Losers: Part I
: Chapter 1

“Let me make one thing clear. The only way Manson Reed leaves this school tomorrow is on a stretcher, got that?”

There were nods of affirmation from the boys gathered around Kyle’s red Ford Raptor. The parking lot was nearly empty; even the principal’s Mercedes was gone. If it had been any other group of five boys lingering in the lot after school hours, the security guard would have dispersed them already. But it was quarterback, Kyle Baggins, and his teammates, and they could do no wrong.

Except they could, they did, and they were going to again. And this time, it was entirely my fault.

“It was just a kiss, Kyle,” I muttered, hanging out the passenger side window. I had my cheerleading uniform on, and even in the crisp autumn air, my skin was sticky with sweat from practice. We’d been arguing earlier, and he’d made me so upset I’d blurted out the one thing I knew would hurt him.

I’d kissed Manson Reed, the school outcast, the freak, the boy everyone loved to hate.

“Fuck that.” Kyle shook his head adamantly, his hands gripping the truck bed as if he wanted to tear through the metal. His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. “Unless you’re trying to tell me you fucking enjoyed it, Jessica.”

I huffed and sat back in my seat with my arms folded, staring straight ahead. There was no reasoning with Kyle when he was like this. I didn’t dare tell him the truth.

I’d enjoyed it. I’d wanted it. Manson never would have laid a finger on me if he thought I didn’t want him to. He never would have kissed me if I hadn’t kissed him first.

But admitting what I’d done — what we’d done — was social suicide. It had slipped out to Kyle, because I was so angry he’d left me for Veronica Mills, only to come sauntering back a month later. What better way to hurt him than to tell him I’d kissed the boy he’d bullied relentlessly since freshman year?

Kyle’s friends dispersed, and he got into the truck, turning it on. The engine roared as we sped down the road, whipping up leaves in a flurry behind us as he took me home. I was gripping my cell so tightly my fingers ached, knuckles gone white.

Kyle was Wickeston High School’s star talent on the football field, the dream boy, handsome, and popular. My mom adored him, and his parents thought we were destined to be married right after we graduated. The idea filled me with dread. Behind his blue eyes and charming smile, Kyle was temperamental, jealous, and prone to fits of anger that would have us screaming at each other for hours.

He was also a damn cheater.

“Jesus Christ, would you stop sulking?” he snapped, his hand twisting on the steering wheel like he wanted to strangle it. Or like he was imagining strangling someone else.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I said. “You’re eighteen. You have scholarships. If you end up with assault charges, it’ll ruin everything.”

“Reed is eighteen, too, isn’t he?”

He was. His birthday had passed only a month ago — October 11th. But I wasn’t about to piss Kyle off more with my knowledge about Manson’s birthday.

He smirked at my silence. “Besides, do you really think they’re going to press charges over him? Who’s going to do it, Jessica? You think that freak’s old lady will stay sober long enough to care if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere?” He chuckled, like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. “If she isn’t housing her bastard kid, then she has more money for booze. Sounds like a win for her.”

My stomach felt like it was being yanked tight between two fists. I kept my arms folded so he wouldn’t see them shaking. When he reached out and gripped my leg, I wanted nothing more than to swing my fist over and bash his face.

“I’m looking out for your honor, Jess,” he said. “That scrawny freak isn’t going to get away with this.”

As if he knew a damn thing about honor.

Mom was in the kitchen when I got home. The scent of parmesan and garlic wafted through the house. She said something to me as I ran up the stairs, but I didn’t have time to answer. The clock was ticking.

I had to warn Manson.

I didn’t bother to shower; I just switched out my black and silver uniform for jeans and a hoodie. Dad poked his head out from the dining room as I rushed back down the stairs, my bag bouncing over my shoulder as I headed for the door.

“Why the rush, sunshine?” he said, his forehead creased with concern. “Your mother just finished up dinner. Won’t you join us?”

“Can’t tonight. Sorry, Dad!” I called to him as I slipped out the door. “I promised Ashley I’d help her with a project.”

I wasn’t sure if he heard the tension in my voice. Dad had never been a very discerning parent. His brain worked best in numbers and neat spreadsheets, where everything made sense and followed a logical sequence.

My BMW still had that new car smell, the engine purring softly as I sped down the dark country roads. It had been a birthday present from my parents, given to me right before the semester started. White exterior, red leather seats. My dream car. One more status symbol to hold my head a little higher when I walked through the halls of Wickeston High.

