Chapter 16

I stand under the bleachers, my body aching from the punches, blood trickling from my split lip and a cut above my eye, mixing with the hot tears streaming down my cheeks. My ears ring like a goddamn alarm that won’t shut off, drowning out the distant cheers from the pep rally above. Buddy’s got a death grip on my shirt, his massive fist twisting the fabric so tight I can barely breathe, pinning me in place like I’m some ragdoll he’s about to toss. And yet, the worst is still coming—I can feel it in my bones. My vision blurs from the swelling and the tears, but I can make out Buddy’s snarling face, his other hand cocked back like a loaded spring, ready to smash my skull into pulp. I brace for it, every muscle tensing, waiting for the impact that’ll probably knock me out cold or worse.

But nothing happens. He’s frozen there, arm pulled back, but his eyes aren’t on me anymore. They’ve shifted to the side, staring at something—someone—approaching from the shadows under the bleachers. The ringing in my ears muffles everything, turning sounds into a distorted buzz, but I catch snippets of a man’s voice shouting, sharp and authoritative. “Hey! What the hell is going on here?”

Buddy’s grip loosens just enough to set me down, my feet hitting the ground unsteadily. I turn, wiping at my eyes, and see my History teacher striding toward us, his face a mask of alarm as he takes in the scene. He’s in his usual rumpled button-up and khakis, looking more like a disheveled professor than a savior, but right now, he might as well be a knight in shining armor. He rushes up, eyes widening at the sight of my battered face. “Chris? Jesus, kid, are you okay? What happened here?”

I hesitate, my mind racing through the consequences. These jocks—Buddy, Biff, the others—they’re not the type to let shit slide. If I rat them out, tell the truth about the beatdown, Buddy will hunt me down like a dog. No question. He’ll make my life a living hell, or worse. I force a weak smile, tasting blood on my tongue, and shake my head. “Nah, Mr ... uh, don’t worry about it. I just tripped, that’s all. Clumsy me, you know? Buddy here was just helping me up.”

The teacher eyes us suspiciously, glancing between me and the group of hulking jocks who suddenly look like they’re trying to play innocent. He doesn’t buy it fully, I can tell, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he straightens up and points toward the exit. “Well, you all can’t be under here. It’s off-limits. Get out of here, now. Go join the rally or head home.”

I can’t believe it—my ass was just saved by this guy, and I can’t even remember his damn name. Mr. Something-or-other from History class, the one who doesn’t even bother to teach. Under his watchful eye, we all shuffle out from under the bleachers, the jocks muttering curses under their breath. As we emerge into the brighter light of the gym, Buddy leans in close, his hot breath on my ear, voice low and venomous. “You’re not as dumb as you look, new kid. Just remember to keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be okay. But so help me God, if I hear you told someone about this—I don’t care if you’re standing in the middle of the police department—I will fuckin’ beat the fuck out of you.”

I don’t doubt him for a second. The guy’s built like a tank, and from what I’ve heard, he’s got a history of violence that got him kicked off the football team. I just nod my head, keeping my eyes down, not wanting to provoke him further. The group disperses, blending back into the crowd, and I stumble away, wiping more blood from my face with the back of my hand. My whole body throbs—ribs aching, face swelling, but I’ve got to find Regina. She’ll know what to do, or at least how to spin this. But what the hell am I going to tell her? The truth? That I just got my ass handed to me by a pack of jealous jocks? Yeah, that’ll go over great.

I walk over to where I last saw Regina, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me, each step sending jolts of pain through my bruised ribs and throbbing face. The pep rally’s still going strong in the gym, cheers and chants echoing off the walls, but it all feels distant, muffled by the lingering ring in my ears. Thankfully, she’s still there, chatting animatedly with Gretchen, both of them laughing about something trivial. As I get close, Regina’s eyes lock onto me, and her face goes pale, like she’s seen a ghost. Gretchen notices a second later, her expression mirroring the shock.

They rush to me, Regina’s hands flying to my face, gently tilting it to inspect the damage. “Chris! Oh my God, what happened? You look like you got hit by a truck!” Gretchen echoes her, her voice laced with worry. “Who did this to you? Are you okay?”

Their fussing draws attention, and suddenly I’m crowded, mostly by women from the rally—cheerleaders, random girls I recognize from classes, all pressing in with concerned faces, asking if I’m alright, if I need help. The air fills with their scents—perfume, sweat from the dancing, a mix that’s oddly comforting despite the chaos. I try to wave them off, forcing a grin that pulls at my split lip. “I’m fine, everyone. Really. Just ... tripped. Clumsy feet, you know?”

