got friends, and we leave each other alone.”

“Except that this Sophia Hess punched you in the back of the head, and then ended up in the hospital with broken bones,” he told me flatly. “That's more than a schoolyard scuffle.”

“I didn't pick it,” I told him honestly. “But maybe it's done, now.”

I didn't believe that myself, but it was something I could hope for.

He frowned worriedly, and hugged me; I hugged him back. “Listen, if anything else happens at school like that, tell a teacher. Tell the principal,” he urged me.

I shook my head. “She's the golden girl there. She was the one who assaulted me, and they were going to interrogate me like I was the criminal. And the last time I spoke to Principal Blackwell about this sort of shit, she didn't do a damn thing.”

“Okay, then tell me,” he decided. “I'll take it to the media if I have to. I can't let this go on.”

“Okay, Dad,” I agreed. “I'll do that.” I knew that I wouldn't. But I'd make the promise if it made him happy.

The only people who could protect me at school were the Empire Eighty-Eight.

<><>

Peter's smile was broad. “Taylor,” he greeted me. “You're back.”

“I am,” I agreed, sitting down beside him on the steps. “Still a bit headachey, but I'm good. Better than I was.”

“Bronson had to bolt before they arrested him.” His voice was low. “Good call on that, by the way.”

“Thought there might be trouble over that,” I agreed. “And Sophia?”

“You wouldn't fucking believe it,” he growled. “Back in the next day, not a hair out of place.”

I blinked. “How the hell?”

“Panacea's my guess.” He shook his head. “Someone's got serious pull to get her in at short notice.”

“Dammit,” I muttered. “It's never going to end, is it?”

“Oh, it'll end, one way or the other,” he observed. “But in the meantime, we just keep on going.”

“Kelly's still suspended, and the cops are looking for Bronson,” I noted. “Before this all started, Emma was saying how you were Empire. How would she have figured that out?”

Peter grimaced. “Fuck. It's not exactly a secret, but I would have preferred that it not get out. You didn't say anything, of course.” I felt warm inside; he was stating a fact, not asking a question.

“Not a thing,” I replied with a grin. “Waved the concussion flag. Emma's dad once told me that cops can't get legal statements from someone under the influence of alcohol or a concussion.”

“Nicely done.” I smiled at the praise. “It does leave us a bit short-handed, though. I might have to bring in someone else.”

“Fuck it,” I told him. “I can tough it out till Christmas.”

“And Kelly's suspension will be over after that,” he agreed. “Good. You can handle it?”

“If Bronson can beat the living shit out of Sophia Hess, I can handle myself for a couple of weeks,” I assured him.

“Maybe you should start sitting with the other guys,” he suggested. He meant the ones with the buzz-cuts, of course. The ones wearing the colours. “Send a message. Show them that you're with the Empire now, and to fuck with you is to fuck with us.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Not really ready to take that step yet.”

A light shrug. “Your choice.”

I smiled at him. “Thanks. Could you do me a favour? Thank Bronson for me?”

“Consider it done,” he assured me. “He'll be glad to hear you're doing well.”

I took his hand and squeezed it. “You're a good friend, Peter,” I told him. “I appreciate it.”

“Hey,” he replied lightly, squeezing my hand back. “Anything for a sister.”

<><>

Oddly enough, the last two weeks before the Christmas holidays were the easiest that I'd had all year. Sophia backed right off, and her patsies stood down as well. I figured that maybe the beatdown that Bronson had inflicted on Sophia had given her second thoughts.

Every time I passed her in the halls, she glared at me, but did nothing else. I tried to give her glare for glare, but I doubted that she was intimidated.

Emma was less mouthy, but she still got in the occasional jab. I ignored her; she'd done worse. To my mild surprise, she left out the comments about the Empire Eighty-Eight. Maybe it had been a wild guess after all?

I ate lunch outside on the steps with Peter each day; it was my time to enjoy myself with someone nice. Sometimes we swapped lunches, just for the hell of it, and I recommended him some of my favourite books. He read them, and we discussed the merits of some of the characters.

More and more often, I would sit alongside him, and he would put his arm around me, 'for warmth', as he put it. We both knew that if we wanted to be warmer, we could go back inside.

Peter, I decided, was a nice, kind, gentle, sweet boy. A gentleman, in every sense of the word. I liked him just a little more with each passing day.

<><>

The Christmas holidays went by in a blur. I spent Christmas Day with my Dad; most every other day, I went out to meet with Peter. We browsed the Market and walked along the Boardwalk, looking out at the sullen winter swells. Occasionally we held hands; most times, we did not, mainly because holding hands with gloves on is unrewarding, and holding hands in a chill breeze without gloves on gets uncomfortable very quickly.

