Empty by K. M. Walton

speaks volumes: Keep your mouth shut, fat girl.
    If I had an ax, I’d love to hold him down and chop his nuts off. Or if I had the guts, give him the finger. But I busy myself in my locker. By the time I slam it shut, they’re long gone. I’ve broken out in a cold sweat. My T-shirt clings to my stomach and back. A single bead of panic rolls down my spine, tickling my skin like a spider. I shiver as I round the corner.
    If I tell anyone about the rape, I risk major backlash. People won’t believe that Brandon raped me. I know it.
    I take my seat in English, and Sydney sits right behind me. “Hey, Dell, fun party, right?”
    I don’t want to make eye contact with her, so I stay facing forward. “Sure. Yeah.” Sydney taps my shoulder. I grit my teeth and turn around.
    “Why did you go upstairs with Brandon?”
    I can feel my face go red. “To watch a video.”
    “Uh-huh. Right.” She gives me a sly grin.
    “What are you trying to say?” I ask her.
    She leans in and whispers, “You were gone for, like, a half hour. And Brandon seemed . . . ” Her voice trails off.
    “Seemed what?”
    “Um, well, he seemed pretty sweaty when he came back down.”
    I roll my eyes to act all casual and whatever-ish, but my insides are on fire. Like, I may burn to the ground. I’m about to babble some excuse, paint some phony picture for her, but I don’t. If this shit goes viral, then it’s all over anyway. I might as well move to another planet, because no sumo-wrestler impersonation or self-deprecating joke will save me from the onslaught.
    They will eat me alive. And what a feast I’d be. I’d feed everyone.
    Sydney continues in a hushed tone, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Taryn. She wants to dump him anyway. She’s got the hots for Jacob Unger.” Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Shit, Dell. Don’t tell her I told you that.”
    Sydney is the Fort Knox of secret-keepers.
    Jacob? The table-lifter? He’s a dick. He and Taryn would make the ideal couple.
    My teacher, Mrs. Salvatore, starts class, and I am relieved of having to look at Sydney’s stupid face.
    I fluff my way through the rest of the day, which is unlike me. I usually raise my hand, participate, answer questions. Not today. I spend my time worrying that Sydney will start an avalanche of rumors by sharing what she thinks went on upstairs at the party. If she knew the truth—that I was raped by a guy who gets a kick out of making me moo like a cow—her head might burst.
    Other than Sydney, no one else says anything about the party. I pray Sydney will keep her mouth shut like she said she would. Somewhere during the afternoon, my thoughts turn angry. I can’t believe I’m feeling nervous and ashamed. I didn’t do anything wrong.
    The cherry on top of my fuming-mad sundae? After my last class, two of my old teammates walk by me, like, two feet away, and don’t even say hi. I actually snort. I don’t care. Inever liked any of them. I don’t miss them. They can all go directly to hell.
    I stand at my open locker, put my earbuds in, and blast music for real this time. I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Cara. She always meets me at my locker after the last bell, but it surprises me after the way she acted this morning. I don’t take my earbuds out, and I just stare at her. I’m still in a crap mood. I can’t take another accusatory line of questioning. I might crack and tell her the truth.
    Without saying a word, she links her arm in mine and leads me down the hall. Maybe this is her way of apologizing. I feel my feet moving, and I know I am walking, but I’m not paying attention to where we’re going. I keep my gaze glued to the floor because I do not want to see Brandon. Cara stops, yanks an earbud out of my ear, and says, “Well?”
    I tilt my head to the side. “Well, what?”
    “Well aren’t you going to yell at me? Make a face? Anything?”
    I yank out my other earbud. “Cara, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking