There was a loud clap that echoed in the hallway, so I turned to see where it came from. I ended up seeing a pissed-off Gina storm away, followed by Bridget.
My eyes grew wide and I ran up to her. I cradled her face in my hands, making sure to be gentle, and asked in worry, "Oh my god, Bridget, are you okay?"
She tore my hands away and pushed my chest as hard as she could. "Get the hell away from me!" she yelled, drawing even more attention to the commotion in the hall. "Don't come near me again!"
I watched in concerned confusion as she ran down the hall, trying to get as far away from me as possible. I felt my heart sink in my chest as I recalled Bridget's swollen cheek painted black, blue, and purple. I noticed the eyes that were on me and suddenly, I didn't want the attention. For once in my life.
In slow movements, I wandered back to my locker and opened it, mind reeling. I was trying to piece what had happened together: Where did she get that bruise? And why did it seem like she was blaming me for the injury?
"Dude," a familiar voice called, gripping my arm, "I just saw your girl race down the hall with a hell of a mark. What happened?"
I faced Cranston. Ever since people noted my "obvious interest," as the teen magazine The Deadly Sins of High School said, with Bridget, everyone knew who Bridget Young was, even if it was just in name alone. Luckily no one paid much attention to her—the attention was all on me (no one focused on Nobodies, like Bridget, when there was a Somebody around).
Liam and Rory stood on the other side of me, watching me with careful gazes.
She'd made such a scene that everyone saw it.
I ran my fingers through my hair, mussing it up—even that was a good look on me. "I have no idea."
All three exchanged a look that made me feel ill at ease. They let it go, though, and gave me a look of sympathy.
Behind them, students passed nervously, whispering to one another and glancing at me. I knew this look, since I was always the center of it. They were gossiping and spreading rumors. But this time, they weren't the good kind.
A sigh escaped. "Everyone's talking about it."
"Well, of course they are, man. That was no small thing that happened," Cranston pointed out.
Liam kicked at the floor. "And they'll be talking about it for a while."
Rory needed a haircut, I noticed, as he shook his head. "My bet is this is gonna be in the papers everywhere: the school newspaper, that student-led magazine, the local papers. You'll be the cover for a while."
That was nothing new, but now it was about Bridget. This couldn't happen. If she gained more attention, she'd really hate me. Although, I got the sense she already did when she'd screamed, "Get the hell away from me."
Another sigh. "I can't believe this happened. It must've hurt," I noted, my worry escalating.
They exchanged another look, this time with arched brows. They each shifted nervously, Cranston and Rory running a hand through their hair. I started to feel uncomfortable.
"Yeah, I heard it from down the hall," Cranston admitted, shrugging and giving a look of sympathy.
Liam's eyes widened. "Wait, it happened today? Tyson told me it happened this weekend at the park."
"What?" I barked, eyebrows lowering.
At the park? How did they know she went to the park? The paparazzi. Of course—they followed me everywhere.
YOU ARE READING
He's extraordinary, and she's extra ordinary . . . Chance Olson is Brimwell's small-town celebrity: male model extraordinaire with a Prince Charming personality. Bridget Young is Brimwell's small-town nobody: ordinary girl with clever on...