Hateful by Eden Beck

Chapter Thirteen

My hands shakeas I stare at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the dorm room door. I don’t normally stand fully naked in here out of respect for Rafael, but I need to look at my body, and I need to look at it closely.

The fat that I’d put on in my hips and thighs around Christmas has begun to shrink, but it’s not gone yet. That’s fine—I’m taking care of that. I’ll just have to go for longer runs.

The problem is my breasts.

For the first time, I can reach up and cup them and actually feel something. Before they were tiny lumps, mosquito bites, maybe—now there’s an actual handful there, something I can grab. It’s a strange, foreign feeling. I thought I wouldn’t have them, but I suppose I’m just a late bloomer.

Maybe I should be elated that I’m finally getting boobs. Wouldn’t most girls be? But this just makes everything more difficult.

The door handle starts to turn. I yelp and grab my clothes from my dresser.

“One sec!” I call desperately.

“It’s just me,” Rafael says flatly from the other side of the door.

“I’m not decent!”

I hear him sigh heavily. “I don’t care. Nothing you’ve got will titillate me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I pause in the middle of tugging on my pants and hold my T-shirt up to my chest before I say quietly, “Okay, fine. You can come in.”

Rafael slips inside and shuts the door behind him. He eyes me suspiciously for a moment before heading toward his own bed.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, setting his phone on his nightstand.

I take a deep breath. “I’m going to have to start binding again.”

“You’re not doing lacrosse anymore,” Rafael points out. “All you have to worry about is the showers … but if you’re not doing sports, then …” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Why do you think you need to start binding again all of a sudden?”

I hesitate for a moment, then gently pull the T-shirt away from my chest.

Rafael’s eyes go straight to my breasts. He stares at them impassively for a moment before matching the sighs that have been coming out of my mouth all too often lately.

“Ah. You’re getting some knockers.”

“Rafael!” I hiss, tugging my T-shirt back on over my head.

He shrugs. “What do you want me to say? I see your point. You’ll need to hide those puppies.”

“I haven’t done it since my stairs … incident.”

He shrugs. “You’ve got sports bras, right? Any leftover bandages?”

I sigh and sink down onto my bed. “Yeah.” I bite my lip. This semester has already been rough on me. Binding was more than uncomfortable and now I have actual breasts to flatten out.

Funny how just a few weeks ago now I was complaining about how I wished everything would go back to normal. Well, now it has.

Because here at Bleakwood, normal just means difficult.

* * *

The Competition Committeehas requested the help of the freshman to set up the auditorium for the big debate in exchange for some extra credit points, so I sign up for a morning shift this weekend since I’m too afraid to look at my latest test scores. It means having to push back my morning run, but The Brotherhood has signed up for the afternoon … and I’m not about to put myself in the same room with Beck willingly.

Rafael groggily walks with me to the dining hall for breakfast before we start.

“Why did you make me wake up early?” he grunts as we plop down into chairs beside each other.

I set a muffin in front of him and peel my banana. “I promised Neville you’d be here,” I tease.

Rafael gives me a dark look, but he unwraps his muffin without protesting further. I grin at him. I feel surprisingly cheerful. I’ll be getting some extra credit, and I’ll be avoiding The Brotherhood. Headmistress Robin won’t even be here until tomorrow, when I won’t be helping, so I’ll get to avoid her, too.

For the first time in a while, I’m feeling hopeful.

It’s going to be a good weekend.

Neville joins us right as we’re finishing breakfast and starts gushing on about the nerdiest shit I’ve ever heard.

“They’re debating eco-friendly policies regarding our schools,” he tells us excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I can’t wait to see what arguments they come up with.”

“I hear they’re also debating adding new classes,” Rafael says, standing up.

Neville nods furiously. “They’ll have several topics. It’s going to be a big deal.” He grins brightly. “I hope they’ve prepared!”

And I thought I was a nerd when I applied here.

I don’t know if I’ve seen The Brotherhood preparing at all, and they’re supposed to be representing the whole school against the girls’ debate team. Apart from bullying me, hitting on me, and running with me, I haven’t seen much of the boys outside of class lately.

I don’t even know where they hang out during their free time these days.

