He knew better now.
The smokers generally were hostile, but they mostly shouted names at him, or broke into his locker and destroyed his stuff. Canning, and by extension Stapleton, were the main problem. And Jayden spent five days a week reminding himself that as long as he passed the scholarship exam, he only had to put up with them for another six months.
“Show me.” Canning snapped his fingers.
A long six months.
“It’s nothing,” Jayden tried.
“Show me your fucking phone, fag.”
When Jayden didn’t move, Canning flicked his cigarette away, stalked across the cold tarmac, and ripped his bag off his shoulder, nearly taking the blazer sleeve with it. “Don’t!” Jayden yelled, grabbing for the strap, and Canning shoved him away so hard he nearly fell.
“You don’t tell me what to fucking do,” he snarled, tugging on the zip as he stalked back to the bins. “If I want to look, I’ll fucking look—and you can fuck off, too.”