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t r e a c h e r o u s

The hours passed at an excruciatingly slow pace that day, each minute seemed to take an eternity. All of that day, I heard, felt, the unsettling hush in the hallway, the classrooms, the cafeteria. It was a silence you never got comfortable with; the tension ate at me with a vengeance. I could hardly wait for it all to be over.

But it wasn't. It was already Day Three, and yet, the worst was yet to come. I continued to watch, helplessly, as Jason and the others committed offence after offence against the guys from the popular crowd.

Gregory Simons wasn't the only one who was dumped into the trash can that day. He was just the first of many. And as I watched each popular kid being thrashed, then bundled up, then dumped into their respective bins, the fear in me escalated, grew until it became almost overwhelming.

I wasn't just worried for Callum - whom I hoped was going to be safe after getting my note. It was Jason and Dave and my other friends I was worried for, terrified for. Because Hell Week lasted for only a week. A terrible week, but still a week, seven days.

The thought of what was going to happen after those seven days scared me half to death - when my friends no longer ruled the school and terrorised everyone in their path, when things were back to status quo.

Who knew what was going to happen us then?

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Class for me ended at four that afternoon, a full hour after Jason and Dave ended. One of my other friends, Henry, took the same class as me, and we headed out of the classroom at a more leisurely pace since we hadn't anymore lessons after that.

It was safe to say I was pretty much 'one of the boys'. Apart from a few other acquaintances I had made in school, I barely knew any other girls. Molly was the closest thing I had to a girl-friend. After befriending Jason at the beginning of high school, I got to know his other friends, all of whom were guys.

Not that I had a problem with that, either. People always said that guys were much easier to handle - less emotions, less backstabbing, more trustworthy. They were right, for the most part. Hell Week had made me realise how hell-bent on revenge guys could actually be.

"What's gotten you so happy?" I asked, curiously, when Henry began chuckling at a text he'd seen on his phone.

Draping a casual arm over my shoulder, he showed me the text. "Check this out," he laughed, "They got him good. Too bad I couldn't be a part of it because of Algebra."

I glanced at his cell, and froze when I saw the words:

Took us a long time, but we got him anyway.

- Jason

Below that was a picture of a boy sprawled on the gravel road - a rather blurred picture - but the familiar mop of dark hair was distinct enough for me to recognise exactly who it was.

My thoughts were in a whirl. Hadn't I warned him about the ambush at his jeep? Or had he completely disregarded my warning because, well, because he was Callum and nothing ever scared him?

"What's wrong, Scout?" Henry asked, his eyebrows raised questioningly as he looked at me. "Aren't you glad we finally managed to nail him?"

Henry wasn't as close as Jason and Dave were to me, and he didn't know about my hesitation or my unwillingness to take part in Hell Week.

"Of course I am." It took me a tremendous effort, but I forced a smile onto my lips. "See?"

Henry frowned. "You could work to sound a lot happier. This only happens once a year, and it's the only time we get to dish out some payback."

"Is revenge really that important to you guys?"

"What do you know, Scout? Look," he explained, patiently. "How many times have you seen us get teased or laughed at by those assholes?"

"A lot of times - "

" - lot of times," he repeated, "Exactly. Don't you see how frustrating or humiliating it is for us to not be able to get back at them because they've got the support of the whole damned school? Jerks like Callum, they deserve whatever they get during Hell Week."

I pulled him to a stop, and Henry looked at me in surprise.

"Don't you see that it's just a never-ending cycle?" I said, patiently, folding my arms across my chest. "You're just going to get them madder than before and what will they do after Hell Week's over? Huh? What happened last year, and the year before that? Haven't you guys already learnt your lesson? When you fight fire with fire, you're bound to get burnt."

"Then what are we supposed to do, Scout?" he fired back, quickly. There was a deep frown between his eyebrows, his eyes were narrowed in angry slits. "Pretend that we're okay with the way they're treating us, pretend that they own us and can do whatever they want with us?"

His words struck a chord within me, and I realised that, as much as Henry and Dave and Jason and the rest were wrong to do this, they were right as well. In their eyes, at least, revenge was the only form to regain their dignity. And since I had never been bullied as much as they had been, I could never understand how they felt.

"Henry - " I began, rather apologetically, but he held a hand up, stopping me.

"Save it, Scout."

He walked away, and as I watched his departing figure, more of a forlorn than a victorious figure, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. For him, for everyone who was taking part in Hell Week. It didn't have to be this complicated. Why couldn't everyone just get along?

But who was I trying to kid? This was reality. This was a nightmare.

This was high school.

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Naturally, my conscience got the better of me. So when I neared his jeep that afternoon, my heart beat in great trepidation.

It was stupid of me to check, I supposed. Callum had probably already gotten rescued by his friends - most of them were already let out of the bins by the janitors around school sometime in the afternoon. His jeep was probably just there since he sometimes lingered around in school with his other friends.

So it was stupid, but I felt the need to check just to make sure.

Hitching my bag further up my shoulder, I peered into his car, making sure there wasn't anyone bundled up inside.

"Callum?" I called, softly.

There was no reply. No one. Nothing. That reassured me, and after casting another quick glance around, I began to head to my car. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was late in the afternoon, and the parking lot was relatively empty. Whatever the case was, I heard a sudden shuffling sound.

