Page 8 of Always Love You More

The final bell cuts off their answer, and I move to slip out of the room as Mr. Roberts says something about a test next week.

He calls out to me that he isn’t finished yet, but I ignore him.

I can’t be late.

Chapter 3

Sam - 15 Years Old

Igrabthegirlpinned beneath me by her ponytail and pull. She lets out a shriek and swings her leg, trying to roll out from under me, but misses.

“Say it again,” I warn.

She throws her elbow back, connecting with my stomach, and I slump forward as the air leaves my lungs. Rolling on top of me, she switches our positions. “You’re a slut.”

“I’m gonna—”

My words are cut off when a sharp pain slices down my face.

“Break it up,” someone yells just before she’s hauled off of me by a teacher.

I run my hand over my face and find my fingers red.

The bitch scratched me.

Jumping to my feet, I lunge for her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” someone bellows as I feel a pair of hands grab my wrists and pull them behind my back.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I shout, trying to break out of their hold.

“Principal’s office—now,” the person behind me cracks, and I look over my shoulder, finding another teacher.

“I have to catch my bus,” I say, my gaze falling to the line of buses in front of the school and the waiting kids who are all watching us.

He tightens his grip on my wrists. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

The other teacher is already leading the girl inside, and I realize I’m not getting out of this.

“Fine,” I relent, yanking my arms forward. “But get your hands off me.”

I’m surprised when he lets go, not having expected him to actually listen. I turn toward him, and he winces when he sees my face.

“I’ll take you to the nurses office first.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, watching the buses pull away.

Shit.

He shakes his head. “I’d really feel better if you got that looked at.”

Reluctantly, I follow him to the nurses office. She cleans out the scratch, bandages it, and sends us on our way.

I trail after him in silence to the principal’s office, and he pulls open the door, ushering me inside. Dropping into the open chair, I look from the girl to Principal Hansley.

“Miss Barlowe,” he greets me. “How nice to see you again.”

I scoff, and his eyes narrow.