Rules of a Rebel

Chapter 9: Don't Compromise

Rule #10: Don't Compromise

Rebels take what they want. Always. 

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If black was a human being, here's what it would say: "I'm elegant, yet menacing. I intimidate people to stay away from me while still maintaining an aura of sophistication. I blend in the background and go well with every color. Everybody loves me. Everybody fears me."

Before, when I had black hair, all it took was a glare and some heavy eyeliner to keep the general population away from me.

I don't have black hair anymore.

Nope. It's pink now. And if pink was a human being, here's what it would say:

"NOTICE ME BECAUSE I'M FRIENDLY AND SPARKLY AND PERKY AND LOVE EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY -"

You get the point.

Because we're not allowed to wear hats to school, I'm forced to go through the front doors with this neon pink monstrosity on my head. People start treating me differently before class even starts.

The first one is a boy with freckles and brown hair. He greets me at my locker. "Hey, sweetheart, are you new here?"

I say nothing, focusing on getting my textbooks in and out of my locker. Before, I'd send him off with one of my death glares, but I'm sure those won't work as well anymore.

"I'm sure I'd remember a pretty thing like you being around," He continues, picking up a strand of my hair.

I yank my head back. "Touch me again and I'll snap your fingers off."

He just laughs.

I slam my locker door shut and walk away, heart racing unpleasantly.

People bump into me in the hallways. Freshmen boys (and sometimes girls) stop in their tracks to look at me. Even the teachers do a double-take when I enter their classroom. There's no use blending in or hiding in the back anymore. Whispers and side glances follow me wherever I go. 

I pass Melody in the hallways when I'm walking to my second class and make sure to give the most murderous glare I can manage. She avoids me eyes, looking guilty.

Good.

This is all her fault.

In gym, it's torture, considering that Derek shares that class with me. It seems to be his life goal to make mine miserable. Every time I pass him, he either whistles or yells out a perverted comment. I get another detention for throwing my shoe at him.

Needless to say, at the end of class, I have a raging headache.

During lunch, I hide in the parking lot, eating a bag of carrots.

This is no big deal, I tell myself, staring at my black sneakers. You've dealt with gossip before, dealt with the staring before. You've dealt with worse. This is nothing compared to Xavier and his friends. Nothing.

It's no big deal, Peyton.

I repeat to myself throughout the rest of my classes - it's no big deal, no biggie, you're fine, I'm fine - but still can't bring myself to believe it. Especially when I hear giggling behind my back and whispering from the sides.

My mood gets even worse when I go back to my locker.

The boy from this morning leans against it. His friends stand a couple of feet away from him, attempting to look casual, but I know they're paying attention to our encounter. Maybe he's here because he's on a dare. Or he got first dibs.