Fighting for Freedom
Автор
Evelyn Miller
Прочтений
745K
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Kenzie Scott’s world is already falling apart—her parents are divorcing, and nothing feels steady anymore. The last thing she expects is to get tangled up with Clay Helms, the school’s most notorious bad boy. He’s an underground fighter with a bruised soul and a short fuse. When Kenzie stands up to him, something shifts. And when she shows up at one of his fights, everything changes. As their bond deepens, both are forced to face the pain they’ve buried. But love doesn’t fix everything. Sometimes, it just gives you a reason to fight harder.
Chapter 1
KENZIE
I hate Wednesdays. They’re like everyone else’s Monday to me.
Wednesdays suck. It’s the day I wake up at Mom’s but go to sleep at Dad’s, or vice versa. They couldn’t be normal parents and let me do a normal week at one place.
I swear they love making me and my younger brother, Logan, suffer.
I’m sulking as I walk to my locker when someone bumps into me. “Asshole,” I mutter to myself but keep walking.
“Kenzie! Hey! Wait up!” Logan yells through the halls, making people glare at him.
“What, Logan?” I snap when he reaches me.
“Can you take me to Dad’s after school?” he pants, catching his breath. For a football player, he sure is out of shape.
“Isn’t Hebert taking you?” I ask, throwing my locker door open.
“It’s Hayden.” Logan rolls his eyes at me. I know his best friend’s name, but I get great pleasure out of annoying him.
“Whatever.” I grab my books and stuff them into my bag, not so gently.
“Anyway, Hayden has a date and you know I’m not a cock block.” He smirks.
“Fine.” I sigh in agreement, slam my locker shut, and stomp off toward first period.
“Love you!” Logan calls after me.
I raise my hand and flip him off when I crash into another fucking person.
“For fuck’s sake! Watch where you’re going!” I snap at a little freshman who quickly scampers away.
“Damn. You’re scary, Kenzie,” my best friend, June, chuckles as she comes up to me.
“Fuck yeah, she is,” the star quarterback, Brad, snorts as he falls in step with us.
“Fuck off, Brad,” I snap, elbowing him in his stomach.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asks June, throwing his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s Wednesday, dipshit,” she answers for me, rolling her eyes.
“Oops. Sorry, Kenz. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“Will you buy my lunch?” I ask, pouting a little.
“Fine. And I’ll even sit with you,” he agrees, smacking my ass as we walk into our classroom.
“Mr. Roberts! We don’t condone sexual harassment at this school!” our ancient history teacher, Mrs. Holmes, yells at Brad.
“I wasn’t sexually harassing anyone!” he exclaims, putting his hands up in surrender.
“I saw you slap Miss Scott’s behind,” she snaps.
“She’s my girlfriend. She likes it,” Brad counters cockily.
I roll my eyes at him and move to take my seat in the back of the room.
“Oh please. Like Kenzie would lower her standards and date a pig like you,” June snorts, moving to the desk in front of me.
“Ouch. That hurt,” Brad says dramatically, grabbing his “heart.” Being the idiot he is, he grabs the wrong side.
“No, but for real, Mrs. Holmes, she’s my friend. Just giving her a pep talk,” Brad tells the teacher, moving to sit in the middle of the room with his football buddies.
“Is this true, Miss Scott?” she asks, directing her attention to me.
“Yes,” I mutter, leaning my head on the desk, wanting this conversation to be over already.
I groan and lift my head to look at June. “Remind me why we’re friends with him again?”
“Because he pushed over Bill in kindergarten when he pulled your pigtails.”
“Dumb reason,” I sigh.
I don’t pay attention as Mrs. Holmes begins her lesson. When the bell finally rings, I bolt out of my seat and head to my next class.
By the time lunch comes, my mood is as bad as ever. All my teachers suck and the students aren’t much better. I only have June and Brad in history, so I usually sit by myself.
As I make my way to the cafeteria, I stop by my locker only to see someone trying to break into it!
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, stomping right up to them.
The culprit turns slowly and glares at me. I take a step back when I see who it is.
Clay Helms.
The school’s notorious bad boy. Known for ditching classes, arguing with teachers, and getting into fights. He has his black hoodie pulled over his dark hair. His eyes are a beautiful shade of green, one of them sporting a fading black eye, but somehow he still looks good.
