Work In Progress by A. M. Bryker (grave mercy .TXT) 📖

front door slams behind him.  

  I prepare myself for the consequences of my actions. Within a couple seconds, my mom looms over me and inflicts the pain on my face that I knew would come. Left side this time, with a lot more force. I learned years ago not to defend myself. It's just worse that way. Plus, I think playing it safe would be a good idea today considering recent events.

  "How dare you!" Mom yells. "What right is it of yours to interfere with my affairs?" 

  I look at the floor as I've done countless times and say what I've said just as often. "Sorry." 

  For the next five minutes, my mom yells about how inconsiderate I am and how I should learn better manners. I stand there, hearing her but not listening. My face stings where she hit me.  

  Finally, she storms off to her bedroom and slams her door. I climb back up the stairs to my own room and shut the door quietly. Pressing my back against the door, I slowly slide down to the floor and stare numbly out my window on the opposite wall. A single tear escapes the corner of my eye and slips down my cheek. I cried out most of them last night before I fell asleep.

  Why can't I have a normal mom? Out of everyone in this world, this woman is the one that I feel like I have to call Mom. Ill-tempered, abusive, and lazy. I personally don't see why so many men fall for her. She's the worst person I've ever known.  

  By the time I finally bring myself to my feet, it's seven-thirty. I shut myself in my bathroom and inspect my face. A nasty bruise has formed on my cheekbone. Sighing, I touch it gingerly with my fingertips. I wince. It feels worse than it looks.  

  After taking a quick shower and dressing in a plain black long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, I grab my concealer and get to work covering up the latest addition to my face. When I'm positive that it won't be noticed, I go about with the rest of my routine: eyeliner and eyeshadow, lipstick, mascara, and hair.  

  I grab my jacket and book bag and go downstairs. In the kitchen, I eat a few protein bars and drink a glass of milk. Thankfully, my mom is still in her room, moping. 

  Just then, the doorbell rings. Confused, I frown. Dan hasn't come back, has he? 

  I open the door and I'm almost relieved when I see Jack. That's when I remember--his jacket.  

  He smiles when he sees me.

  "Hey," he says. "I thought we'd skip the bus and walk to school together. Is that okay?" 

  For a moment, I'm speechless. I was not expecting this. I mean, he's kind of a nuisance but I actually wouldn't mind a walk to help clear my head. 

  Making up my mind, I reply, "Um, sure. Come inside while I get a couple things." 

  I trudge up the stairs. Once I get to my room I shrug on my jacket and grab Jack's from the back of my chair. Suddenly, I find myself breathing in Jack's musky scent from his jacket. Shocked that I would do such a thing, I hold the jacket as far away from me as possible, while at the same time not seeming conspicuous about it.

  I feel better when I get back down the stairs and return the jacket to him.  

  "Shall we?" He asks happily. 

  I merely brush past him and we both leave the house.  Neither of us talk much on the way to school. Jack seems to have a lot on his mind. His brow is furrowed and he keeps chewing on his bottom lip.  

  I shrug it off. Despite the fact that I almost maybe kind of want to know what he's thinking about, I'm going to keep quiet. I like the silence anyway. 

  When we finally arrive at school, people stare at us and whisper to each other. Oh great. That must mean there's a rumor going around about Jack and me. 

  Before I can ask anyone what they're whispering about, a guy with blond hair jogs over and greets Jack. "Hey, man. How are ya?" 

  Jack smiles smoothly and replies, "I'm great, thanks. What's the whispering about?" 

  "Oh, all this?" The guy laughs, spreading out his arms. "People are hearing rumors that Beastie is your class buddy now."

  I glare at him. Rick Anderson has been my personal pest since middle school. He gave me that nickname. Unfortunately, he's the one person that isn't scared of me. I'd have beaten him up forever ago, but he's a part of a big shot family, which explains his overconfidence and douchery.   

  "If I recall correctly," I seethe, "that information is the business of no one here." 

  Rick puts his hands up and shrugs. "Never said it was," he defends, smirking. "I just heard it from the cheerleaders." 

  I'm so tempted to wipe that smirk from his face via pain, but I restrain myself. I don't need any charges pressed against me. My mom would get furious and punish me.  

  Instead of pummeling him like I want to, I brush past Rick and disappear into the school, my fists clenched. A few seconds later, I hear Jack rushing to keep up with me.  

  "Hey, wait u--" 

  "I don't wait." 

  When he reaches my side, he looks at me impatiently, but when he speaks he sounds the opposite. "Who was that guy? He acted like he knew me." 

  Reaching my locker, I answer, "That's Rick. He acts friendly to cover up how rotten he is." 

  "Just like you do the opposite?" 

  His question catches me off-guard. I turn to face him, but he's gone. In his place stands Rick in all his overconfident glory.  

  Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "I thought I smelled a rat." 

  I turn back to my locker. Rick flashes his pearly whites and leans on some freshman's locker, invading my personal space. That's all he's good at, other than playing both football and girls.   

  His smell--no, not like a rat, but that probably would've been better--washes over me, and I gag. Trying to clear the air by waving my hand frantically in front of my face, I ask sarcastically, "Want some body with that cologne?" 

  "Yeah, yours," he responds brazenly.  

  Closing my locker, I tilt my head up to meet his icy blue gaze. It's a shame that such an attractive person isn't worth anyone's time.  

  "You know, it's really difficult being the only girl you haven't slept with." I place a hand on my hip and tilt my head to one side. "I'm under so much pressure, and I'm not sure how long I'll be able to resist your charm."  I roll my eyes again and turn on my heel.  

  "Let me know when you can't resist any longer," Rick calls from behind me.  

  Shutting his laughing words out of my mind, I keep walking.

3

  

 Rick hovers around me every chance he gets after my first class. Jack hangs with me as well--when he's not at his locker--but I don't mind his presence as much as I do Rick's. Jack isn't as much of a nuisance.

  Jack leaves my side for a few minutes to make another stop at his locker, leaving me alone with Rick. I sigh as I put unneeded books away. Rick leans on the freshman's locker again, only closer this time. 

  "So what are you doing tonight?" he asks indifferently. "Any plans?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do have plans," I reply haughtily. 

  He laughs, disbelieving, and walks two of his fingers up to my shoulder where he flicks my ear. "And what might those plans be?"

  Shrugging him off, I respond with a glare, "I'll be busy burning this shirt and disinfecting myself."

  "That's a shame," he says with a smirk. "One of my buddies is throwing a party at his house tonight and I don't think he'd mind me inviting you."

  I raise an eyebrow suspiciously and ask, "Right, because I'd willingly subject myself to ridicule. No thanks."

  Rick raises his right hand and places his left on his chest, an innocent expression on his face. "No ridicule. No tricks or games. Scout's honor."

  Rolling my eyes, I retort, "You were never a scout and you don't have any honor."

  I walk away, but Rick keeps in stride beside me. Why won't he ever leave me alone?

  Walking ahead, he suddenly turns and stops in front of me. "I promise that this isn't a trap of anyn kind," he says, and I stop. He actually seems sincere. "You have my word."

  I look up at his light blue eyes, replying, "It's too bad that your word means nothing to me. Now move."

  Disappointment flashes in his eyes, but it's gone so quickly that I suppose I imagined it. He doesn't move. Instead, he takes a step toward me. 

  "Please come."

  I'm shocked, but I don't let it show on my face. Rick has never, ever asked me to do anything; if he wants something he demands. What makes this time any different?

  Squinting my eyes dubiously at him, I inquire, "Why is it so important to you that I go?"

  He shrugs. "Jack is going as the guest of honor, and I thought that since you're practically the only person in this school that he knows, he'd be more comfortable with you there."

  Wait, what?

  "This whole party is for Jack?"

  Nodding, Rick replies, "Yeah, the guys thought it'd be fun. It's not every day that we get new people. It's a good excuse to have one."

  "On a Tuesday night?"

  "The sooner the better, right?"

  Pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, I sigh. After a few seconds, I ask, "If I go, will you leave me alone?"

  "For a little while, yes."

  That's all I'm going to get from him. 

  Glancing back up at him, I concede grudgingly, "Fine. I'll go."

  Finally, he moves out of my way, saying, "Awesome. You won't regret it. I'll pick both of you up at seven."

  I whip my head up to meet his gaze. "What? Why?"

  He smiles at my reaction and answers, "Neither of you know where my buddy's house is. I'm being kind enough to offer you a ride."

  Gritting my teeth, I have to admit that I don't know where the party is. Jack wouldn't know because he arrived just yesterday. For some reason it seems like he's been here longer. 

  I resume walking and murmur under my breath, "Fine."

  At last, I make it outside to find Jack waiting at the bottom of the steps. 

  "Hey," he says when he sees me. "What kept you?"

  "Rick wouldn't leave me alone until I said I would go to the party tonight."

  He nods in understanding. "Oh. That. Do you know where it is?"

  We begin the short walk home, and I reply, "No, I don't have to. Rick is picking us up at seven."

  "Oh."

  "I should just stay home," I mumble. 

  "Why'd you agree to go if you don't even want to?"

  Shrugging, I answer, "I dunno. Maybe I just wanted to get him off my back. It's rare when that happens."

  "And if you don't go, he'll just increase the annoyance level," he concludes. 

  "Exactly."

  "Want me to talk to him?" He asks. 

  A small snort of bitterness escapes me. "You don't 'talk' to Rick. He never