During gym class, I lock myself in the janitor's closet. No one ever seems to look in this dark, small room that is now forgotten. Someone once crammed old mops, portable boards, globes, and a well-worn old principal's chair into it, the kind it seems someone had a hard time saying goodbye to. The shelves are coated with dust, and hanging from the ceiling is probably the only non-energy-efficient bulb in the school. Reading books in its dim light will probably ruin my eyesight someday. It's the perfect place to hide from Mr. Whittemore's watchful eye and the judgmental idiots.

I never told Jen about coming here from time to time. Lately, I've been coming here much less often compared to how frequently I used to lock myself in this closet in the past. The peak of insults, jeers, mocking glances, and harassment made me find a space free from the sad reality.

Kids are cruel, and words can hurt more than a knife straight to the heart. That's why I hate them all. I hate each of them individually for the days I sat in that same chair and cried my eyes out. I hate them for the evenings when I drowned my sadness in chips and chocolate, washed down with sodas, which gave them another reason to insult me. None of them really knew me. None even tried to get to know me. Instead, they all judged me based on events I had no control over.

The worst part is that our stupid town is so small that the public elementary school and the four-year Ernest Hemingway High School are in the same building—not a very large one, I might add. Okay, maybe the northern and eastern wings are for the younger classes, and the other two are for the older ones, but the cafeteria is still one. So many years in the same walls with the same tormentors... Isn't that enough time to let go?

No. I'm not the weak link like my mom. I won't let them get to me, and that's why... Well, yes, I'm hiding in the janitor's closet. But I'm not running away; I just don't feel like working out!

I settle comfortably into "my" chair and pull out my well-worn copy of The Catcher in the Rye from my backpack. An hour of peace. No noise, no critical glances. Just me and Holden Caulfield.

USER @Moodkiller🕷 IS ONLINE NOW!

12:34
MoodKiller: Where are you and why is this place NOT THE GYM?!

USER @Pinkgirl🌸 IS ONLINE NOW!

12:35
PinkGirl: Are you stalking me?

MoodKiller: No, I just happened to walk past the gym where everyone is but you.

PinkGirl: How do you even know I have gym class at this hour?

PinkGirl: That's pretty creepy considering I don't know anything about you except that you're a guy and go to the same school

MoodKiller: I just know. I think you told me yourself once...

12:40
MoodKiller: Sadie, can you tell me where you are?

PinkGirl: None of your business

MoodKiller: I don't want you to repeat second grade because of some stupid PE class... It's pointless.

PinkGirl: Since when are you so worried about my grades?

MoodKiller: SADIE, I'M NOT JOKING.

12:45
MoodKiller: I'm about to get angry. If you don't want to talk, log out instead of just ignoring me.

PinkGirl: Tell me something nice

MoodKiller: What?

PinkGirl: Please. A compliment, even a tiny one, the most ordinary, the stupidest.

MoodKiller: I don't understand.

PinkGirl: Okay, never mind. Forget it.

MoodKiller: WAIT!

MoodKiller: Hmmm...

MoodKiller: Sadie.

PinkGirl: No, seriously, you don't have to.

MoodKiller: It's hard to come up with something on the fly.

MoodKiller: I know!

MoodKiller: Sadie, you're the most empathetic and sensitive person I know.

PinkGirl: You don't know me.

MoodKiller: I know you very well, believe me.

PinkGirl: Okay, fine. Thank you.

MoodKiller: Will you tell me where you are now?

PinkGirl: Why? Do you want to join me?

PinkGirl: I'm in a place where no one will find me. Don't worry; this is the last PE class I'm skipping. I'm just taking advantage of the fact that my father can't give me a bigger detention than I already have.

MoodKiller: You promise?

PinkGirl: I promise. Now let me read a book in peace. You shouldn't text me when you're in class.

MoodKiller: No one would dare take my phone away.

PinkGirl: Yeeeeeaaaaahhh, suuuureeeee.

USER @MoodKiller🕷 IS OFFLINE

USER @PinkGirl🌸 IS OFFLINE

"Fuck"

I look at the breathless Aiden Woods, who is currently leaning against the closed door of the janitor's closet and who absolutely shouldn't be here. He doesn't take his eyes off me either, and the echo of his curse hangs in the air between us. He swallows his breath and, after a few long seconds, pushes off the door and takes a step toward me.

