My Name Is Chloe Read Online Free Page B

thought so. Well, great then. I won’t keep you from missing all of lunch.”
    So feeling as if I’d just won the lottery—or better yet a Grammy—I headed off toward thecafeteria, even though I didn’t feel hungry. But just as I turned the corner, I saw them: Tiffany and her thugs. I thought maybe I was overreacting at first, because I felt certain they were waiting for me. But then I countered that thought, thinking I was just being ridiculously paranoid—I mean, what were they going to do? Mug me for my lunch money? It’s a shame I didn’t go with my original instincts because I could’ve made a getaway if I’d tried. But I didn’t. Instead, I just kept walking.
    “I don’t know what makes you think you’re so hot,” said Tiffany, coming right up beside me. Then she gave me a sharp shove.
    “Hey!” I yelled, hoping someone down the next hall might hear me.
    Then Tiffany’s friend Kerry pushed me from the other side. “You think you’re so tough!” she snarled in my face. And then in a blur that I can’t even completely remember—it was like a scene from a bad teen flick—the four of them had me up against the lockers. I can still feel the indentation of the lock imprinted into my spine.
    “You are a loser, Miller!” Tiffany slapped me across the face.
    “Yeah,” echoed Kerry, and then she actually punched me in the stomach.
    I just glared at them, hating them all like I’ve never hated anyone or anything before. I eventasted the hate, or maybe it was just the blood from where my lip was cut, but it tasted like metal and it felt like pure hate.
    “You’re a total misfit!” said Tiffany. “And this school would be better off without lowlifes like you slumming it up.” She gave me another hard shove, banging my head against the locker with a loud bang. They all backed away, laughing hysterically like a pack of hyenas. Then they ran out the door that led to the courtyard. I just stood there fighting back tears of rage.
    Then I turned around and kicked the locker with my Doc Marten, and the sound echoed throughout the hallway, maybe throughout the entire school. Why hadn’t I thought to kick them or to defend myself? Why had I just stood there and allowed them to beat on me like that?
    I marched over to the emergency exit, knowing full well that I would set off the alarm, and I walked out of there. Then I ran. I left that school determined to NEVER go back there again. Not ever! And for the first time I could actually understand why our school has a metal detector. Because right then and there, I felt certain that if for some reason I was forced to return, I would come back armed and ready to defend myself. And a life sentence in prison seemed like a small price to pay. At least I figured I might be in a cell all by myself.
    A normal person would probably wonder if I told anyone about this little altercation—like my parents or someone at school or even the police. But what good would it really do? Naturally, Tiffany and her thugs would deny it. It would be their word against mine. And they look so sweet and innocent and “normal” in their little designer-of-the-week outfits. And of course I look like, well, like me. Besides, no one witnessed the crime.
    Oh, maybe if I’d had a really good friend, I would’ve told her. But I strongly suspected it would do no good to tattle, and it would probably just increase my troubles. And as much as I hate those girls and as much as I wish they could get what they deserve (severe punishment and justice), I know that there’s nothing I can do to make this happen. And I suppose that makes me feel pretty helpless.
    Perhaps that’s the reason I found myself finally, after all this resistance, actually talking to God. After ditching school, I walked all the way across town to the cemetery. I like to go there sometimes to think and to write poetry and songs. I know it’s weird so it’s not something I’ve ever told anyone about. But it’s quiet there