In homeroom the next day, the teacher assigns us a semester project that will count for twenty-five percent of our grade. Half the class groans and casts annoyed glances around the room. We have to write an essay of ten thousand words about anything in the world as long as we are passionate about it. The kicker? We have to do it with a partner.

"Do we get to pick our partner?" Bailey raises a hand.

"That's a great idea," she replies, clapping her hands, "pick someone you know will do their half of the work and you might have something in common to write about. Go ahead and mingle for a bit and find a partner."

Shit.

Scanning the classroom, I don't see any promising options. Friends latch to friends, and people who run in similar circles will make it work. I don't have a single option in this room and Bailey has the pick of the bunch. He doesn't move from the desk, flipping a pencil in one hand. I avert my gaze and figure I can talk the teacher into letting me do this on my own since I'm not a reliable student anyway.

I don't want to hinder anyone else's grade if I derail.

The teacher resumes the front of the classroom to discuss what the essay will entail and the other requirements. Then slips out a paper to jot down the pairs. Her eyes land on me and I shrug.

"I'll be her partner," Bailey lifts a hand.

My jaw drops with a small gasp, but I snap it shut. This is just another ploy to get close to me and now he has an excuse for an entire semester.

Fuck my fucking life.

"Thank you, Bailey," the teacher jots down our names.

After class, I head for economics, but Bailey falls into step with me. I falter and he turns in front of me when I freeze in my path. He surveys the hallway, and then opens the janitor closet and tugs me inside.

"What are you doing?" I retort.

"We need to talk."

The door closes with a soft clack, and we're bathed in darkness. Bailey shuffles, trying to locate a light, but he ends up fishing out his phone to use the flashlight.

"What do you want?" I drape arms over my chest.

His scowl is hard and deep, "I don't want Cassie to see us, so you won't spread it around that we're working together."

"She'll find out," I roll my eyes, "everyone in class heard."

"I got stuck with you," Bailey narrows his eyes, "that's the story if she finds out."

"That's the story?"

"I w-want... I need to pass this class and since you seem to actually give a shit about classes all of a sudden, you're my best bet to get a decent grade, Max."

"Oh, I'm Max again, am I?"

"It doesn't do anyone any good calling you Maxi Pad," he snarls.

"I doubt Cassie would be happy to hear..."

"Shut the fuck up," he cuts me off, "when we are together, we don't talk about Cassie. Okay?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I'll see you at your house after practice, Max," he turns off the flashlight, "we'll work out the details and a schedule."

"Uh, no..." I shake my head, "you are not coming over to my house, Bailey."

"We aren't going to mine either."

I grumble, "fine, but you have to be gone by six."

"I won't get there till five thirty, and a half hour isn't long enough."

I shove around him, searching for the door knob, "that's all I can manage. I don't want you there when my dad gets home."

"It's for a school project, Max," he moves me aside, finds the doorknob as the tardy bell rings, and the hallways fall silent, "do you think he'll really be upset?"

"He doesn't like having company."

He doesn't like my company, much less anyone who comes over to see me whether they like me or not. It has nothing to do with Bailey. I bet my dad will actually be impressed that I am working on a project with the lacrosse star.

"I should at least meet him so he knows we'll be working together."

"No, please..."

Bailey whips around to face me before I can get out of the closet, bracing arms on the doorframe, blocking my path. I swallow hard and stare into his stormy blue eyes, consumed by the intensity.

This isn't the kind that causes a tremor to wrack through my body out of fear. My fingers shake and chest aches because I know I let myself fall for his game. He made me into a fool and is still trying to screw with me.

"I'll see you after practice, Max," he growls before retreating without another word.

💀

By lunch time, I am dog-tired and ready to head home. I consider hiding out in the library loft, but first food. I empty my things into the locker and reluctantly walk to the cafeteria. I peek at my table, but no one is sitting there. Asher and Taryn are missing, probably making out somewhere, and I haven't seen Sofia since Monday or something like that.

