Heart

Fourteen

It wasn’t any easier getting a parking space the next day, but it didn’t bother me as much because I knew that Alan was going to be there. I could ignore the name-calling, the glares, the snickers, and everything else that came with it. Even when I saw that the students had returned the murderer sign to its original place on my locker, I kept a cool head. I tore it down like I had the day before and simply gathered my stuff while I waited for Alan to arrive.

As I was finishing up with my supplies, however, the sign was suddenly slapped back onto my locker in front of my face. Instinctively, I took a tiny step away and slid my gaze over to the culprit: Ashton Briggs.

He glared at me from under a furrowed brow, a nasty smile on his face. “You dropped this,” he retorted.

I glared back at him, feeling even more disgusted. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t even speak to me,” he growled, taking a threatening step closer. His nose was only half a foot away from mine. “You kidnapped my girl, and I am not just gonna let that slide. No one is.”

“You're the one who’s talking to me.”

“Shut up! No one cares what you say or what you do. We know you wanted her dead and we know you’re guilty. You kidnapped Gabriella and now she’s dead!”

“You don’t know that!” I snapped.

He lurched even closer; our noses would have bashed if I hadn’t reacted and stepped back. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up? If I were you, I would walk right back out that door. We don’t want you here! There’s no room for a murderer!”

Fury swelled within me, but I couldn’t think of a word to say. I was too overwhelmed with it, and my body was jumping into overdrive--heart pounding, blood pumping, chest heaving . . . Underneath all that, however, there was another emotion; it was a tiny ball that had tucked itself away deep inside my chest, and it hardly registered in my brain. But it was there: fear. What was Ashton going to do to me?

“Get out,” he growled, his hand moving towards my arm. He had just snatched it in a painful grip when suddenly, someone else’s hand slapped onto his shoulder and wrenched him back, away from me.

A relieved sigh left me. Alan.

My pal kept his hold on Ashton and threw him against the lockers, making a loud clang that caught everyone’s attention. Alan dodged a few wildly-placed punches from him, and then grabbed two fistfuls of Ashton’s shirt to shove him against the lockers once more. The guy’s head jarred back and forth on his neck with the force.

“You ever lay a hand on her again, and I’ll murder you,” Alan hissed in that dangerous low tone of his. He said it so quietly that only Ashton and I could have heard.

“Get off me, man! You’re going to defend that--that--”

Alan slammed him against the lockers again, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You bet I am.”

“You’re insane.”

“No, Briggs, you are insane. Do I need to remind you what I’m capable of? Or who I’m friends with?”

The color seemed to leave Ashton’s face and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. “No, man, no. Let me go.”

Alan bored into Brigg’s eyes for a few tense moments, and then Al yanked him away from the lockers and tossed him out into the middle of the hall. Ashton stumbled a little but then found his balance. A hate-filled look passed between the two guys before the basketball player jerked away and stomped down the hall, his buddies flanking him.