I should be grateful for it, but it’s left me wondering.

“How long is this thing going to be?” I ask as we enter the auditorium.

“Hours, I think,” Neville replies.

I make up my mind here and now not to attend.

There are a lot of things to do that I’m not qualified for: fixing the stage lighting, for instance, or programming the sound levels. I pretty much act as a gopher for my whole shift. A few professors watch over us and help, but it’s a senior student—the head of the committee—that really oversees all the work.

It’s nice to be interacting with people other than The Brotherhood for once. Most of the other students are friendly to me. I flit between people, hauling wires and other supplies, almost getting in as much exercise as I would have if I’d run this morning.

“Alex!” yells a professor.

I set down a big box full of electrical equipment before I call that I’ll be right over.

“Here,” I say to the senior student that needed it. “Carson told me to bring these to you.”

The boy’s eyes light up as he starts digging through the box. “Thanks, Alex!”

I’m so unused to being treated with even the smallest kindnesses here that I’m almost taken aback by his enthusiasm. I have to stifle a grin as I head off toward the professor who yelled for me.

He beckons me over and hands me a clipboard. “Have you ever been into the kitchens, Alex?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I’ll need you to go to them today and pick up everyone’s lunch.” He taps the clipboard he’s given me, so I glance down. It’s just a big list of food. “Do you know where they are?”

“Sure,” I reply easily. I tuck the clipboard underneath my arm and make my way in that direction.

Generally, students aren’t allowed inside the kitchens, so I’m strangely excited to see them.

I head into the dining hall, which is empty, and walk the length of it to the double doors leading to the kitchens. Immediately, a man in a chef’s hat stops me and starts rambling at me in rapid German. I freeze up for a moment before handing him the clipboard.

“Oh—lunch for the volunteers,” he says in accented English. “All right. This way.”

I gaze around as he leads me through a maze of gleaming stainless steel. It’s stiflingly hot in here. So hot I feel like I can barely catch my breath. Several men in white jackets and aprons bustle around us, some laden down with pots and pans, some with stacks of plates.

“Here we go.” The chef hat man stops and points at a steel cart bearing all sorts of food—standard American faire like burgers and fries, some Swiss foods, and dozens of desserts. My mouth waters at the sight of it. “You can carry?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Use this door.” He points past the cart to a door that leads out into the hallway. I suddenly feel like an idiot for walking through the dining hall.

“Danke,” I tell him, using just about the only German word I know and feeling immediately stupid about it.

He just nods and walks away. I hear him begin shouting over the noise of the stoves as I put the clipboard on an empty spot on the cart and grab the handle to start pushing it.

More people are starting to flood into the hallways since it’s almost lunchtime. I carefully navigate around them, but from the number of them who stop to stare at my cart, it’s like they’ve never seen food before. I feel my cheeks burning. I don’t like the attention, but this will probably be the last task of my shift, I realize. My stomach rumbles as the smell of the food hits my nostrils.

By the time I park the cart outside the auditorium doors so I can push them open, I’ve already started mentally picking out which mousse cake I’m going to claim for myself from the cart. There’s a wedge we’ve been using to hold open the doors when we need to, and I grab it and push it into place. I hear the buzz of conversation inside.

I rush back to the cart, grab it, and start pushing it inside the auditorium carefully since there’s a small slope from the doors to the stage.

But just as I start the descent towards backstage, I feel something connect with my back—hard.

I yell out in pain and fall forward into the cart, which immediately takes off down the slope without me. I manage to catch myself with my hands before my face slams into the hard floor.

I hear everyone gasp as ahead of me the cart rolls away, gaining speed and listing off to one side. A few people jump off the stage to grab it, but they’re too late.

It crashes into one of the rows of seats with a noise that could rival a small explosion. Beautifully made fresh food tumbles in all directions. The mousse cake I’ve been lusting after splats unceremoniously onto the floor. One boy is covered in pasta, but that’s the least of my worries.

“Who pushed him?” yells one of the senior boys, his face a mask of anger as he spins to peer into the crowd of volunteers. He has some kind of sauce on his shirt—collateral damage.

There’s no point in wondering who’s responsible for this. I already know.

