Olivia Tames Terror

A boy stepped from the disappearing booth, wearing that glow. It faded when he looked at me. "Tremble before Deimos."

"Why don't you tremble before my pepper spray?" I suggested. Someone sneaking through Kent's booth was so creepy-deep that I fell back on trying to mock him. "Nice robe. Are they having a lot sale at Bed, Bath and, um...?" He took a step toward me, and I forgot about Beyond.

"Where is The Tormentor?"

"This is public school," I muttered. "You'll have to be more specific."

"The Tormentor." Every step Deimos took intimidated me more. "Siobhan Sullivan."

"Oh, that tormentor! Siobhan's in, uh...Dubai, I think. Yeah, way far. Definitely not around here doing detention. She, uh...won the golden ticket in a Wonka bar..."

I was troweling on the sass to cement my crumbling confidence. If he came too close, I might have given Siobhan away; I might have said anything to make him go.

He didn't go. He came toward me, and I felt my breaths grow shorter with the space between us. A breath or two later, I had my hands on the floor and was staring at his sandals to hide my face.

But I couldn't hide from his words. "Your dismount lacked finesse, Olivia Olinger."

He was right. I hadn't arabesqued nearly long enough to be any kind of a champion. Losing the pose wasn't graceful, and no gymnast would fall to her knees. His shadow across me darkened my future as a dancer.

I was such a failure that I didn't even notice this stranger using my name.

* * * * *

It was way after Deimos was gone that I found the legs to race out of there. I felt that tingle again just as I pushed away the gym doors; I saw another glare reflecting off their institutional windows, but I didn't turn around.

You could say I know better, now.

I'd nearly worn myself out practicing the Onodi, but my feet kept pounding. Was this like Kent's anxiety? Only after I'd ignored the front-office staff trying to stop me—only after I'd slammed a door behind me—did I stop to pant out my question. "Where...is she?"

Principal Phelps didn't even look up from his laptop. "If you want to talk to me," he advised, "my secretary's outside."

I forgot to panic and leaned my fists on his desk. "Where is Siobhan?"

Still, Phelps' eyes didn't budge. "Now, I'm definitely not her secretary." His keystrokes timed my silence, but Phelps must have heard the weight of my breathing through it. Finally he glanced at me, then looked more closely at the sweat navigating my widened eyes. "Siobhan is in detention, like you. You know that, Olivia." Reminding students of their crimes was my principal's favorite pastime. "You distracted Bethany Choi while Siobhan swapped the drama club's Othello scripts for episodes of Riverdale."

The day would come soon when some gods would teach me about pride, and I wouldn't feel proud of friending a Queen Bee like Siobhan. Back then, though, I was blinded by her thousands of online followers. If I could get tight with her, some of those stats would spill onto my dance career, and that might get me into a performance school like the Renoit Academy.

But only if Siobhan lived to bully another day. "Where is she? Someone's after her."

"A few dozen someones, knowing how she makes enemies. Who, specifically?"