Snapshots

“Where’ve you been, Martine?” asked Hugh Barfield, looming out of the darkness. I recoiled at his boozy breath.

“I’m not—”

“They 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.

“I’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.

“You’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.

“Stop,” 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.

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