But then Jess spots me through the crowd, her eyes widening in horror. She pushes her way forward, tears already welling up as she throws her arms around me, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Chris! What the hell happened? You’re bleeding! Oh God, look at your face!” She’s sobbing now, her body shaking against mine, and it tugs at something deep in my chest.

I pat her back awkwardly, repeating to the growing crowd, “I’m fine, seriously. Just tripped. No big deal.” But the dizziness hits me like a wave, the gym spinning a little, and I mutter, “Maybe I should sit down...” I try to make my way to the bleachers, but my knees buckle almost immediately, and I stumble forward. I would’ve face-planted right there if not for the hands catching me—Jess, Regina, Gretchen, and a few others steadying me, their grips firm and supportive.

Jess screams at me, her voice breaking through the haze. “Stop being so stubborn, you idiot! Go to the nurse’s office, now!” Yeah, maybe not such a bad idea. With Jess on one side and Regina on the other, their arms looped under mine, we make our way out of the gym and down the hallway to the nurse’s office. The school halls are quieter now, with most everyone at the rally, but a few stragglers gawk as we pass.

The nurse’s office is a small, sterile room tucked near the admin area, with white walls lined with posters about health and hygiene, a couple of cots covered in crinkly paper, cabinets stocked with bandages and meds, and a desk cluttered with files and a phone. The nurse, a middle-aged woman with short graying hair and a no-nonsense expression, rushes over the second she sees me. “Good Lord, what happened to you? Sit down, sit down!”

She guides me to a cot, assessing me quickly—probing my face, checking for breaks, wiping away the blood with antiseptic wipes that sting like hell. Nothing’s broken, she says, and the bleeding’s stopped, but she presses an ice pack to my swollen eye and cheek. I hold it there, the cold numbing the ache a bit. After a minute or two, I hear Regina arguing with her, voice sharp. “He needs something stronger for the pain—prescription Advil or whatever you’ve got! Look at him!”

The nurse shakes her head. “I can’t just hand that out without confirming with his parents first. School policy.” That could take forever—Mom’s at work, probably buried in meetings, not checking her phone. My head’s throbbing like a drum, and I don’t want to wait another second. Channeling that authoritative tone that’s been working wonders lately, I sit up straighter and say, “I need that Advil now.”

She hesitates, her eyes glazing over just a touch, like she’s unsure but compelled. I repeat myself, firmer. “Now.” She caves, nodding quickly and fetching a couple of pills from a locked cabinet, handing them over with a bottle of water. I swallow them down, chugging the water, and slowly, the edge starts to fade. After about 15 minutes, she prods my face gently, asking if there’s any sharp pain. It’s tender, sure, but nothing piercing. She checks my ribs—sore as hell, but no cracks or breaks. Another ice pack for 15 more minutes, and she comments, “You’re recovering remarkably quickly. The swelling’s already going down.”

Then comes the bad part: “I’ll need to call the principal and your parents. School policy for fights.” I shake my head. “No need. I just tripped, that’s all.” She pushes back, insisting it looks like a fight, but I hit her with that voice again. “It was a trip. Drop it.” She backs down, reluctantly agreeing. Regina chimes in, “I’ll take him home,” and after some hesitation, the nurse allows it, signing me out.

Outside the nurse’s office, the rest of the PURGER girls are waiting—Emily, Karen, Gretchen again, all huddled together. They swarm me with hugs, soft bodies pressing against mine, murmuring how glad they are I’m okay. Jess steps back, wiping her tears, and smirks a little. “Your face is way less swollen now. You look more like your dorky self again.”

Now that we’re alone in the hallway, away from prying ears, the girls demand the truth. “What really happened, Chris?” Regina asks, arms crossed. “You didn’t just trip.” I sigh, leaning against the wall. “I was jumped by a couple of guys. Under the bleachers.” Regina’s eyes flash with anger. “Who? Tell me who, and I’ll take care of it.”

I shake my head firmly. “That’ll only make things worse. Retaliating? They’ll come at me even harder. No way.” The girls argue, insisting on justice, but I’m not budging. Eventually, they see the resolve in my eyes and drop it, though none of them look happy about it.

Regina looks at me with those piercing blue-gray eyes, concern still etched on her perfect features as we stand in the hallway outside the nurse’s office. “Chris, do you want me to take you home to rest? You’ve been through hell.”

