Name: Melinda Williams

My knuckles slam into the head cheerleader’s perfect nose. It feels great. Real great. Well, inside it does. My hand burns like hell.

It’s halftime, and the gym reeks of boy—sweat, bad breath, and cheap cologne. Silence drums in my ear so loud it hurts. There are hundreds of faces on the bleachers, and then there’s the basketball team. All staring. At me. Oh, God.

The fluorescent lights buzz, telling me to run, but I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I admire how the blood drips from her nostril, over her ivory skin, and soaks circles into her uniform. It looks great next to the matching red stripe crossing her chest. The white stripe matches her pale face. And the blue matches the developing bruise.

Every part of me shakes, my fist aches like broken bones, and my heart pounds hard enough to bust ribs. I’ll be in huge trouble. But who cares? I may have ruined Cambelle’s nose. Completely worth it. 

The other cheerleaders freeze—something that doesn’t happen very often. Half of them awed, half angered. Probably fake anger, though. Even her clones have got to hate her, right?

“Eeak!” Cambelle’s shock fades—my split second of glory over. She’s loud enough to crack the windows, but all she does is shake everyone back to life. Now, there is noise, and it’s even louder than silence. After another glare, I turn and bolt, my ponytail bouncing like my skirt, automatically making me appear one hundred percent peppy.

So not me.