Twisted

The lights were off, but I could make out five of them standing in a circle in the second locker bay. There were all chubby, makeup-covered juniors in short skirts and hoodie shrugs. One glanced at me as I walked in, sizing me up.
Oh?
Normally I would have snuck out at that point, pretended I made a mistake, phoned in the assault from the lobby. Hardy would have understood, I’d done it before. She’d done it before.
Except I couldn’t. I switched into Taskmaster mode: no thought no conscience no heart no consequence no stopping. I was left with three abilities: breathing, sweating, and pounding cheerleading bitches into submission.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped in my new female James Hetfield tough-girl metalhead voice.
Five faces looked my way.
“Get lost,” said the smallest one, who was almost as skinny as me. Almost. Her name was Abigail. She had been at the Caines’ party.
“Maybe we should go,” said a groupie.
I stormed towards them. They all stepped backwards and their circle broke. In the center of the locker bay was the bench, the bench you put your sneakers on when you’re tying them.
Hardy was lying across the bench on her back, her wrists tied together with duct tape. Her shirt and bra had been yanked off. Her boobs had been taped together, too. She kept her head down.
Breathe. Just keep breathing. And kill the first thing you can get your hands on.
“All right, party’s over,” I said, with more control than I was feeling.
Abigail got in my face. “We’re just getting started. And I don’t remember inviting you.”
“You have two seconds to disappear.”
“Get lost, Chipmunk Girl,” spit Abigail.
The groupies stepped back into the circle. One of them smacked Hardy with a wet towel. Hardy grunted in pain, trying to hold the sound in. The bitch with the towel laughed, a high-pitched squeal, like a jackal.
I snapped.
I grabbed the front of Abigail’s hood, lifted her off the ground, and slammed her against the lockers. Her eyes went wide. The groupies froze, confused. I pulled her towards me and shoved her into the metal doors again. Abigail fumbled, trying to get some leverage so she could hit me. I slammed her harder. I was going to do this over and over until I drove an Abigail-sized hole through the lockers, then the lockers beyond that, all the way until I broke through to the outside of the building.
“Hey!” someone yelled, the voice far away. “Put her down!”
The air split with light as the door from the gym opened and Kelsey Caine walked in, pom poms in hand.
“What’s going on?” she yelled.
I took a deep breath and let go of Abigail, who stumbled and fell to the floor.
“Ask her,” I said.
Abigail quickly explained that Hardy was bothering them because she “thinks she can be our manager”.
I kept my back to the lockers and slid a few steps closer to Hardy. I knelt next to her and quickly unwrapped the tape that tied her wrists. As Hardy pushed herself off the bench, I reached out for her arm. She brushed me off and put her bra and shirt back on after removing the tape. She pulled the shirt back over the hem of her shorts and adjusted the wrinkles. Her eyes never left the floor.
“And you think this is cool?” Kelsey asked Abigail. “You think it’s funny?”
“Well, yeah,” Abigail said. “Don’t you?”
Kelsey licked her lips and glanced around quickly. “Yeah.” She play-punched Abigail’s arm. “Stupid, but funny.” Then she turned to me. “You got a problem with this?”
“Hell yeah, I do,” I growled. “She was offering to help, and these little shits jumped her.” My voice was getting louder. “Five on one,” I yelled. “Five on one! You’re all fucking freaks, you know that?”
Kelsey stepped up to my face. “That’s a good one, you calling somebody else a freak.”
It occurred to me that the odds were now six on one. And since Hardy wasn’t very useful in a fight, the one was me.
“Got anything else to say?” Kelsey asked.
The only sound in the locker room was Hardy breathing hard, trying not to sniffle. Out in the hall, a couple of girls giggled, their flip-flops smacking the ground. In the distance, coaches’ whistles were blowing. Kelsey Caine and her friends were about to give me the beating of my life. And I had nothing to lose.
“Chicken.” I said.
“What?” She was confused.
“You’re a chicken,” I said. “A coward.”
Kelsey forced a laugh. “And you’re a lot dumber than I thought you were.”
More silence. This was where they were supposed to jump me, to hold me down and take turns punching me and spitting in my face. But Kelsey just chewed the inside of her cheek, and Abigail had worked her way to the back of the crowd, rubbing her head where it had made solid contact with the lockers.
“Aren’t you going to flatten her?” One of the girls finally asked Kelsey.
Kelsey hesitated, but shook her head. “This is the wrong place.” she said.
I had her. Kelsey was afraid to take me on because there was a chance she’d lose in front of all her little zombies. She hadn’t forgotten who actually won the arm-wrestling match.
“Braaaaaawck,” I said.
“Hit her,” Abigail growled.
Kelsey’s eyes darted around the room. She wanted to piss her pants. (Well, piss her skirt.) I could smell it. I had won. I had leveled up. I was a freaking giant killer, and they all knew it.
“She’s not going to hit me.” I was growing taller and stronger by the second. “I’ll hit back harder, won’t I, Abigail?”
Two of the cheerleaders drifted to the door and looked outside.
Kelsey kept on eye on them and the other on me. “I’m not going to hit you because we’re in school and I’m not stupid enough to do anything here.” she said.
“Not even if I ask nicely? Not even if I say pretty please?”
Yeah, that was taunting, but I was desperate for Kelsey to take a swing at me so I could unleash a decade of rage on her fat ass.
Kelsey turned to her minions. “Get back in the gym.” As the trooped outside, she pointed at me with her pom pom. “Watch yourself, McCready.”
“Anytime you want, Kels,” I said. “Any time, any place.”

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