Free Snapshots by Pamela Browning

cheeks hollow.
    â€œAre you going to be okay?” I asked, not at all happy with the state she was in. We’d have some explaining to do if we didn’t manage to remove the stain down the front of her dress before Mom saw it.
    Martine nodded wearily. “Hugh gave me something to drink. I had too much. Or maybe it was because I mixed it with all that sickening punch—” She clutched her stomach but managed to get her nausea under control.
    â€œYou’re going to be just fine,” Rick said from behind me. “Let me help you up.”
    â€œWhere’s your purse?” I asked.
    Martine only moaned, and I went into the other room. Unlike the room we’d passed through earlier, this one was dark and quiet. I groped for a light switch, my eyes unaccustomed to the darkness after the glaring brightness of the bathroom. Someone reached out and grabbed my wrist.
    â€œWhere’ve you been, Martine?” asked Hugh Barfield, looming out of the darkness. I recoiled at his boozy breath.
    â€œI’m not—”
    â€œThey have names for girls like you. I’d never have pegged you for a tease. Now, come on and I’ll show you the fun I promised.” Behind him I saw a king-size bed with its bedspread flung back and the sheets all rumpled.
    â€œI’m Trista, not Martine,” I said. “She’s in the bathroom, throwing up her guts. Let me go. ” I wrenched away from him, but he was too quick for me, also very strong. He played guard on the football team and was built like a Hummer on steroids.
    â€œYou’re Martine. You can’t fool me,” he said, and in horror I felt him fumbling with the top of my dress. I said, “No!”, but he lurched against me and before I knew it, I was on the bed and he was lying on top of me.
    I was terrified. Sure, there were other kids nearby, but now this guy was yanking my dress up. My futile struggles only incited him more.
    â€œStop,” I said, but the word was muffled by his chest pressing against my face so I could hardly breathe. I turned my head aside and tried to scream, but all I managed was a grunt.
    And then Hugh’s weight suddenly lifted off. Rick yelled something and tossed Hugh across the room, where he landed on a table and yelped. Hugh was up in an instant, slamming Rick into the wall. Out of the corners of my eye, I saw classmates crowding around both doors.
    Martine was wailing, but Rick kept his cool. Pinned against the wall as he was, the only thing he could do was crack his head against Hugh’s. It worked. Hugh loosened his grip, and Rick twisted away. Blood ran down his cheek, staining his white shirt.
    Hugh staggered backward, but Rick wasn’t through with him yet. He grabbed a handful of Hugh’s shirt and unleashed a punch that connected with Hugh’s jaw. Rick would have kept hitting him except that Sam, Shaz and some of the others inserted themselves between them. Hugh, his nose bleeding copiously, struggled to lurch to his feet.
    I ran to Rick, collapsing against him, and Martine joined us, hugging us both. Martine and I were sobbing, me with considerable relief.
    â€œHurry,” Rick said. “Let’s get out of here.” We broke apart, Martine and I linking arms around each other as Rick aimed us toward the door. Which was where we encountered a couple of stern hotel security guards, who took a dim view of the situation, though they eased off when we told them we were going home. Shaz was tending to Hugh, and everyone stood silently aside while the security guards escorted us from the room and then out of the hotel, where the limo driver was waiting patiently under the front portico.
    I’d managed to pull myself together, to be strong for Martine and Rick because that was what they expected of me, but apart from my indignation and anger, I was just plain scared. Even so, damage control was uppermost in my mind. I was already thinking ahead to how to keep