"Get out of here," he says.

"I was here first."

"I don't care. Are you leaving on your own, or should I help you?"

I won't back down. Three years ago, that Sadie Parker would have bolted out of here, kicking up dust, but not the Sadie I am now.

I manage to hold his fierce gaze. He's furious that he found me here. Who gave him the right to act like this?

"I'm not going anywhere. Either you tolerate my company, or you leave yourself."

Aiden Woods impatiently runs his fingers through his slightly curly hair, which he should have had cut a long time ago. It crosses my mind that he must be very hot in that leather jacket—he never takes it off—but he doesn't seem to be sweating. He takes a few more steps and then snatches my book away, looking at the title with a mix of mockery and pity.

"The Catcher in the Rye? Of course." His tone is dripping with sarcasm.

"What's so obvious about that?"

"You're looking for a guide on how to be a good rebel, and that's why you're resisting me. That's not the way to go. Holden Caulfield is a loser." Aiden's face twists into a mocking smile. His mouth is naturally curved up at the corners almost all the time, which is quite ceeepy. "Let's agree on one thing. This place is too small for both of us."

I shrug and lean down to retrieve my book. Unfortunately, Aiden is much faster than I am, and as soon as I try to grab my own possession, he lifts his hand. I can't reach it, even if I stand up from the chair.

"Typical jerk behavior? Of course." I tilt my head to the side to see if he noticed that I was mimicking him. He doesn't seem to care; he just opens the door and throws my book to the other end of the hallway.

What. An. Asshole.

I can't believe it is happening. I pass Aiden and run outside. I hope no one catches me. A disciplinary referral for skipping class would be the final nail in my coffin.

Fortunately, the hallway is empty. I pick up my book, and when I turn around, I experience another shock—the janitor's room door is closed.

"Let me in!" I pound on the old plywood, which I could definitely have kicked in on the first try if I were a bit taller and stronger. I know, though, that if this drags on, someone will definitely notice the noise coming from the hallway, and then a lifetime of detention is practically guaranteed. "My backpack is in there," I hiss.

Aiden doesn't respond. He doesn't say a word, so when my pleas go unanswered for the next five minutes, I do the only thing that comes to mind—I head to the restroom to wait in one of the stalls until the bell rings. By then, Aiden will likely have left the closet, and I'll get my stuff back.

Did I already mention how much I hate him?

➿➿➿

It's another day where I have to make do with plain yogurt. I'll probably never get my allowance back, which even pleases my father. This morning, he said he'd at least save more money for my college.

Yeah, right.

He smokes two packs of cigarettes a day and claims it's better for him than Xanax. He says it's normal in his line of work because as a police officer, you need to stay alert and keep your cool, and if he didn't smoke, he'd still be distracted. When I try to point out that these are just withdrawal symptoms and that's how every addict feels, he just brushes me off with a wave of his hand.

That's why I think the money I theoretically deserve goes up in smoke and disappears into thin air.

Jen sits across from me, gesturing animatedly as she tries to explain why Netflix is better than CW. She has no idea that I'm not listening at all. My mind is focused on analyzing Woods' behavior from yesterday's afternoon.

What a jerk. When the bell rang and I came out of the women's restroom near the janitor's closet, I found my backpack propped up against the wall. The closet door remained closed. I know this because I tried the handle.

It seems my little space of emotional refuge was unlawfully taken from me and desecrated by someone like Aiden Woods. A fourth-grader who couldn't care less about things like respect for other people's property.

I didn't even notice when Jen left our table, so I'm surprised when she stands over me and places a tray full of chicken and onion rings right under my nose.

I love onion rings more than anything, but I can't accept them, so when Jen sits back down, I push the tray toward her.

"Thanks, that's nice, but I don't want pity."

It's not that I'm going hungry. My father makes me a pile of sandwiches every morning. Granted, one mysteriously disappeared after gym class yesterday—Woods is my prime suspect—but I still have three left to eat after school.

"Sadie, that yogurt looks like the last thing you want. I can't stand to see you suffer."

I sigh. Damn, how can I refuse the onion rings?

