Hell week
I think as the scene unfolds before my eyes. Shrugging off my jacket and stuffing my phone into its pocket, I gently place it on the ground. With light cautious steps, I approach the group of six.
Five well-build athletes sporting the greens and reds of their letterman jackets circled a girl wearing a jersey identical to the colors of their jackets.
Even from my distance from them, I could tell that they are juniors if not seniors and the girl in the middle looks no older than a freshman, making her the ideal candidate for hell week.
It wasn't uncommon for the jocks of a public school to dedicate one week of the academic year solely to tormenting the newly recruited members of their teams. Freshmen are always the target and the juniors usually take the lead, with some seniors occasionally joining in on the fun.
All this is done under the radar and no one ever dares to report it, they make sure of it. Back at my old school, they call it 'The initiation' while the parties on the receiving end calls it 'Hell week'.
So far I haven't noticed anything of this sort in my current school, so I'm not certain if it happens in private schools as well or not. But each school had a different week dedicated to this, back at good old Crimson Creek it was the fourth week after our first match.
Of course, I wasn't there long enough to be a victim of it—not that I would put up with it either way—but we did witness what happened to the sophomores who were blacklisted the previous year. It was their way of warning us not to make the same mistake those sophomores did.
I observe the duffle bag as it's thrown from one of the five to the other, spilling its contents on the dusty ground while mid-air. Their sadistic laugh permeated the air as they watch the girl picked the books off the ground, clutching them to her chest.
With tears streaming down her face the poor girl pleaded for her bag to be returned, but her voice falls to deaf ears. Bending down every other minute to pick up yet another article that falls out of her bag, she doesn't even for a minute try to grab her bag back.
I weighed my options carefully before settling on a decision. Taking on the five guys isn't the topic of concern at the moment. But the fact that I know the outcome the girl will have to face later if I help her out now, stands priority.
Caught in a dilemma, I feel myself leaning towards my initial decision. Concluding my mental debate in record time, I approach them within five anger fuelled strides.
"Get the fuck out of her while you still can bitch!" A choleric jock with jet back hair snaps as he passes the bag to his companion spotting me first.
His words draw everyone's attention to me, stopping them mid-action. Each of the six looks at me with a different emotion swirling in their eyes. Ignoring the rest, my eyes find the girl's and lock itself there.
Her pleading gaze waverers my decision as all they ask is for my help. Help her not by getting rid of the guys harassing her, but by getting out of there so that they can get done with her and leave her alone for the rest of her high school life.
I know this game all too well, yet I still cannot convince myself to leave her alone here when I know what is going to happen.
"Didn't you hear what he said? Or do you want to join in the fun as well and give little Kate here some company?" Another threatens with a lustrous glint in his grey eyes, making me sick to my stomach.
"Are you fucking nuts Lester?! She's a motherfucking Eagle!" The guy next to him reprimands him in a low crude growl, eyeing my team jersey emblazoned with my school's logo.
"I don't give a rate's ass who you are. Fuck. Off!" Grits the cantankerous guy from before looking at me in disgust.
With my eyes still locked with the innocent girl's, I finally make my final decision. "No," I assert looking up at the guy who just spoke, I stare him dead in the eye.
"You looking for a fight sweet cheek?" Another says as he takes a step closer to me.
"Because there is more than one way to get rough-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence because as soon as the tip on his filthy finger comes within an inch of my face, I had him faceplanted on the ground.
This single action of mine is enough to alarm the rest and cause the once deserted pathway to turn into a warzone. Punches are being thrown like confetti at a parade—powerless and aimless—thrown for the heck of being thrown.
Dodging them is easier than I thought it would be. But once they start to gang up on me, things start to get a bit out of hand. With my muscles already sore and worn-out further after practice, I start to feel the burn with each punch I block.
While blocking a punch from the first guy, another manages to land a kick to my abdomen. That was the last straw for me. I know that I'm better than them and definitely more skilled and here I am getting kicked and punched by a bunch of arrogant jocks?
Ignoring the burn in my muscles and pain in my abdomen, I use the adrenaline rush within me to fuel my attacks. Swiveling around my left foot in a crouched position I throw the first guy off balance in a swift move.
As the next charges at me, I move my head to the side at the last seconds causing his hand to hit the concrete wall with great force pervading the air with the mixed sounds of a sickening crack accompanied by his cry of pain.
I look up to find the others only to spot one instead of three. Unlike the others, he hasn't moved from his place during the entire fight. Rooted in his spot his eyes study me with great curiosity.
When I don't see him move towards me in a threatening way or at all, I dismiss his presence. Turning around to face my two victims, and I'm a bit surprised to see the girl nursing the hand of the guy.
Sensing my gaze, she turns to face me with a punitive glare clouding her eyes, with hatred visible in her features. "Look what you've done!" She hisses beckoning towards his now bloody hand.