Scanning the cafeteria, I get in line to grab a round pizza and some juice. The Ghost Riders are laughing at their regular table, but Connor is missing. I almost wonder if he's even in school anymore because the last time I saw him was before the party at Zane's house. I'm not sure if he's been at school since I saw him on the first day other than when he stole Taryn away in the parking lot.

Weird.

"Bitch!"

Flat palms slam into my back and I lurch forward, missing the counter and crash hard into the tile. The kids in front of me spill forward, creating a berth and wall between me and the lunch ladies. They don't even care what's going on this side of the plexiglass and continue serving the students that squeeze by.

I roll over to watch Cassie descend on me with Delia and some sophomore cheerleader. Delia and the sophomore pin my arms and legs while Cassie straddles my torso, holding me down firmly. I wrench in their grasp, but my mouth is smothered by a fourth person's hand. I glance up to see some junior girl I don't know, as she digs nails into my face and shoulder.

My knee throbs and aches as Cassie leans her weight into it, knowing it kills. Tears prick at my eyes and all I can do is lie there waiting for an explanation or whatever she has to say. Instead, Cassie pulls out a black sharpie and scrawls around my face, forehead, down my arms, and neck. I wiggle this way and that, but Cassie doesn't crack a smile at my pathetic attempts to break free.

"All the labels," Cassie replaces the cap on the sharpie and jumps to her feet.

She jams her heel into my knee for good measure, making me hiss. Her friends finally release me and move away, cackling. I reel to my side as Bailey charges up to Cassie, steaming and rolling tight shoulders. He mutters something to her I can't hear and she laughs, patting his cheek. He glances at me fleetingly before following her to his table. They all settle together where he scowls, frustrated and silent.

Whatever has his panties in a bunch, doesn't compare to the hurricane roaring in my chest. A hand appears in front of my face and I look up to see Mallory. She leans down and helps me up, shaking and barely able to put any pressure on my left knee. She settles me at a vacant table before scurrying to get us both something to eat.

"Do you need help?" Mallory snags the pizza slices off the tray and passes one to me.

She helps me up and we slowly make our way out of the cafeteria. I don't even know what is written all over me, but I don't want to find out. Mallory walks me out to my car and I settle against the driver's door. I need my painkillers, though they aren't real painkillers. They are the kind of pills that turn the switch off, so my brain doesn't send the signals of pain to my body. It hasn't been working though, so doubt it will work when I've been brutally attacked.

"What's all over me?" I notice my arms covered in typical words like , , and .

"Umm... Your forehead says... Bleeder, your cheeks say fat and cunt. And the one on your neck says Bloody Mary," Mallory bites her bottom lip like it causes discomfort to tell me.

"I have to go home," I stare at the black ink settling in my skin.

"Do you need anything from your locker? I can go get your stuff."

"All of it," I huff, "I don't even have my car keys with me."

"What's your combo?"

I give her the information and she runs off to get my stuff. She's only gone for a minute when the main doors bang open and the Ghost Riders clamber out, shouting and arguing with each other. Bailey freezes when he sees me rubbing above my knee. I avoid his gaze and pray he isn't planning on coming over here to do anything. I'm not sure I can handle anything he has to say or do right now.

"Sawyer!" Zane notices Bailey's gaze and trots over to me, "that was stupid. She fucking ganged up on you..." He falters when he sees the tears in my eyes, "shit, girl. You look a wreck."

"I'm fine," trembling, I struggle to stand on one leg.

"Do you need something?" He glances around, "I thought Mallory was helping you or something."

"She went to get my stuff," I nod toward the school.

Zane glimpses at Riette and Bailey who are frozen on the sidewalk, watching us. The rumors say that Zane is the golden boy. I'm not sure what that means other than he's supposedly perfect. He's never addressed me straight on like this and it's weird that he's showing more concern than Bailey right now.

"Could you tell Bailey not to come over after practice today? I really don't want to deal with him now."

"Sorry, Sawyer, but I don't think he'll accept that," Zane runs a hand through dark chestnut hair, "he'll still come over."

