Free Shine by Lauren Myracle

freshman year of high school: that in town, I’d stand out as the outsider I was. That people would laugh—or frown. But I was almost 100 percent sure that I did
not
smell bad, because I’d put on deodorant this morning, like I always did.
    Discreetly, I sniffed myself. I detected nothing but the baby powder smell of my Suave 24 Hour Protection. Was there something else about me? Something that marked me as
less than
?
    A sidelong glance at the guy next to me didn’t help. He obviously did belong, and he bore the distinction with a disregard I’d never possess. He was wearing a plaid button down over a white T-shirt, the standard attire of college boys. He looked a couple of years older than me, so he probably went to Toomsboro Community College.
    He might have even stopped at the Come ‘n’ Go a couple of times. For all I knew, he might have heckled Patrick. He might have heckled Gwennie. He sure seemed comfortable in the role of making others—that would be me—feel inferior.
    Whatever. I tried to put him out of my mind. I typed in Patrick’s name and pulled up everything I could, but most of it was old news, and what wasn’t old news was basically nonnews.
    The guy beside me, whom I was supposed to be ignoring, made a fist and banged it on the table. He wasn’t having any better luck with what he was doing, apparently. I snuck a second peek at him, and his head whipped toward me.
    “What are
you
staring at?” he said. He reached forward and angled his computer screen so I couldn’t see it, not that I was attempting to.
    I focused on my own computer, embarrassment rolling off me in waves. I could feel that I was blushing, and it made the helplessness I’d felt on the bus rise back up. I breathed faster,
not
thinking about Tommy and
not
thinking about those pants. Not thinking about them so fiercely that the memories sucked me back under, since that was what happened when you struggled against something as grasping and insubstantial as water.
    I blinked at my computer screen. I tried a new search, this time on the term
epidural bleeding
.
    College Boy exhaled.
“Shit,”
he said, making me flinch.
    His presence made me nervous, which, when I thought about it, made me indignant. He was being rude. He was actinglike he owned the place, and he was keeping others from doing their work.
    “Shit, shit,
shit
,” he cursed under his breath.
    Blood rushed so loudly I could hear it in my head. I
wasn’t
worth less than this spoiled college boy who threw a hissy when he couldn’t make the computer bend to his will. More than that, I couldn’t live my entire life letting guys intimidate me just because they were bastards used to getting their own way. I just couldn’t.
    “Excuse me,” I said, my voice wavering, “but this is a public library. Could you be a little quieter?”
    College Boy’s jaw dropped open. He seemed astounded that I’d dared to go up against him.
    “Uh, I
could
, or you could stay the hell out of my business,” he said. “You don’t even . . . you don’t
even
. . .” He floundered, but he was clearly worked up.
    “I don’t even what?” I said. He didn’t know me from Eve, and yet he was acting like he
hated
me. Did he have a problem with people in general, or was his problem just with
me
? “I’m just asking you—nicely—to watch your language.” My voice squeaked despite my best intentions. “Like I said, it’s a public library. It’s for everyone.”
    “Screw you,” he said, shoving back his chair and stalking off. I let out my breath, which I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. But then—
crap
—he turned and came back. He stopped at my side. My heart rate zoomed. I could sense him glaring at me, but I was too afraid to look at him.
    “Where do you get off being so self-righteous?” he said. He kept his voice low, but it was laced with scorn. “I’m serious. What makes you think you can go around judging people?”
    He thought
I
was judging
him
? I mean, maybe