“So how was the gathering?” I asked on one occasion.

“Oh, it was fine,” he told me. “Dad asked about you.”

“You told him about me?” I was mildly startled. “What did you say?”

“That you were a friend.”

I nudged him with my shoulder. “And?”

He grinned. “And that you were a nice girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “And what did he say?”

“Told me that he'd like to meet you.”

“Oh.” I stopped walking; he moved on a couple more steps, then turned and looked back at me.

“What's the matter?”

I took a deep breath of the chill air. “Your dad wants to meet me. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Anything you want, Taylor,” he told me. “He knows we're friends. He knows you're a friend to the Empire. He knows what you've been going through. He wants to say hello, and make sure you know that we're on your side.”

“But he's a big wheel in the Empire Eighty-Eight,” I pointed out. “I'm not even a member. I'm nobody.”

“He is kind of biggish and kind of wheelish,” Peter admitted. “But he doesn't want to meet you because of that. He wants to meet you because I like you. Says that you sound like an interesting person.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that impression won't last.”

“It did with me.” His voice was soft, almost lost in the cutting breeze, but I heard him, and my heart lurched in my chest.

“Seriously, Peter,” I asked, my own voice rough, “what do you see in me?”

He smiled. “If you have to ask, you'll never believe me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. Be that way. What are we gonna do about school? They won't have given up, and Bronson can't come back because he's still wanted.”

“Kelly's off suspension now,” he pointed out. “We keep screwing them around, sooner or later they'll realise that Sophia's pushing them around for her own amusement. With luck, they'll turn on her and we won't have to do a thing.”

I was less hopeful. “Sophia's pretty tough.”

He tapped me gently on the tip of the nose. “You're tougher. You're better.”

I smiled and leaned against him; he put his arm around me. “You say the nicest things.”

“It'll be fine, Taylor,” he assured me. “You'll see.”

<><>

January 2011

First day back at school. The corridor was crowded as I made my way through it, Kelly trailing behind. Up ahead, there was even more commotion; people crowding, pointing, making comments.

Around my locker.

I slid through the crowd; there was some benefit to being skinny. Kelly, less so, was left behind. I didn't realise, and I didn't care.

“What the fuck?” I gasped.

Plastered all over my locker, with some having drifted to the floor, were dozens and dozens of photos; Nazi flags, pictures of emaciated people staring through barbed wire, tanks rolling across rivers. Pictures of Hitler giving speeches.

And over it all, a stench, as of something rotten.

Emma and Sophia stood off to the side, smugly satisfied. Oddly, I didn't see Madison anywhere.

“What the fuck is this?” I demanded, looking at Sophia. It was her, of course. It couldn't be anyone else.

But it was Emma who spoke.

“Looks like someone gave you a change in décor, Hebert,” she sneered. “Given that you're in the Empire Eighty-Eight. There's your cultural background, right there.”

I turned away from her, ripped some of the photos down, threw them to the ground. “I'm not in the Empire,” I snapped. “I just want to be left -”

As I spoke, I was unlocking my locker, wanting to see what they'd done to cause the godawful smell.

I saw.

It was a third full of … garbage. Rotting garbage. Food scraps, dirty diapers, sour vomit, and everything else that could possibly cause a distressing smell. There might not have been a dead skunk in there, but I would never have been able to prove it. The smell hit me then, full on, and I bent over to throw up.

That was when Sophia grabbed me by the hair and shoved me into the locker.

The door banged shut, bruising my legs, and I heard the lock click.

I was locked in with the stench and the garbage.

<><>

I threw up, right then and there. With fresh vomit on my shirt, I twisted desperately in the tight, dark confines of the locker to bang on the door. “HELP!” I screamed. “HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

I had to inhale after that, and promptly threw up again. The smell was … intense. Invasive. I was treading on things that I didn't want to know about. Squishing under my feet. I would have thrown up a third time, if there was anything left to throw up. I gagged anyway, and retched.

And then I heard a voice outside. Peter's voice. Blessed, blessed Peter.

“Taylor!” he called. “Taylor! What's the combination?”

“HELP! GET ME OUT!” I screamed, near hysteria.

“The lock!” he bellowed. “The combination!”

He wanted the combination to the lock. The lock that would let me out.

The combination is …

Come on, it's …

My mind was a blank, all logical thought chased out by the incredible stench.

“I DON'T KNOW!”

“Taylor! I believe in you! You can do it!”

My mind snapped into focus. I screamed the combination so loudly that my ears rang. Then I retched again.

An interminable time later, the lock clicked open. The door swung wide.

I fell out of the locker, into Peter's arms. Despite the fact that I was covered in vomit and with various noisome substances, he held me tightly.

I clung to him. I never wanted to let him go.

Part 3