We owned that school, Kyle and I. The star quarterback and the cheer captain, a match made in romance heaven. Jealousy and desire followed us like a cloud. The haters and the wannabes couldn’t keep our names out of their mouths. Every day was another rush of drama, an ego-feeding frenzy as the kids who had it all lorded it over those who didn’t.

It wasn’t as if I was unaware of it. I could look at myself in the mirror and point out every point of toxicity I carried, laugh about it, and carry on. Why care? Why change? I had everything I was supposed to want.

But our heavenly romance could swiftly descend into hell. When the King and Queen squabbled, pawns were sacrificed.

Not this time. It had to be different this time.

I took a slow drive past Manson’s parents’ house first, scanning the junk-covered yard for a glimpse of his lifted Bronco. I was glad not to see it there. If warning him meant walking up to that big dilapidated house and seeing one of his parents, I didn’t think I could do it. His dad gave me the creeps.

I hoped my next destination would be correct. My tires crunched in the weeds as I pulled over beside the vacant lot, located at the end of a dirt road hidden by trees. The house that had once occupied the land had burned down years ago, leaving behind only a charred framework and a concrete foundation. Hope mingled with anxiety in my chest when I spotted two vehicles parked there: a dirty gray Ford Bronco on massive tires, and a midnight black El Camino.

I took a long, slow breath. The Bronco meant Manson was here, which was a relief. But the El Camino meant Lucas was with him, which probably meant Vincent and Jason were here too.

A whole gang of freaks, and me. The girl who had purposefully tormented them throughout every year of high school thus far.

I rummaged in my purse until I found a stick of bubblegum and chewed it viciously. Maybe it would help control my tongue when I went up there. I wasn’t on good terms with any of these boys. It was simple — they hated me, and I despised them. That was the hierarchy. Yes, I’d made out with Manson, and I’d had some very close encounters with the rest of them. But that didn’t mean we got along.

It also didn’t mean I wanted Manson to walk straight into the ambush that would be waiting for him tomorrow.

I slammed the car door and shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie as I traipsed through the overgrown lot toward the back of the house’s burned frame. The night air smelled like bonfire smoke and sour marijuana. The clatter of skateboards hitting concrete landed sharply in my ears as I rounded the house and laid eyes on the empty pool the boys liked to skate in. The concrete sides were covered in graffiti, and the area was illuminated only by the fires that had been lit in two large metal drums.

Vincent Volkov spotted me first. Perched on the gray bricks of an old wall, he had his long legs crossed beneath him. His joint went slack in his mouth when he saw me. He didn’t say anything as the smoke slowly curled from his lips, enveloping his face and his long, messy hair.

It was Jason Roth who gave away my arrival. He’d always been the quiet one, the good kid. But his life had imploded over the summer, when the rumor went around that he and Vincent were dating. It shouldn’t have mattered to anyone, but unfortunately, there were plenty of people in Wickeston with a stick up their ass who clutched their pearls at the very thought of two men being together. Including Jason’s own family.

Some people claimed his parents kicked him out, others said he’d gotten himself emancipated from them. Regardless of what was true, Jason had shown up senior year with his hair buzzed off, dyed bright blue, and his earlobes stretched with large black tunnels. The new look seemed like a giant middle finger to everyone who’d tried to make him feel ashamed.

“Fucking hell.” Jason’s blue eyes fell on me with such cold hatred that I didn’t dare take another step toward the pool. He had his laptop open, playing “Awful Things” by Lil Peep from the crackling speakers. But he snapped it shut, cutting off the music. There was a screech of polyurethane wheels and Manson popped up from the pool, with Lucas close behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here, Jess?” Manson’s voice was deep — a vicious baritone as dark as the black band tattooed around his upper arm. He usually spiked his hair into a mohawk for school, but the dark locks he kept in a long strip at the top of his head were loose tonight.

“I was looking for you,” I said, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

I didn’t want to linger in the dark with them any longer than necessary. I had power in daylight, in the fluorescent halls of Wickeston High, where my status and Kyle’s backing gave my words weight.

But this was their turf. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I had a level playing field here. Especially not with Lucas staring at me as if his dark eyes alone could cause me to spontaneously combust. The only smile he ever wore was the stick-and-poke happy face tattooed under his right eye. His fists were clenched, his hands scarred from the fights that had gotten him continually suspended and eventually expelled.

“Kyle is out for blood, Manson,” I blurted. His expression didn’t change; he looked spectral in the flickering firelight, the flames making his cheeks hollower and his jaw sharper. “He found out.”

“He found out, or did you tell him?” Only the shift in Manson’s breathing showed his fear. I knew what he looked like when he was afraid, nervous, angry. His locker was right next to mine, and I’d spent enough time pushing his buttons to know what each and every emotion looked like.

