She moved her arm away from him and gave his face a good look. “That looks pretty good.”

  A curious brow raised, and Timothy held his phone up to get a good look of her artistic merit. Expectations were low, as Timothy never wore makeup before, and he was pleasantly surprised. “That does hide the black eye.”

  The makeup case clanked as she closed it with a prideful smile. “You don’t get a huge following with poor makeup skills.”

  Timothy nodded, taking in the advice as if one day he would ever pursue such a career. He grabbed the two wrapped breakfast burritos from his kitchen table (one was marked solids with a marker), and they sped off to school, chatting about school assignments. As if he wasn’t hopped up on meds just two days ago.

  Then the two went silent as they turned the corner towards the school.

  “Raise Money for Liam!” The digital marquee in front of the school scrolled over and over again. Underneath the marquee two fire trucks would honk their loud horns.

  Every football player for Clearspring lined up along the sidewalk in their uniforms on the traffic heavy side of the school. Car after car, one by one, they stopped by a football player and donated money for Liam’s cause. They gave a loud rallying cry for every car that donated to help pay for the recovery. A player in uniform signaled the fire trucks, and the horns sounded again.

  “Can recover in three weeks after surgery.” One sign said. “Needs recovery now.” Another.

  Sarah drove into the lot, the boys waved, except for Liam, as she drove by. Some flipped off Timothy, but quickly waved once they realized who was driving him.

  “This got interesting,” Sarah said.

  They got out of the car. Another wave of cheers startled them as an adult drove in, ready to help with Liam’s surgery. Half the town could probably hear the roars from the Clearspring Bobcats football team. With a charming smile, and high hopes for recovery, Liam charmed every man and woman at their window with thanks and promises of a state championship.

  “I’ll see you in class, I already have my math book” Sarah said as she went towards class. Timothy gave a nod and moved on as they went through the front doors. But as soon as Sarah took the corner, she heard commotion and audible gasps from her peers. She hustled back around the corner, Timothy was on the floor but he quickly bounced back up on his feet.

  “Fucking Duck Face,” a boy said.

  “Fuck your dog,” another.

  As more boys surrounded him, Sarah jumped in between Timothy and the four other teens ready to throw down. She clasped her hands together and smiled. Before she spoke, they all backed off, playing it cool. “Boys, do you really think Timothy is able to harm Liam? Could a poodle harm him?” She paused when they nodded. “And do you think Liam isn’t strong enough to recover in time? We’ve already made the playoffs. Our second string can handle the rest of the games, and Liam will be healed in time.”

  The boys agreed, all nodding in unison.

  “And Timothy and I aren’t dating, which Liam can’t understand but he still went to his place anyway to fight him. I’m also not a fan of violence as a solution.”

  The boys agreed, again, nodding in unison.

  “You’re single?” One boy said.

  “Yup.”

  Several grins appeared, someone said, “Cool,” and they all walked off.

  Turning to Timothy, she looked him over, he seemed fine as she straightened his clothes. “I can’t leave you alone for a second.”

  With a smile, he said with a partially more recovered jaw, “I’ll see you in class,” and he turned to head to his locker.

  A moment later, her phone vibrated from an unknown number. A text said, “You want to chill later?” She ignored it.

  ***

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  In Math, paper bombarded Timothy while he was defenseless in his chair. It didn’t bother him much. Liam, on the other side of the class didn’t say anything, not until his dad walked in late to teach the class.

  “The Hell?” Mr. Witman saw a pile of paper all around Timothy.

  “His dog bit your son,” someone said.

  “He hit Timothy,” Sarah defended him.

  Mr. Witman looked around the class with utter disdain, and back to his son. “It doesn’t matter what his dog did, Liam.”

  “He probably trained him to do that.”

  “Stop with the excuses and clean up all that paper.”

  “I didn’t fucking throw any—”

  Timothy raised both his hands and said, “It’s fine. I’ll clean this up.”

  He got up, and one by one he picked up every wadded up piece of paper. Sarah was about to help but he signaled her not to with a slight hand wave. The class watched, even Liam, as he knelt down around his chair, picked up more paper, crumbled them up more and stuffed them in his folded arm. The voyeurs targeting him watched silently. But Timothy said nothing, looked at no one, and walked in front of the class to the bin next to the door. He didn’t throw it in, or slam it all in, or moan, or complain, he just tossed it in, and walked back to his desk.