I roll onto my side, and sure enough behind me stands Beck, face white as a sheet. Heath and Jasper hover several paces behind.

“Are you all right, dude?” To my surprise, the senior boy with the saucy shirt comes over to help me up. I grab his hand and struggle to my feet, wincing.

I shoot a momentary glance over at Beck, before just as quickly looking away.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

The boy nods at me and then whirls towards The Brotherhood.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the boy demands. “Aren’t you the ones responsible for representing our school in the debate? You’ve just ruined our lunch!”

Beck’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. For once, it seems he has nothing to say. He’s not used to being confronted like this.

“And you could’ve seriously hurt Alex!” the boy continues. “You sure you’re okay?” he adds to me.

I nod. In truth, I know that if I open my mouth, I’ll start sobbing, and I can’t have that. My back hurts where I was hit, my knees are all banged up, and I think I hit my elbow on the way down—bad enough to worry about a sprain. This guy is right. I could have been hurt.

My face missed the steel handle of the cart by inches.

Beck looks furious, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s surrounded by angry people who, for the first time, aren’t on his side. He ruined their lunch, and I, a scrawny, banged-up boy, am just a victim.

Rafael seems to materialize out of nowhere. “He’s my roommate. I’ll take him to the nurse.”

“I don’t need the nurse,” I say in a low voice.

Rafael shoots me a meaningful look that I’m sure means shut the hell up, so I do as he says and clamp my mouth shut. The senior allows Rafael to grab my arm and start supporting me gently up the slope toward the auditorium doors.

I try to bat his arm away, but Rafael leans down and hisses in my ear, “Limp, damn you. Act like you need the help, or you’ll let a perfectly good opportunity go to waste.”

So I do. I don’t really have to fake it. One of my knees hurts more than the other, so limping actually eases the pain some. I hear a professor start talking in a stern tone behind us, and Beck’s answering mumble.

Is he actually in trouble? Is he going to face actual consequences? I guess the most egregious crime you can commit here is to fuck with someone’s lunch. If I’d known that earlier, I might have found a way to shift the odds in my favor a little sooner.

Rafael leads me out of the auditorium and down the corridor toward the nurse’s office.

“We can at least get you some painkillers,” he says sympathetically. “I know that must’ve hurt.”

“Mostly it’s just my pride,” I say with a sigh.

“Well, if we get painkillers are strong enough, they’ll help with that, too.” He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Where’s Neville?”

“Still back in the auditorium. He’s volunteering all day. Not for the extra credit,” he adds at my wondering look. “He just … wants to help.” Rafael wrinkles his nose then he slides his arm under mine so I can lean on him better. “Come on, Tiny Tim. Let’s get you to the nurse.”

I laugh a little and limp there with him.

It’s the same nurse from last year; Nurse Weber, the one who knows I’m a girl. She takes a look at my knees and wrists to see if they’ve been sprained, but from the way she’s looking at me, it isn’t my physical well-being she’s most worried about.

“Just bruised,” she tells me, stripping off her gloves. “Which is good.”

“Hey, um—do you have any bandages I could have?” I ask her, since I’m already here, after all. I cut my eyes over to Rafael, and then just as quickly away.

“Why?” She shoots a sideways glance at me as she grabs some ibuprofen out of her cabinet.

“I need to start … binding my chest again.”

Her mouth drops open. “You can’t bind with bandages. You’ll break your ribs.”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Bandages can constrict your breathing. You shouldn’t bind your chest with them. I can get you something else in a few days, if you can wait until then.”

I nod. “I’d appreciate that. And, um, I’ve been running and stuff lately. Will I still be able to do that?”

She smiles as she hands me a bottle of ibuprofen. “These’ll help with pain—and yes, as long as you take it easy for a few days, you can go back to running. You’re a little bruised, but it’s nowhere near as bad as last semester.”

“Thanks,” I tell her sincerely. Rafael hovers near the door, waiting for me to be done. When Nurse Weber finally dismisses me, he slides open the door for me—and immediately takes a step back.

Jasper stands right on the other side.

“Jasper,” Rafael says curtly, his face set like it’s made of stone.

Jasper nods at him. “Rafael. How was your Christmas? You went to Fiji, I think?”