“It doesn’t matter how he found out.” I folded my arms, chewing my gum faster as my nervousness rose. Vincent hopped down from the wall, tugging his black beanie lower on his head as he came to stand beside Jason. “Don’t come to school tomorrow. Give him time to cool down.”

Manson laughed bitterly. “No. We’re not going to be catering to your boyfriend’s tantrums anymore.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “You’re walking into a death trap, Manson! He wants to hurt you!”

“Kyle has another thing coming,” Lucas said, and his voice sent a chill up my back. “If he thinks he’s going to touch my boy…” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not going to happen anymore.”

“You’re literally banned from school property,” I said. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

He didn’t answer me, instead giving me a look that could have curdled milk. Manson was haunting and creepy in his quiet manner, but Lucas was monstrous. Everything about him had been built for violence; his lean body honed by years of fighting his father and anyone else who dared cross him.

Manson would wait for you in the dark and you’d never see him coming; while Lucas would come in broad daylight, smash your windows out, and set your house on fire.

“Fine,” I snapped. “Deal with it yourself.”

I turned to go, flicking my blonde hair over my shoulder. But someone’s fingers closed around my upper arm and jerked me back.

Manson pulled me against his chest, his body warm in the cold night. He smelled like cigarettes and something deep and dark, an enigma of hormones and anger. Heat shot from the pit of my abdomen to my cheeks.

He’d tasted like peppermint gum and tobacco when I’d kissed him. He’d felt like corruption, like a sin. He’d put his hand around my throat and squeezed when he kissed me, and ever since I’d been unable to shake that feeling of his fingers digging into my flesh.

I wanted to feel it again, feel it harder. I wanted to rip open his viciousness and take it all in. I wanted to ride this man like a goddamn rollercoaster and then take his friends for a spin too.

But a girl like me wasn’t supposed to be with guys like them.

“What did you tell him?” Manson said softly. There wasn’t anger in his voice, but his question hung by a dangerously thin thread.

I pressed my lips together. I’d made him promise not to tell, but I’d been the one who betrayed our secret. All for a ridiculous fight with Kyle.

I shook my head. “I didn’t lie.”

“Are you sure about that?” He lowered his voice even more, a whisper he left right in my ear as his lips brushed against it. “You wanted that as much as I did. Don’t fucking lie about me.”

He let me go, and when I didn’t step back immediately, he widened the space between us. The sudden cold made me shiver, and without another word, I made my way back to the car. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as they watched me go.

I’d done everything I could. I’d warned him, and that was more than most people would have done. What happened now wasn’t any of my business. If Manson would stay away like I told him, Kyle would eventually calm himself down and get over it.

I started the engine and turned up the heater, trying to chase away the chill in my hands. I could still feel Manson’s heat on my chest. That weirdo. That freak. Why did he get to live in my head rent-free like this? They were all supposed to be beneath me, lower than gum on my shoe. Instead, I felt obsessed, like I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop looking at them, taunting them, seeking them out.

I couldn’t stop wanting them.

“Get it together, Jessica,” I said, clicking my seatbelt into place. I glanced over to check my side mirror before I put the car in gear —

And shrieked at the sight of Lucas looming outside my window.

“What the hell are you doing?” I rolled down my window but quickly realized it was a mistake. He gripped the opening, knuckles flexing against the inside of my door. “Move it, Lucas, seriously.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

His voice was sharper than a knife’s blade. My mouth hung open in shock, but the anger on his face was stifling.

“You know you went too far this time, Jessica. You fucking know you did.” He leaned in, and my entire body tensed as I stared him down. “You thought you needed to warn Manson? How about you warn that fuckboy you open your legs for? Warn him there’ll be hell to pay if he tries fucking with any of my boys again.” His face was so close to mine, but he didn’t touch me. Lucas never touched me. His eyes alone were enough — how they dragged over my skin as harshly as teeth and nails. “Fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us.”

Then, so quickly I hardly realized what was happening, he pulled the bubblegum from my open mouth, fingers brushing over my lips like an electric shock. He tucked the wad into his cheek, and with the first wicked grin I’d ever seen on his terrifying face, he gave me a two-finger salute and stepped back from the car.

He chewed, blowing a bubble that audibly popped, before he said, “Get lost, Jessica.”

Dread was stifling me as I arrived at school the next morning. Manson didn’t even look at me as he shoved books into his locker, no matter how hard I tried to catch his eye.

Finally, I hissed, “Manson, go home. Please.”

