An excerpt from "The New Girl", Ch. 2

The following day is Thursday, and ordinarily of no consequence. What strikes me as different, however, is that I always find Freya staring at me. Her scarily beautiful blue eyes readily find me, no matter which room we’re in, no matter where I stand outside during breaks. Freya just wears this funny smile, sharp as a scythe for running through wheat.

I start feeling a mote paranoid, perpetually feeling her eyes bore into me even when they aren’t. She isn’t always looking at me, or for me, which makes it worse. Why am I so scared of some girl?

Freya is scary, isn’t she? If she has a dick, then she’s not a she, anyway. Is Freya trans? Something else? Regardless, it explains how Becky’s boyfriend got raped. He wasn’t forced into a girl’s pussy, that’s for sure. If a no-nonsense woman like Mrs Maxwell is subservient to Freya’s cock, then most likely that guy had his back doors smashed in…

‘You know the truth, don’t you?’ a girl says. Her voice is sonorous, husky, sultry in all the best ways. It oozes sexiness. Freya. ‘You were in the changing room, weren’t you? Eavesdropping on Maxwell and I.’

I turn around slowly, doing my best to avoid showing fear. In the wake of the Amazonian girl’s arrival on the central grassy area, most people have excused themselves in one way or another, keeping their distance. The bronze-skinned goddess stands on the edge of the grass, arms crossed beneath her voluminous cleavage and her bleach-blonde hair falling neatly around her face and down her back like a golden veil.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, surprised at my vocal clarity.

Freya steps forwards, and I step back. She lunges, quick as a bolt, seizing me at the collar and pressing me against a tree. God, her hands are so soft, and she stinks of bubble-gum sweetness. For all her strength and aggression, she maintains a cool, disinterested smile.

‘I think you know exactly what I mean. Tom, isn’t it? Vicky said that was your name. You have dirt on me, whether you like it or not,’ Freya says, her smile taking on a sinister edge. ‘I don’t like it when people have dirt on me. We both get filthy, you know? I don’t like being filthy; I’m very clean, usually.’

‘You don’t need to threaten me, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Again, I surprise myself. ‘I’m no threat to you. I might even like you, if you weren’t acting so venomously aloof all the time.’

She giggles and cocks her head, the smile widening. God, her mouth is so pretty. Her lips are so curvaceous and full, her teeth so white. She’s easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and it bothers me how much I don’t hate her manhandling me like this. I’ve clearly got a sub complex, or something.

‘Venomously aloof? I like that, it’s a nice phrase,’ Freya says. Her smile grows evil again. ‘I saw the CCTV footage, Tom. It’s you, outside of Mrs Maxwell’s office, and that means you overheard what was going on. Again, that’s dirt, whether you like it or not.’

‘I have no ill-will towards you, Freya.’

She releases me and steps backwards. Her long, muscular legs move most gracefully. It’s impossible to not find myself interested in her.

‘Are you gay, Tom?’ she says. It seems a non-sequitur. Especially because she must, some way or another, have noticed my wandering eyes.

‘No,’ I say, simply. ‘Why?’

Freya giggles. ‘Just wondering. It means this will be easy, that’s all.’

She turns about and starts to walk away.

‘What does that mean?’ I say, calling after her.

‘You’ll know when you know,’ Freya says. She gives me one last smile. ‘Nobody has dirt on me if I don’t have dirt on them.’

And with that, she wanders off. For the rest of the day, there’s no sign of Freya staring at me. She’s back to normal; aloof, disinterested, away in her thoughts.

The notion sticks, however, that she must be seeking something to pin on me. Is there anything in my life that I’d be ashamed of, were it to come out? By the end of the day, on the bus home, I realise that while plenty of shit I do might be awkward or even embarrassing, I’d certainly own it all. It’s just how I am.

Yet all the same, I can’t help but feel a sense of looming dread.

***

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