The group of girls walking past laughs, “Loser.”
Samantha touches my shoulder and says, “Hey, are you okay?”
I squeeze my ankle, and at the point where the pain sparks the most, but sadly, this is nothing.
Pressing my lips inwards, I nod. Samantha suggests I go to the front office for an ice pack, but I shrug it off. Dad kicks me in the stomach often, and most days, bruises wrap around the abdomen, creating blooming purple pain whenever I stretch. Except I am smart enough not to show the pain.
So, rolling my ankle is nothing. With that said, the girl who shoved me was the same girl who nudged my shoulder when Conner and I walked down the stairs.
“Who was that?” I ask Samantha.
“Sarah Jane,” she answers.
I nod, the gears clicking and rotating in my head about why this woman has some sort of animosity towards me. She’s Conner’s ex, and I guess she is jealous of me because I talk to him.
“Are you sure your ankle is all right? It looked painful when you rolled it,” Samantha says as we round the corner and onto the back of the school building.
“What happened?” I bite the inside of my cheek at Conner leaning against the building, cigarette between his fingers, and the tendrils of smoke burning from the orange glow.
“Sarah Jane pushed Noya, and she fell down the stairs and rolled her ankle,” Samantha explains.
Conner’s eyes dilate. Samantha jolts her head back as we both notice his slouched form turn rigid. He stands before me, tips his head to the sky and blows upwards before stomping the cigarette into the dirt.
Then, out of nowhere, he leans down, and suddenly I’m in his arms, clinging to him in a desperate attempt not to fall. “Conner!” I gasp.
“I’m taking Noya to the office. Could you hand me her bag, Samantha?”
She hands my bag to Conner as Andy, Dylan, and Wylan round the corner. If I had been embarrassed earlier, I wish I had become a puddle and soaked into the soil.
“What’s happening here?” Dylan asks. Andy keeps walking, and Wylan follows, but that’s because Andy likely has his stash. “You all right, Noya?”
“Just a twisted ankle, but we all check it out in case it’s swollen,” Conner answers.
“If it’sjusta twisted ankle, can’t I walk?”
“You don’t want to add more pressure until we diagnose the problem.” His grin broadens. “Relax and enjoy the ride, Noya.”
My grip tightens on his shirt, and with flushed cheeks, I say, “Could you at least walk around the buildings? I don’t want anyone to see.”
I sigh with relief when Conner listens and heads down the back of the buildings, out of sight. All I need is more unwanted attention after he sucked up all my attention with this stunt, blaring the music while singing “Natural” by Imagine Dragons.
“Sorry,” he says.
Tearing out of my thoughts, I notice his eyes are still dilated. “For what?”
“The reason you’re hurt is because of me.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say with a shake of my head. “You have no control over the other people’s reactions.”
“I’ll deal with it in class after recess.” He looks at me and then away. “You will tell me if she tries to do something like that again?”
“Sure.”
Conner huffs a breathy laugh. “Wow, that was convincing. Perhaps you should take drama because that acting performance wasimmaculate.”
I smile as I look away. We are nearing the office building.
“Promise me you will, Noya.”