I shake my head, feeling the Advil kicking in fully now, the throbbing in my face and ribs dulling to a manageable ache. “No way. I feel much better already. But I’m starving—that burger joint at the mall is calling my name.” The girls exchange glances, then nod, deciding we’ll all head to the mall for food and some celebratory shopping. Okay, the shopping was totally their idea, but after the wild times I’ve had on Regina’s previous shopping sprees—complete with dressing room hookups and flirty salesgirls—who am I to complain?

I get into Regina’s Mercedes, the rest of the PURGER crew climb in Gretchen’s SUV, laughter bubbling up as the adrenaline from the day fades. The drive to Springs Fashion Mall is quick, and soon we’re stepping into the upscale two-story indoor haven, natural light pouring through the massive glass dome ceiling over the central atrium. The polished marble floors gleam underfoot, lined with high-end retail stores on both sides—fashion boutiques flaunting designer labels, a sparkling jewelry store, even a tech gadget shop with sleek displays. In the center, a large fountain burbles peacefully, surrounded by plush leather benches where shoppers lounge. Decorative indoor plants and modern art sculptures dot the space, and I spot the escalators and glass elevator leading up to the second floor, where the gourmet food court awaits with its array of dining options and the cinema at the far end.

The girls veer toward Sweetgreen for their salads, chattering about kale and quinoa like it’s the height of excitement, while I head straight to the burger joint, the savory smell of grilling meat pulling me in. My jaw’s still sore from all the slaps that asshole Biff laid on me—each one stinging like a bitch—but at least there are no loose teeth rattling around in my mouth. I order a massive double cheeseburger with fries, extra cheese, and a large soda, then join the group at a table near the fountain, the water’s gentle splash providing a soothing backdrop.

As we dig in, I finally spill the full details on my confrontation with Guber—how I cornered him with the photos, laid out the ultimatum, and watched him squirm before resigning. The girls hang on every word, eyes wide. Everyone heaps praise on Emily for her ballsy streaking stunt, calling her a hero. I tease her a bit, grinning through a mouthful of burger. “Yeah, that ‘we’re going streaking, everyone’ line was gold.”

She laughs, her brown eyes sparkling. “Had to summon my inner Will Ferrell there.” Blank stares around the table. Emily gasps in mock horror. “What!? No one here has seen Old School? We all need to have a movie night!”

Jess, munching on her salad, shifts the conversation. “Hey, Regina, you gonna return all those burner phones now?” Regina shakes her head, her reddish-brown waves bouncing. “I bought them all in cash. I know someone who works at Verizon—he sold them to me under the table so they could not be traced back to us. But the deal was a one-time transaction, no refunds. I do not have any further plans for them.”

Jess asks shyly, “The danger’s over, right? I mean, it would be pointless for Mr. Guber to track the phone numbers down now, so ... What I’m saying is, can I keep mine then?” Regina shrugs. “Sure,” and Jess lights up like it’s Christmas morning. I’m confused as hell—why’s Jess so pumped about a crappy burner phone? And why’d Regina go through all that hassle? Can’t you just grab some at a gas station? Jess catches my puzzled look and pulls hers out of her purse, holding it up. I’m a bit of a gadget geek, so I recognize it instantly—an iPhone 16 Pro, sleek and shiny.

My jaw drops, burger forgotten. I stare at Regina. “You bought four iPhone 16 Pros as burner phones?” She just smiles, casual as ever. “They have the best cameras, and I wanted the models with the zoom lens.” She says it like it’s no big deal, but those things are a thousand bucks each—that’s four grand in cash she dropped just for top-quality photos. I’m struggling to find words, my mind blown by her effortless wealth.

Regina reaches into her purse and hands me hers. “Here, you can have the one I used.” It’s a gold iPhone, of course—fits her perfectly. I couldn’t care less about the color; I’m thrilled to upgrade from my ancient iPhone SE. “Best girlfriend ever,” I say, pulling her to me for a deep kiss, our tongues dancing until I wince—my lips are still tender from the beating.

Emily looks a little left out, pouting playfully, until Karen chimes in. “You can have mine—I already have the 16 Pro.” Emily squeals, “Oh my God, I could kiss you right now!” Karen smirks. “I wouldn’t mind.” So Emily lunges across the table, planting a passionate kiss on Karen, their tongues tangling in a heated makeout that draws a whistle from someone at the next table. We all giggle as Emily pulls away shyly, her cheeks flushed. Karen mock-fans herself, batting her lashes. “I’m liking you more and more.”