"But I'm not hungry..." I lie, though I'm not very good at it. I wonder if my ears are turning red again. Maybe no one will notice. It's a good thing I wore my hair down today.

Jen gives me a pitying look. She knows me too well, so she takes the box of onion rings and holds it up to my face.

"Take it if it's offered." She winks at me and then grabs a piece of breaded chicken. "So, which movie are we seeing today?"

"Today?" I raise my eyebrows. I completely forgot that a few weeks ago I made plans with her to go to the movies. "I have detention. Did you forget? After school, I need to run errands and then head straight home to cook dinner for the esteemed Mr. David Parker. My detention will probably last forever, so I don't know if we'll be able to go anywhere together. Certainly not this century."

All the joy drains from Jen's face instantly, as evidenced by her expression. I almost feel sorry for her, but that feeling fades when someone bumps into my back.

The food tray falls to the floor, splattering ketchup all over my white shirt. I stare in disbelief at the extent of the damage, feeling waves of anger rising within me. I don't have any clothes to change. My only option is my denim jacket, which I'll have to wear for the next few hours. I hate ketchup even more now.

"I'm sorry!" I hear from above. Jen seems to have the hiccups, making some indeterminate sounds, and I'm about to hurl some nasty insults at the person who ruined my lunch break. But when I look up and meet a pair of black eyes pleading for forgiveness, I forget how to speak.

I swallow. None other than Kyle Chew, the love of my life, the sunshine of my day, and all that, is standing over me with a guilty expression. He's so beautiful that if someone asked me right now if I was upset, I'd say...

"Absolutely..."

"What?" Kyle clearly has no idea what I'm talking about.

"I mean... nothing happened... I mean... you don't have to apologize."

Damn it, fate has given me the one-in-a-lifetime chance to talk to Kyle, and I'm stuttering like that king from the movie about the stuttering king.

"Man, just pay her back for the laundry and you'll be even."

Who said that? Jen? Did Jen just call MY Kyle... "man"?

"What's your name? I'll give you the money for the shirt; I really didn't mean to. Someone must have spilled something and I slipped..." Kyle's voice is so smooth... I could listen to him for hours and never get bored. "Do you hear me? Do you have a name?"

"S-Sadie."

"Okay, Sadie. Do you always sit at this table?" he asks politely, and I nod, mesmerized by how much his hair shines under the fluorescent lights. "I'll bring you the money tomorrow. I'm really sorry, and I hope you're not mad. Damn, I'm going to have to buy myself a new lunch," he adds, scratching the back of his neck.

I don't know if it's his worried look or the fact that Moodkiller called me sensitive and empathetic yesterday, but my first instinct is to grab the onion rings Jen bought me and hand them to the most handsome guy on this planet. He shakes his head and gives them back to me.

"Oh no, no. That's your lunch. I'm not taking your meal away. See you tomorrow. Bye!"

A brief silence falls at our table. I turn to my friend, who, of course, is looking at me with pity. She knows exactly what's going on in my head and that all my dreams have just come true, yet she responds in her usual way:

"I don't want to say anything, but it won't wash out that easily."

"I don't care. It's a second-hand shirt for two bucks, and that was Kyle Chew!"

"So?"

"Jen, is my face okay?" I couldn't bear the thought of Kyle seeing any imperfections. I spent an hour this morning covering up a volcano on my chin, but when I checked before lunch, it looked fairly decent.

Jen pats my hand. She's probably trying to calm me down, but I can't help that excitement and nerves are taking over.

"It's fine. It's been better, but..."

"Jen, I'm going to kill you."

"Don't panic! He'll come here tomorrow, so dress nicely and work on your charisma at home. You know, stand in front of the mirror and practice what you'll say to him. Like in The Sims."

Oh no. In all the chaos, I completely forgot that Kyle actually promised to come to our table to give me the money for the dirty shirt! I'll probably die by then and come back to life at least fifty times.

"My stomach hurts," I whine. I don't think I've ever been this nervous. Maybe before my driving test, but I practiced with a police officer, so I was already a great driver.

Jen shakes her head.

"I can't believe you rejected my lunch and were even mad that I bought it for you, but when that skinny guy in loafers throws food at you, you forgive him in five seconds and make puppy dog eyes. Where's the justice in that?"

"Love. It's called love, Jennifer."