“What?” he spits out at me.
“Why are you breaking into my locker?” I fire back, remembering why I’m pissed at him.
“This is my locker,” he answers, opening the door in my face.
I slam it shut, nearly jamming his hand in the process.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yells at me.
“Fuck you! Stop going through my locker!” I yell back.
“Look. This is my locker. Fuck off,” he spits out, opening my locker again.
“Why are you being such a fucking assho—”
“Kenzie. That’s not your locker,” June whispers as she slides up to me.
“What?” I snap, turning to look at her.
“Yours is next to his,” she whispers, pointing to the locker next to where Clay stands.
“Oh,” I say, looking at my actual locker and quickly opening it.
“Aren’t you going to say sorry?” June whispers, eyeing Clay.
“No,” I answer, shoving my books into the locker before slamming it.
Any other day, I probably would’ve apologized, but I’m still pissed, so fuck him.
“I can’t believe you yelled at Clay Helms!” June exclaims as we sit down at our normal table.
“You did what?” Brad asks. He places two trays onto the table, clearly shocked.
“I thought he was breaking into my locker!” I defend, feeling a little embarrassed now.
“That’s fucking great!” Brad laughs.
“What’d you tell your meathead friends?” June asks, referring to the other footballers.
“Said I was banging Kenzie and she said I had to sit with her today.”
I hit him on the back of the head and send him a glare.
“I was kidding! Said I owed you lunch,” Brad defends himself, rubbing the back of his head.
“I don’t get why you girls don’t just sit with us. They’re not that bad.”
“Yes, they are. And the cheerleaders are just…” I say, shuddering.
“Speaking of cheerleaders, Jessica offered to come around tonight.” He smirks, earning him another smack from me.
When the bell rings, I drag my feet to chemistry class. Clay is in this class. Not that he shows up often. But since I know he’s in school, I’m worried for some reason.
I glance around the room and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see him. I make my way to my normal seat, second row from the back.
The middle-aged teacher, Mr. Karlson, has just begun the lesson when Clay strolls in without a care in the world.
“Why are you late, Clay?” Mr. Karlson sighs.
Clay doesn’t answer and makes his way to the lab table behind me.
“Detention after school,” he barks out, making me snicker a little. Serves him right for not breaking into my locker.
“Have something to add, Kenzie?” he snaps at me.
“What?” I spit out. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“Drop your attitude.”
“I don’t have an attitude,” I argue back.
“You can go to detention too,” he says before turning back to the board. Now my bad mood is worse, which I didn’t think was possible.
Fuck this teacher. I grab my cell phone out of my pocket and send a text to Logan first.
Kenzie
Got detention after school. You’ll have to wait for me.
Logan
See ya there ;)
Kenzie
What’d you do?
Logan
Nothing yet. But I will very soon, my darling sister xoxo
I roll my eyes at my idiot brother before sending a message in June, Brad, and my group text.
Kenzie
Just got detention thanks to the fuckhead Clay 🤬
Brad
Hey, I got it too!
Kenzie
What’d you do??
Brad
Apparently talked too much with Jess
June
You guys are idiots. And learn to fucking text, Brad!
Brad
Nah, I can text however I want to
Before I can answer, Clay kicks my stool. I grit my teeth and look back at my phone, but he does it again.
“What?” I say through my teeth, glancing over my shoulder at him.
He simply nods toward the front of the room where Mr. Karlson is giving me the evils. I slide my phone back into my pocket and pretend to write down the notes. In reality, I’m just doodling.
When the bell finally rings, I grab my stuff and quickly make my way to the art building.
My last class of the day. Woo!
“Yo,” I say to Miss Wilson, the young teacher who is actually really cool.
“What up?” she says, leaning back in her seat.
I slam my bag on the floor and take my seat.
“What are we doing today?” I ask as the four other students in the class start coming in.
“Painting,” she says with a smirk, earning a groan from Erica who hates painting days.
I smile. I love painting. It’s probably my favorite art form.
“I want you to paint someone you love,” Miss Wilson says, putting her feet on her desk. She starts going on about how much she loves love.
I snort at her words. Love isn’t real. I guess I love Logan, even if he’s a douchebag. I sigh, guessing he’ll have to do.