“Save it, Jess.” He slammed the locker shut, hauling his ragged backpack over his shoulder. His mohawk was spiked up, a rigid spine on his shaved head. He wore the same tattered jeans he had on every day, the same worn lace-up leather boots and denim jacket. “Don’t start acting like you care. Being a bitch suits you better.”

He turned his back on me, stalking down the hall. He usually kept his head down, shoulders hunched; a smaller target. But something was different today. His chin was up and his long strides were aggressive.

Trying to fight Kyle would only make it worse.

I hesitated at my locker, guilt gnawing in my gut as Manson went into the men’s restroom. It doesn’t matter, I told myself, clicking my locker shut.

“Wow, tense in here today, isn’t it?” My best friend and fellow cheerleader, Ashley Garcia, squeezed out of the crowd to stand beside me. “Have you seen Kyle yet?”

“No.” My mouth was dry, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. God, all this stress was going to make me break out. “Do you have your flask on you?”

“Of course, girl.” She reached into her bag and withdrew her “flask,” a water bottle filled with vodka and clear soda. I took a generous gulp, hoping it would settle my nerves.

I handed it back as I spotted Kyle approaching, flanked by three of his friends. Alex, Nate, and Matthew were all part of the jock crowd and they followed Kyle around like loyal dogs. I waved to him with the best smile I could manage — which wasn’t great. It felt cold and plastic on my face. But instead of coming to walk with me to class, Kyle and two of his boys went into the restroom. Nate, a linebacker the size of a grizzly bear, posted up outside with his arms folded. The message was clear.

No entry. Kyle needed his privacy.

My heart plummeted into my shoes. I needed to do something, tell someone. Get the principal, a teacher, the security guard, anyone.

But I just stood there.

Someone brushed against my arm, and Ashley and I looked over to replace Vincent standing beside me. He stretched his arms over his head with a lazy groan before tucking his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie.

“Ugh.” Ashley looked away, lip curled in disgust. “Volkov.”

“Garcia,” he responded in kind.

“Kill any small animals lately?” she snipped.

“Only the squirrel whose blood I drank for dinner last night.”

“God, shut up.” I turned to him, flinging my arm toward the bathroom. “Aren’t you going to help him? Or are you too stoned to care that your best friend is going home in a casket?”

Vincent snickered. “You think Manson can’t handle himself?”

“I think it’s three against one, numbskull!” I shoved his arm, my pink acrylics digging into his skin. “Kyle has never had a problem beating him one-on-one, let alone with his friends!”

“As if you’ve ever cared.” Vincent’s smile wasn’t so lazy anymore. It was bitter, frozen on his face. “I don’t think this concerns you anymore, Jess.”

Someone yelled from inside the bathroom, followed by a bang loud enough that I wondered if Kyle had ripped one of the stalls’ metal doors off its hinges. Students looked around in confusion, some gathering closer to the bathroom, but keeping their distance from Nate. Cell phones were out, everyone eager to record the latest drama.

No one cared enough to interfere. It was entertainment, another opportunity to upload a good fight video and rack up the views. If someone got hurt, even better. An injury could shoot a video to virality faster than anything else.

The bathroom door slammed open, and Nate nearly plunged forward into the crowd as Kyle stumbled out. His eyes were wide, and people hurriedly made way for him as he panted, pointing a finger accusingly back into the bathroom as Alex and Matthew hurried out after him.

“Knife!” he yelled. “Reed has a knife!”

It was instant pandemonium. Suddenly, teachers were present, yelling for people to clear out. Two security guards showed up, flustered and red-faced, as Kyle kept babbling, “He tried to stab me! He tried to fucking stab me!”

I covered my mouth in shock as the rushing crowd pressed me, Vincent, and Ashley against the lockers.

Ashley was breathless with disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“It shouldn’t have come to this,” Vincent said, his face somber and his voice barely discernible in the chaos.

My guilt was like a beast trying to claw its way up my esophagus, thrashing and gnawing. I crushed it under pride and blind self-assurance.

The security guards emerged from the bathroom, with Manson between them. Each of them kept an iron grip on his arms, leading him through the crowd as students tried to get shots of him with their phones. He wasn’t fighting them, and he wasn’t hurt other than a purple bruise on his cheek and a dribble of blood that streaked from his busted lip. They led him toward the principal’s office, directly past me.

Manson nodded to Vincent first, silent words passing between them. Then his eyes fell on me and his lips parted to give me a wide, bloody smile.

It was feral — a beast’s grin. Wild, reckless and, finally, victorious.