  As soon as Timothy sat down, an angry Mr. Witman was about to start class when the phone rang. He picked it up and listened, and only responded with, “Sure.”

  “Ms. Carr,” he said. “The principal wants to see you.”

  She sighed, got up, and went straight to the office, wondering what she did as she marched through the hallways. The receptionist recognized her immediately, and directed her right to the principal's office.

  Right when she walked in, he directed her to a chair and she sat down. “How’s your wrist?”

  “Not as bad as I thought it was going to be,” she said. With her fingers still having full mobility, her thumb going through a hole and the other four fingers reaching out of the cast, it hasn’t been that much of a deterrence in her life. She just doesn’t put weight on the cast when she sits down or gets up. “Gets a little itchy.”

  “We were all worried about you. Did you get the flowers?”

  “I have not.”

  “Oh.” He got embarrassed, ruining the surprise. “I take it you haven’t been to your locker yet?”

  “Well,” she did appreciate the gesture. “I look forward to seeing them.”

  “Good. Good. It’s a bit late since the injury but you’ll like them. Then I’ll get right to it,” he said. “Your boyfriend got his hand injured recently.”

  “Ex.”

  He nodded. “Right, whatever you say. Your left hand is injured, his right hand is injured. Fairly poetic I think. Anyways, I hear you have over two million followers?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is there any way you can ask your followers to donate to Liam’s cause, for a quick hand surgery that can be done this week?”

  “Never.”

  “Excuse me?” He leaned in, dumbfounded that a model student, literally and figuratively, would be so curt.

  “No,” she didn’t change expression, or showed emotion, as if she responded to a cashier offering a membership card to their store.

  “I heard you. But why?”

  “What happened to working hard? Being independent and all that? If Liam wants a hand surgery, he needs to work for it.”

  He leaned back in his chair. His hair is a bit disheveled, he’s clearly been up late at night, probably organizing the fire trucks and getting word out about what to do about Liam’s hand. “What happened that you turned your back on this school?”

  “Did you punish the cheer team for intentionally dropping me?” She lifted her casted wrist. “Where’s the public support for me? Strange how I got flowers the same day you ask me to beg money from my followers. I didn’t get anything the day after I got injured.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Football is important here.”

  “So you’ll ignore half the student body because they can’t play football?”

  He took a deep breath, getting tired of this smartass teenager in front of him. “You didn’t earn anything.” He waited for a reaction, but he didn’t get one. “You got your looks from your mom, getting paid to not have to sweat except for changing into a different outfit. I defended you against Mrs. Witman and this is how you repay me and this school?”

  And there it is.

  “Are you going to respond to that?”

  “If you’re done asking questions, can I go now?” she said.

  He waved her off, and she didn’t hesitate to go back to Math class. But before, she stopped off at her locker, and tossed out the small bouquet of flowers along with the glass bottle it was in into the trash.

  ***

  More harassment came Timothy’s way.

  In the baseball field, the coach decided on kickball due to Liam’s broken hand. Sarah was voted to pitch, and she rolled the kickball towards the kicker of the other team. The ball flew after the kick. Right over Timothy. He turned to go after it, but another player on his team in the outfield, Rory, went after it as well. The ball rolled towards Rory, but away from Timothy as he chased after it. Instead of grabbing the ball, Rory ran past it, and ran into Timothy. Hard. Timothy keeled over, with his hand bracing his head. Rory kept moving as if he ran through paper.

  “Whoops!” Rory riled up Liam and they laughed at Timothy.

  The gym teacher caught the sarcasm, but left it at that despite the gasps and laughter towards Timothy.

  Sarah was next to him in an instant, paying no heed to Rory or Liam, or anyone else of that matter. The bruise around his left eye nearly healed, his jaw nearly healed, and his head, according to the doctor and her mom, was fully healed. She was tired of the injuries. But Timothy, he never complained, not once.

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled, his jaw still didn’t open all the way as he spoke. He removed his hand and blinked. “Was sudden.”

  Liam and Rory got dejected from Sarah giving sympathy to Timothy. Rory’s play to get Liam to get arrested for attacking Timothy hasn’t been going to plan. To Rory, getting Alicia back was more important than winning a football game as he had no future in the sport.