When Droplets Collide

Seven

Unlock the stupid phone. Tap. Tap again. Swipe. Scan the playlist for any song that won't worsen my mood. Not that song. Choose another song, any song—just so long as it has calming beats in the background. As long as I focus on this, I'll be fine.

Keep your head down. Avoid making eye contact. Don’t react to the jeers around you. Just ignore the pain around the inside of your ear and put the fallen earphone back in. Dodge her attempt at yanking it out again. Look for an opening. Don't worry if you don't see one yet.

If you don’t talk back to her while she's surrounded by her friends, she'll let you live.

“Is she retarded or something?”

Press down on the volume button. The rising volume of the music will block out the hate in their voices.

“Not retarded, just in dire need of professional help,” Kelsey corrects, blocking off my escape once again. “It won't be long until that becomes a reality, right, Mara?” she adds, bending down in her attempt to make eye contact with me.

The music isn’t helping. I can hear every word, and it's making me see red. One bully is enough. I don’t need five more to make my life a living hell.
Not wanting to say anything I'll regret, I turn my gaze away from my sister's sneer and focus on the multiple pairs of legs enclosing us together, forcing me to face the person in charge of this never-ending nightmare.

“Kelsey, move.”

She scoffs. “Excuse me?”
“I’m late for class,” I lie, tightening my protective hold on the strap of my bag.

My jaw ticks as the jeering around me increases. She feeds off the support from her friends. Her sneer intensifies as my lungs crush against either side of my racing heart.
With a taunting smile, Kelsey lifts her head slightly.
“I fail to see how that affects me.”

“Miss Everglade is already suspects something’s up,” I find myself saying against my better judgement. “If she sees you out here ganging up on me, who do you think are the first people she'll call?”

The sickly sweet smile falls from her face as the truth ringing in my words registers in her miniscule brain. Seeing the potential endangerment in her master plan was enough of a scare to take a sidestep out of my way. She ignores the protests of the crowd around us as I walk past them and head towards the Art Department without so much as a backward glance.

Music resonates in my eardrums as I keep my eyes glued on the concrete path under my feet. I knew this part of the campus like how I know the back of my hand. I don’t have to lift my head to know where my feet are taking me.
But in my hurry to get away from my thug of a sister and her gang of misfits, I realise I forgot to pay attention to the people around me. So as soon as I turn the corner to ascend the last flight of stairs, I glance up, only to collide head first into a sturdy chest.

The person's arm reaches to steady me as I reel back, but seeing their outstretched hands closing in on me causes one foot to back away quickly until my sneaker misses a step. The hands plant themselves firmly on both of my shoulders, keeping me firmly grounded.

I look up to glare at the person who dares to touch me, but the crawling sensation on my skin under their touch lessons when I see who it is.  From the brown mop of hair on his head to the kind look in his eyes
“Are you okay?”

If I had any doubts of knowing who he is before, they're gone now. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I do know him—from the brown mop of hair on his head to the concerned look in his eyes—a look brought on by pity, which I won’t accept from anyone.

So I scowl at him and shrug his hands off of me. I ignore the bewildered look on his face and bend down to pick up the ends of my earphones off the floor.
“Here, let me,” he quickly says, bending down towards me. The sudden motion causes our heads to bump together and jerk apart as the pain spreads through both of our skulls.