I know it's Wednesday because Wednesdays I have gym and that's where I am. Standing in the center of the basketball court. Staring up at the gold chain around Connor Clapp's neck. The shiny cross resting between white tee-shirt cotton and a plastic red whistle makes me think of Grim's gold fang. The star of protection that hangs from his earlobe. How good it felt to be his private little star.
"If you don't want to participate, I can't make you," Coach Clapp gripes, trying not to look at my lips. My hardly discreet pierced tits. My barely hidden undone fly. "But you have to dress out. Get those boots off my floor."
Gilded glinting taunts me.
Everything hurts.
When I walk out of the gymnasium, I don't come back.