"I won't let him in," I defy valiantly.

Zane chuckles, "I don't think he's afraid of you. He'll get what he wants. He's learned that from me."

"No shit."

Zane scowls, "here comes your girl. Later, Sawyer."

He is gone before Mallory reaches me, and she swerves wide from the boys. She passes my things to me and runs off when the bell rings to signal the end of lunch. It takes a while to get home because my body aches all over, and the painkillers haven't kicked in when I get through the door.

After scouring the bathroom upstairs, I end up in the guest bathroom downstairs looking for rubbing alcohol. I carry out the bottle and cotton pads to the kitchen counter and start working on my arms. I'm not even making decent progress when there is a knock at the front door.

Who the hell?

I open the door and hiss, "Bailey?"

"Max...?" His eyes widen now that he is up close and personal with his girlfriend's handiwork, "let me help you."

I stagger back as his six-four frame moves into the kitchen and shuts the door. I hop over to the counter and pick up the cotton pad, scrubbing at my arm. Bailey grabs my quivering fingers and stops me. I blow out a breath and let him take the cotton pad. He drops it on the counter before digging his fingers into my hips and plopping me on a stool.

Oh!

Bailey holds my gaze as he pushes my knees apart and steps up close to my pelvis. An itch immediately bites into my nerve-endings, and I curse myself for the way he can make my body react. Bailey doesn't seem to notice anything, douses a cotton pad and starts rubbing gently at my forehead.

"Why are you helping me?"

"You don't deserve this," Bailey hooks my chin with his forefinger and thumb, turning my head to the light, "Cassie is a real bitch a lot of the time when she feels threatened. Just remember that, Max."

"You're saying she feels threatened by me?" I scoff in disbelief.

"Not just because of me."

Bailey moves onto my cheeks when I hear footsteps outside. Sucking in a sharp breath, I push Bailey back and squeeze my legs together. Bailey's face heats up probably out of embarrassment, but he continues to work on my cheek. Dad bursts through the door when he finds it unlocked.

"What the fuck...?" Dad glares and then his eyes land on Bailey, "you're that Locke kid!"

"Yes sir," Bailey drops the cotton pad and they shake hands.

"You're one hell of a player, son," Dad sounds like a normal dad.

"Thanks, Mr. Sawyer," Bailey resumes scrubbing my cheek.

Dad chuckles, "please, call me Paul." Then his eyes land on me and scan the black ink, "what the hell happened to you, Maxine?"

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, "it's nothing."

"What did you do to earn all these labels?" His mouth curves up, "serves you right, young lady."

Bailey instantly stops working on the last bit of ink on my face. He studies my face for a reaction. There isn't much I can do, but accept that Bailey now knows how cruel my dad is. I don't say anything and Dad chuckles, unlocking the fridge and snagging a beer. He chugs half of it before locking it up again. Bailey's eyes drift and watch this procedure.

Fuck.

He'll use this as ammo at school. He likes to make me vulnerable and get information from me. Then he turns around and uses it to make me a fool.

"I have a business meeting, so I won't be home till after nine," Dad heads upstairs after that, leaving us alone.

"Don't you have something for lacrosse?" I glance at the clock, but it's barely two in the afternoon, "I suppose not till later..."

"I wanted to check on you," Bailey starts working on my arms, and continues to peek toward the stairs, "we can work till I have to go to practice."

I don't have the energy to argue.

💀

An hour later, Dad comes back down when Bailey and I are setting up at the dining room table. A black polo shirt is tucked into khaki pants, black leather shoes, and his hair has been gelled back. He looks handsome, adjusting a gold watch on his wrist.

"How do you even know each other?" Dad gestures between us.

"We have homeroom together and teamed up on a class project," Bailey informs him when I remain silent.

"Don't let her make you do all the work, son," Dad doesn't even look at me, "don't have sex with her either. She's the kind that will trap a boy with a pregnancy if you give her the chance."