I grab everything I need and start. I’m so lost in the painting that I jump when the bell rings.
“You can stay and finish if you want,” Miss Wilson says to me when I realize everyone is almost finished packing up.
“Can’t. Have detention,” I groan as I quickly pack my stuff up.
“Ooh, badass. What’d you do?” she teases, grabbing my paintbrushes for me.
“Mr. Karlson said I have an attitude,” I say. She snorts. She can’t stand him either.
“Good luck!” she calls as I run out of the room.
I burst through the door for detention and see quite a few people here.
“’Bout time, Kenzie! I was worried I was going to have to send a search party!” Brad jokes as I plop in the seat next to him.
“Where’s Logan?” I ask, looking around for him.
“He got detention?” Brad asks, scrunching his eyebrows.
“Said he’d be here.” I shrug.
“Brad! Kenzie! Split up now,” Mrs. Holmes snaps as she walks in. I sigh for the umpteenth time today and grab my bag and move two rows back. No use arguing. I’d probably end up with a week of detention if I do.
“I’m here! I’m here!” Logan yells from the doorway, panting. Seriously, he needs to run some more.
“Just take a seat,” Mrs. Holmes sighs, shaking her head. Logan sends me a smirk and slides into the seat I was just sitting in next to Brad.
“You have paint in your hair,” a voice whispers from next to me. I glance over and jump when I see Clay smirking at me.
“Shut up,” I harshly whisper back.
“Why?”
“Shut it.”
“Someone’s touchy.”
I roll my eyes and decide the best thing is to ignore him. I pull out my sketchbook and start drawing a rose. One rose turns into four, one of which is dying.
When we’re finally dismissed, Logan makes his way over to me.
“You ready?” he asks, glancing at my drawing before I slam the book closed.
“Let’s go,” I demand.
“Give me the keys. I’ll wait in the car.”
I throw him the keys before going to my locker.
“Why do you have paint in your hair?” Clay asks, leaning lazily on his locker.
“I was obviously painting,” I say like he’s an idiot.
“What were you painting?”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.” He shrugs, looking at me.
“Well, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat,” I sass back before walking off.
“But satisfaction brought it back!” he calls out after me.
Once Logan and I reach Dad’s house, I feel exhausted. I fling the door open and stomp straight to my bedroom. I dump my school stuff and go for a shower.
“Kenzie! Is Dad working late?” Logan yells through the door as soon as I’ve got the shampoo in my hair.
“I don’t know! Fuck off!” I yell back.
“He’s usually home by now!”
“Go away!” I yell. I hear him stomping off, leaving me to finish my shower in peace. I change into my pajamas and go to the living room.
“He still not here?” I ask Logan, who is sprawled out on the sofa watching TV.
“Nah,” he answers, not moving his eyes away from the TV.
“Weird,” I mutter, taking a seat on the lazyboy. Dad is always home when we get here. It’s one of the benefits of his job.
When Dad still hasn’t arrived home at five o’clock, I order us a pizza, making sure to charge it to his credit card. I text Dad a couple times asking where he is, but he never answered.
At nine o’clock, while Logan and I are watching some horror movie, Dad stumbles in, his lips attached to a woman with bright orange hair who is ripping off his dress shirt.
“What the fuck, Dad?” I screech, standing up and throwing a throw pillow over Logan’s eyes.
“Kenzie? Shit. I’m so sorry. I forgot it was Wednesday,” Dad splutters out, stepping away from the woman.
“No shit,” I spit out, grabbing Logan’s hand and pulling him toward our bedrooms.
“I’m not six, you know?” Logan grunts.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” I explain.
“I’m sixteen,” he snorts.
“Fifteen,” I correct him with a smirk.
He groans. “My birthday’s like two weeks away.”
“Want to watch a movie with me?” I ask, nodding toward my room.
“Yeah,” he says sadly.
Our parents only divorced a few months ago, and he took it a lot harder than I did.
I always protected him from all their fights for years. I would make him come into my room and play music loudly, and we’d have dance parties.
But as he got older, I just put on a movie extra loud.
Fifteen minutes after Logan falls asleep in my bed, I pull the covers over him and tiptoe out to confront our father.