I stopped short in my tracks and turned. My feet moved of their own accord, and I found myself heading back to Callum's car, only this time, I walked round the other side, the side I had not bothered to check earlier.

And that was where I found him.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw him leaning against the side of his car, his back against the wheel. His head was tilted upwards, his eyes shut, dark hair falling into his eyes. But that wasn't what I noticed first. It was the blood-stained shirt, the nicks and scratches and bruises on his face and arms that made it seem like he'd been in a dreadful scuffle and barely made it out alive.

Despite the fact that he was hurt, I found myself hardly able to take another step forward.

There was something about Callum, something that had always prevented me from going up to him, saying hello or just talking to him. He was unapproachable, that was one thing, and he terrified me, but not in the way he terrified most of the kids at school. It was more along the lines of him making my heart race and cheeks flush if he so much as looked at me.

But I forced myself to go up to him, my hands hugging my bag tightly to my chest. "Callum?"

His eyes fluttered open then and he met my gaze. There was something wild in them, almost guarded, as if he was afraid of another attack, but when he realised it was me, his gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

"Hey. What's up?" He sounded almost tired when he said that, and I felt a strange tug in my stomach.

I knelt down on the gravel, felt the rough stone bits dig into my flesh. I could hardly imagine how it must've hurt for him to get beaten up on the road earlier on. "Are you alright?" I murmured, hesitantly.

He shut his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Been better."

He certainly wasn't much of a conversationalist, although it rather surprised me that he was still willing to speak to me.

"You should probably head back home," I found myself saying, "Get those cuts cleaned."

"I'll be fine."

Clearly, he didn't want any of my help, but it was difficult for me to just leave him there. "Come on," I said, at last. "I'll drive you home."

"I said I'm fine."

"Callum." He opened his eyes and looked at me. I reached out a hand to him. "You can't just sit here for hours. Just let me help you."

He hesitated, a guarded expression still on his face. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I owe you, remember?" His gaze softened, and I knew that he knew exactly what I was referring to. "Come on, my hand's getting sore. Are you getting up or not?"

His hand reached up to grasp mine, and he pulled himself up. He was a full head taller than I was, his chin level with the top of my head. As soon as he was standing upright, he pulled his hand away from mine, as if my grasp had scalded him.

"You should go," he said, rather brusquely. "I can get home myself."

"Oh," I felt rather disappointed that there wasn't much I could do for him. "Okay then, I guess I'll see you around." I turned to leave, then, but as I was about to head off, he stopped me.

"Hey, Scout?"

I whirled around in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Do you have water?"

His question took me completely by surprise, but I dug into my bag anyway. "Uh, yeah, just give me a sec - here." I tossed the bottle to him, and he caught it deftly.

Uncapping it swiftly, he emptied the contents of the bottle onto his head, his hair turning a shade darker as it got drenched, the water trickling down his high cheekbones and his tanned neck. If I didn't know better, I would've imagined him filming some sort of commercial. He honestly looked the part. But as he wiped his face on the sleeves of his shirt, I realised he was trying to clean off the blood-stains.

"Thanks." He handed the empty bottle back to me, but I pushed it away.

"Uh, no thanks, you can have it."

"Yeah, whatever." He crumpled the plastic and quickly dropped it onto the ground.

I resisted the urge to snort out an annoyed laugh as I bent down to pick up the crushed bottle. It was just such a Callum-thing to do, and I was hardly surprised.

As I shoved the bottle back into my bag, I noticed something else in my bag that made me pause. Because of the water and the blood, Callum's shirt was hardly wearable. After a moment's hesitation, I pulled my jacket out and handed it to him.

"Here. Take it."

He took the jacket from my hands and shook it out. Surprise flitted across his features as he met my eyes, and I felt my cheeks heat up.

"I thought I told you to keep it," he muttered, at last.

"Right now, I think you need it more than I do."

He was silent for a second or two, before unzipping the jacket. "Thanks, Scout," He muttered, and began to pull his shirt over his head.

"Whoa, hold on," I quickly said. "Here? Now? I thought you were going to change in the car! Anyone who passes by right now can see you."

"Let them look," he returned, calmly, before pulling his shirt all the way off.

It was plain to see he didn't worry about anyone staring at him. He didn't need to either, for I soon found myself gawking at his tanned, muscular chest, the rise and fall of the muscles that ran down his torso and the smattering of hair below that disappeared beneath the waistband of his Levi's.

I swallowed, feeling my cheeks flame, and tore my eyes away. A quick zipping sound told me that he was done changing, and I glanced back at him, hardly daring to meet his eyes.

But he wasn't looking at me. His palm was pressed against his stomach, fingers spread out against the navy blue fabric of his jacket.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked, worry seeping into my voice.

He looked up, his gaze darkening and he pushed past me. "I'm fine."

I watched as he pulled the key out of the back pocket of his jeans, and unlocked the door of his jeep. He got in, but before he shut the door he turned to look at me. "By the way, I got your note."

My eyebrows shot up. "How did you know - "

"You're the only one who's stupid enough to warn me about an ambush."

I felt my traitorous cheeks heat up. "That's not being stupid, that's - "

"Scout?"

"What?"

He smiled, an honest-to-God smile, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. "Thanks."

I barely had a chance to react to his words when he pulled the door shut. Not a second later, the engine was up and running, and the car was speeding out of the parking lot, sending a trail of dust its wake.