By a single glance, understanding settles over me like a cloud of wisdom, telling me that his injuries are not the cause of the worry in her eyes that she's trying to mask with her punitive glare.
My guard goes up once again as I notice movement in the other guy that was once lying on the ground groaning in pain. Sending me one last nasty glare he turns to face the girl.
"Welcome to the blacklist, and you have her to thank for that!" He snarls at her cholerically, before helping his friend up and storming out of there.
"My life wasn't hell enough, thanks for making it worse!" She snaps before gathering her things and marching towards the opening with tear-filled eyes.
All I want to do now is curse myself out. I knew something of this sort would happen if I tried to help and yet I couldn't freaking stop myself!
Being blacklisted by her team makes her an outcast amongst the rest of her teammates, the primary target for team pranks. While some make being a jock appear as a direct pass into high school popularity, not all experience this.
Each school has a different story to tell. The unvoiced rule and expectation raise a high bar for some to keep up with, but others just sadistically enjoy the misery of their peers.
This is exactly what 'hell week' is all about. And their reasoning for this is as pathetic as their actions. While reasons change from person to person, the most common one back at my old school was 'The juniors did this to me when I was a freshman and now, I'm passing on the legacy'.
And the worst part is that they call this a tradition and so none of the student council members take a stand for these things. It's sad, but the bitter truth.
"What the hell happened here!" I recognize Lindsey's shock imbued voice exclaim from behind me.
Turning to face her, I follow her gaze to the noticeable drops of blood coloring the bland worn-out wall in a vibrant crimson.
"Nothing just some stupid school kids being stupid," I dismiss vaguely now harboring a very foul mood.
"Okay?" She says sounding it out as more of a question immediately catching on to the drastic change in my mood from the last time, she saw me.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" She asks. I look at her with question in my eyes, my thoughts completely disoriented.
"You called me remember? Said you want to talk?" She reminds and it almost instantaneously snaps me into realization, reassembling all my scrambled thoughts.
"Yeah. Just wanted to know if you found a way to open the jewelry box," I say with half of my mind still drowned in self-blame for what my actions have landed that girl into.
"Actually, I have. But we can't talk here, it just feels weird," she admits.
Nodding in agreement with her, I think of a place we could talk about this freely. "I can't come over to your place for obvious reasons, but I can ask Noah if you can come over," I advocate my proposition.
"Cool with me," she agrees.
Sending him a quick text to check if he's free, I wait for a response. A minute later, my phone rings to life with Noah's name as the caller ID.
"Irmazinha," Noah's voice acknowledges from the other end.
"Hey, just needed to ask you something," I begin. "That is if you're free," I add promptly well aware that in Xavier's absence all the workload is on his shoulders.
"Don't worry about that, now what is it that you need to ask me?" He is quick to reply.
"I wanted to ask if I can have Lindsey over? I need some help with an assignment," I put forth optimistically with crossed fingers, reassuring myself that I wasn't lying completely.
"Sure, as long as both of you follow the house rules," he agrees, bringing a smile to my face.
Earning a silent squeak from Lindsey when I give her a thumbs up, we head back inside where she goes to rings up her mum to inform her about her plans and I collect my things.
Hissing at the slight burning in my bruised knuckles, I put them under running water to get rid of the blood. Wrapping them in a clean gaze after disinfecting them, I pull at the sleeves of my jacket, enveloping my injured knuckles in it.
Thankfully for me, having my jacket sleeves pulled past my knuckles isn't an unusual action hance goes unnoticed by everyone. Walking out I spot my guards at the exit of the stadium patiently waiting for me.
Walking past the sweating pigs we ever so fondly call our 'boys' basketball team' I roll my eyes at heated glares both Damon and Parkers send my way.
But unlike me, my security team doesn't let that scornful gesture go unaccounted for. I watch mutedly as Javier makes his way towards the two with enraged strides.
Hurrying towards him before he reaches the demonic duo, I stop him from proceeding. "I will have to report their behavior to the boss, Miss Santos," he notifies me after I successfully manage to convince him to stop.
"I know," I sigh.
Lindsey is soon to join us saving me from the moment and with her arrival, I march out to the car dragging her along with me by her writs before another scene is caused.
Entering the car, Lindsey shoots me a curious look demanding an explanation for my abrupt reaction earlier. Returning it with an 'I'll explain everything later' look, I lean back into my seat and relax.
The day so far comprised of the complete package, it had the drama, the humor, not forgetting the action. But little did I know that the mystery was yet to come.
Author's Note:
This chapter is a pure work of fiction.
The name of the school too is a made-up name and has nothing to do with any school with the same or similar name!
And the situation mentioned above is not intended to target any particular group.
Question for readers:
What would you do if you were stuck in a situation where you have two choices and both have bad repercussions?
With all that out of the way, thanks for reading!
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~Kia