Locker 142

2

(Jake)

I grabbed his hand and he picked me up. He picked me up like I was some sort of baby. It was hard to say anything. I tried to speak, but no words came out.

I looked up and Santiago was visably frustratated. It felt like I couldn't breathe.

He sat me down on the bleachers and walked away. He walked back into the crowd. What he did next really surpised me.

He walked up to Presely Higgins and Socked him in the face. He didn't hit him just once-but twice, and the whole gym was flabbergasted. I heard audible gasps theoughout the entire gym. Mr. Ricky intervened, "That's enough."

Mr. Ricky seemed way too calm in this situation. He was too calm as he saw a kid's ass getting beat in front of his own very eyes. I'm surprised that Mr. Ricky didn't yell at him.

Santiago looked at me and I was shocked to see his face. Presley Higgins had beat him up, too. His face was all bruised and cut up. It looked like Presley hit him a little too hard in the head because blood was flowing into his right eye. The sight of him being hurt made my blood run cold.

"It looks pretty bad in your eye," Mr. Ricky said, "Let the nurse check it out."

Mr. Ricky looked at me and told Santiago to take me to the nurse with him.

Since my ribs hit the floor way too hard, it was tough for me to decline. I stood up, but it felt like my legs would give in and collapse any second. Despite being injured, Santiago picked me up, bridal style, and carried me to the nurse's office.

When we got there, the nurse wasn't there. "Marcia! Get in here!" Santiago yelled.

There was no response from the back room and he sighed. Clearly, he didn't respect Ms. Lopez. And Ms. Lopez doesn't take her duties seriously.

I go to a private school, and the teachers don't think twice if they want to come to work or not. The teachers really don't care about what Santiago does because his parents own the school board. The staff is really afraid of him because they know that messing with him would lead to trouble with his family.

He sat down in the seat next to me and started to talk to me, "She's not here..."

I was too lost in thought to really pay attention to what just happened. I said something stupid, "Who's not here?"

He scoffed at me, "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

His finger nudges my forehead playfully. His face turns serious, again, "Are you okay?"

I'm honestly confused by his question. I ask, "What do you mean?"

He sighs, obviously annoyed, "Why do you play coy with me? You look like a tomato!"