Page 1 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

One

I amBroadway Heights most disliked. Well, not the entire school, only the senior class. The thing is when the Queen B—Bee or Bitch, your pick—starts hating on you, the whole school joins her. It’s a viral hate no one questions. The few who don’t join the hate train stay completely away to avoid trouble. Sure, only Olivia and her minions are bold enough to hate on me openly, and I don’t expect her to change. It’s her fault we are no longer friends. If only she had kept it in her pants.

A tug on my shirt snaps me back to the present. The reflection of my best friend appears on my car window, and I turn around with a huge grin to welcome her into the new semester. Her high-pitched scream has me plugging my fingers into my ears as she snatches me in a hug. Summer was no fun without her.

“Hola,” she says in her beautiful Spanish accent and switches to the language as if I understand it.

I wait for her to finish talking, but the thing with Maria is she never stops talking. If you want to get a word in, then you must cut her off, so that’s what I do. I throw an arm around her shoulders. “Maria Vega! How was the party?”

Some boys from our school hosted a party last night, a prelude to our last year in Broadway Heights, and in Maria’s book, you never say no to a cute boy who asks nicely. In my book, you say no to every boy. High school isn’t for dating. It’s that period of your life you’re forced to endure, so you do your best to get by and stay unnoticed.

“Not bad. You should have come.” Maria shrugs my arm off her shoulders and drags me toward the door. I hesitate at the front stairs. She takes a step forward and stops. “Tessa?”

See, Maria is very pretty. With her waist-length blond hair, honey eyes, smooth accent, banging body, and beautiful heart, she is the type of cheerleader everyone wants to befriend. And then, you have me. Cool Tessa. I am a sight for sore eyes. At least, that’s what my mom says. I’ll look better if I try to wear something besides black T-shirts and skinny jeans. Sometimes, I think she’s disappointed her only daughter isn’t following her fashion path. My mom is a fashionista.

“Theresa Mower!” Maria snaps her fingers in my face. I offer her a sheepish grin and widen my big brown eyes into what I hope is a puppy-eyed look, but she pinches my nose. She places her hand on her waist and says, “This is a new session. We promise to try and socialize more, right? We have one more year to go. Let’s make the best of it.”

Bywe, she meansonly Tessabecause she’s already a social butterfly, and I am that friend who would rather spend her weekend binge-watching old movies or tv series. She loops her hand through my elbow and pulls me to stand on the stairs with her. I am two inches taller than her, but her heels already take care of the height difference.

Maria pushes the door open. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and step in.

The hallway is quiet as we stroll in, but I make sure to stick beside Maria as we head for our lockers. People seldom glance my way when I’m with her. All attention is always focused on her. I can always handle myself, but having her around me in the mornings feels good since we don’t share any classes.

We are almost at our lockers when the silence hits me. Broadway Heights brims with various categories of teenagers. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the nice, so silence a few days after resumption should worry anyone. And it unnerves me, even Maria. She retrieves her phone from her purse, and I laugh when I see the big fluffy ears attached to the case of her iPhone. She calls it a fashion statement. I call it a miss.

I know she’s searching BGC. Broadway Gossip Column. It’s a gossip blog run by an anonymous student. My guts tell me it’s Olivia, as the whole thing reeks of her. Pink themes, dull design, and boring interface. But no one knows for sure. I’ve stayed away since they leaked a student’s nude.

The blog is helpful for two things: ruining the reputations of Broadway Heights students and updating us on the latest gossip. I pause in front of my locker, waiting for the update. Maria’s brows furrow as she continues swiping on her screen. I can easily pull out the Samsung phone I got on my last birthday, but I’ll pass. Maria will provide me with whatever information I need.

“There’s a video of Nate dancing on a pole,” Maria says through a laugh. She pushes her phone in my face. I grimace at the video of the shirtless boy on her screen. He must be drunk. No way will a sane boy be grinding on a pole or kissing it with such passion. “He’s cute but a big idiot.”

With a nod, I return Maria’s phone. Nate may attend my school, but we are not friends, so he’s none of my business. My first class is AP Calculus. I have no idea why I’m even in that class. But on the plus side, none of the cheerleaders takes the course with me, making it more bearable.

Put me in a class far away from Olivia, and I’ll be fine for the entire semester.

I open my locker, and a smile slips to my lips as I stare at the picture glued to the door. It’s a picture of Maria and me. I’m standing with my legs apart, arms crossed on my flat chest, body tilted to one side with a massive scowl on my face, while Maria is being Maria. Her usual diva self with the most blinding smile, model-like pose, and black skintight gown. I must have been trying to prove a point to my mother. Why else would I wear a tuxedo to prom? I admit my fashion sense is dead, but I hate tuxedos. Skinny jeans, please.

Maria made us take that shot. Maybe to have something to laugh about or simply for the memories. Liv—Olivia and I were still friends back then. Her picture was beside this, but I guess old things have passed. I will never admit it to Maria, but this is one of my favorite pictures from our sophomore year.

My hands locate the textbook in my locker. I’m still smiling at the memories from the party, remembering how I embarrassed us with my horrible dancing skills when someone rams into me from behind. Everything stops. A sharp pain spreads to my shoulder, my forehead connects with the metal bar, and stars dot my vision for a second.

Maria sucks in a sharp breath. “Are you blind?” she yells at the person behind us.

I spin, ready to punch the demon who shoved me when I see who it is.

The witch. The witch is here.

Two

“Oops,”Olivia murmurs with a fake smile glued to her lips. She straightens her frilly jacket with so many feathers on the collar, and I can’t help wondering how she breathes in it. Mom used to like her because they shared similar tastes. I push that memory out of my mind. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Giggles echo behind her. I cock my head and see the girls. Her friends. Minions. Name it; that’s four of them. Charlotte. Riley. Chloe and Zoey, the only twins at our school. They follow Olivia around like their diplomas depend on it. Unlike the usual minions I see in movies, they genuinely care about their mistress.

I turn to my locker, reminding myself to ignore Olivia. Ignoring her is always the best option.

Maria doesn’t take kindly to my silence. She flares up on my behalf. “Of course, you didn’t see her. You blind bat.”

These girls better beware. Maria is good with her mouth, and I am good with my fists. As much as I don’t want to start the new session with a suspension or detention, I will not hesitate to throw a good right hook if the situation demands it. Done getting my books, I adjust the bag sliding off my shoulder and tap Maria.

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