“Yes. And your family went to Bora Bora? How was that?”

How does Rafael know that?Even more, how does everyone here seem to know what’s going on before I do?

Jasper just nods his head politely, his eyes flitting repeatedly over to me.

“Great.”

“Great.” Rafael glances over at me, his lips pursed, before looking at Jasper again. “You sick or something?”

“No. I just wanted to see if Alex was okay.”

“He’s fine now,” Rafael says dismissively, folding his arms. But I don’t miss the single, momentary flash of surprise that flits ever so briefly across his face. I wonder if that some look is mirrored in mine.

I step out and slide the door shut behind me while Rafael bustles over to give me some room.

“Hey, Jasper.”

“Hey.” His eyes soften just a little, and my stomach flutters. God, his eyes should not be that blue. It should be illegal. They pierce straight into me like he’s looking into my very soul.

Every moment I stand here beside him, it’s like another part of my body starts betraying me.

“Should we go back to the dorm?” Rafael asks after a tense moment.

“I kinda need to talk to Jasper,” I reply with a meaningful look. I’ve got this, I try to communicate to Rafael, who unfolds his arms and nods.

“I’m headed to the dining hall—since someone destroyed our lunch.” With a final sharp glance at Jasper, Rafael heads off down the hallway.

“Care for a smoke?” I ask Jasper once we’re out of earshot of the nurse.

Without waiting for a response, I lead the two of us outside.

I’m not really interested in smoking right now, but I hand Jasper a cigarette anyway as I dryly swallow two ibuprofens from the bottle Nurse Weber gave me. Jasper stands beside me with his arm brushing mine. I want to pull away, but a larger part of me craves the contact. It’s sheer force of will that’s keeping me from burying myself into him and kissing him as hard as I can.

“Jasper,” I say softly, after the moments have long since passed into minutes.

He looks over at me, his cigarette still in his mouth, and my stomach lurches. When I was in elementary school, professors drilled it into us so often that “cigarettes aren’t cool” and all, but the way he looks with one in his hand, smoke drifting out of the corner of his mouth …

“This has to stop.”

He looks stricken. “What has to stop?”

“This thing with Beck,” I clarify, and he relaxes. My stomach erupts in butterflies as I wonder, just for a second, what he was worried about. Was he worried that I was talking about this? About … us?

“Someone is going to get hurt, and that someone is probably going to be me.”

“I’ve already told you,” he says, “I can’t make it stop without telling them everything.”

“And so, what?” I snap, pulling away from him. A cold breeze picks up, some powdery snow drifting sideways across the ground near my feet. “So, what if they find out what you almost did?”

He flinches as if I actually said it. Out loud.

“I can’t, Alex.”

“So you’ll just stand by and let Beck do the same thing to me?” I demand, gesturing wildly. “You’ll let him escalate and escalate until … until … and as long as nobody knows what you almost did, you’ll be fine?”

“It’s not—that’s—it’s not like he’s going to kill you!” Jasper stammers, his cigarette falling from his hand, barely half smoked.

“That’s what I thought about you until you almost did!” I snap back. “But killing me isn’t what I’m worried about. You sure Beck can handle himself as well as you did, if he gets the same chance to be alone with me?”

Jasper flinches back again, this time as though I’ve slapped him. Somehow this pisses me off so much the whole world turns red around me. How dare it affect him that way, when I was the one left bleeding on the floor?

“I can’t tell them,” he mutters, and I shake my head.

“Then I can’t be around you,” I growl, my hands curling into fists. I can’t do anything to Jasper. He’s stronger than me, and I know it. There’s no way I can hurt him.

At least, not physically.

“From now on,” I say, shaking with anger, “you’re just the guy who almost killed me.”

“I am not,” he growls, but I don’t back down.

“Well then, would you rather be the man who almost—”

“Stop!” he hisses, looking stricken again. He stares at me wide eyed for a moment before his face entirely falls. He slumps back against the wall, a look of utter defeat and shame written across his features.

Not enough shame, however, to be willing to admit—even to himself, let alone Beck and Heath—what he’s done.

So, I storm through the door leading back inside the school without looking back.

And I head straight toward the school records room.