My stomach somersaults at Dad's words. It's no secret what the man thinks of me, but it's mortifying exposing it to others. Dad cackles and leaves before Bailey can blink away the surprise. I'm impressed he hasn't said shit to me about the comments. I settle in a chair and lift my sore leg into another chair, cringing.

"How's your knee?" Bailey asks when I puff heavily.

"Uncomfortable," I flush, rubbing above it.

"Can I ask what happened to it?"

"Osteoarthritis."

"What's that?"

"It's a degenerative disease that starts with the cartilage in the knee. Once that's gone, it's just bone on bone."

"Ouch," he winces, "how bad is it?"

"Bone on the smallest amount of cartilage. I won't have any left this time next year most likely," I heave a shaky breath, "the brace just keeps my knee in place, so it doesn't hurt so much."

"Is that genetic?"

"No... It's... It's because of all the surgeries."

"What?" He is legitimately confused.

"After the car wreck," I allude, pausing, but he shakes his head, "the car wreck when I was fifteen?" His eyes widen, realizing, and I go on, "It screwed up my knee. I had so many surgeries, but none of them fixed my knee and... We were so busy with the funeral that my knee went on the back burner. Now it's all screwed up for the rest of my life."

"Oh," all the pieces click into place, "sorry, Max. I didn't realize."

"It's fine," I grimace.

We work diligently for the next hour, breaking up the work evenly. Bailey offers to take more, but I want to do my part. I've always enjoyed English and I'm a good writer. I don't want to give him free rein with my grade either. Then we spend another hour discussing topics we can write about, but we don't have anything in common. He wants to write about sports or medicine, and I want to write about books or academics.

"Let's pick this up tomorrow," Bailey nods toward the clock on the oven, "I have to get to practice."

"Oh, right... Can we please meet somewhere else?"

Bailey sighs, and nods, "where exactly?"

"I don't care."

"I suppose you can come to my house. You know where I live," he doesn't even look at me, "you spent your whole summer at Taryn's house."

"Watching me?"

Bailey chortles, packing up, "later, Max."

He leaves without another word. I pack up my bag and head to my room. I strip down, change into pajamas, and replace the knee brace. I'll have to sleep with it on tonight to help with the pain.

As I head back downstairs, my stomach grumbles, but everything is locked up.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

💀

Students flood the entry doors as I pull into the school parking lot the next morning. My knee is still throbbing and achy after yesterday. I can't take any more painkillers until lunch. I chug some water, checking my face again even though I know Bailey got all the ink off yesterday. I'm still confused why he even bothered to help me.

He was considerate not mentioning my dad, and then asking about my knee. I could tell he felt stupid for asking what is wrong with my knee at all when I brought up the car wreck. I don't know why he would care about making me feel bad or having to trudge that shit up. He's the one that will use that against me.

Can I trust him?

No! Be careful.

Everything feels normal until I turn down the hallway to my locker. Cassie is there, sneering with Delia at her side and Bailey standing several feet away talking to Zane, Connor, and Riette. I freeze in the hallway and stare at the girls, steadied for an attack. I can't deal with this now.

"There she is! Maxi Pad!" Cassie shouts.

Students pause, perusing until eyes fall on me. They watch as I slowly make a path to my locker. I should have turned tail and run out of the building, but instead walk toward her.

Everyone has their eyes on us. Even the Ghost Riders have stopped talking and snap heads in my direction. Bailey's expression is stoic and unreadable.

"It's good to see you were able to erase all the labels on your skin," Delia titters, pointing, "too bad they're not really gone. You'll still be known as the hemorrhaging freak of this whole fucking county."

Ugh.

Cassie's voice is loud and demonic, "I hear your dad even thinks you deserve those fucking labels."

What? Bailey told her?

Of course, he did! He can't be trusted!

My heart clamps down, making it hard to feel anything but the sharp ice in my chest. I knew he would tell her. I glance at Bailey behind Cassie.

If he heard what she said, he doesn't reveal it in his expression. Riette scowls at Cassie's back and Zane is just as blank and indifferent as Bailey. Connor is already gone, charging down the hallway.