Page 13 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

Ben gives Mr. Sam a note that earns him a nod and a dismissal. The girls in the class ogle him, all of them but me. He’s good-looking, he’s hot, but he’s a major asshole. Abigail is braver. She taps the seat by her right in a silent invitation, but Ben walks past her.Good boy. I can’t wait for him to drag her into an empty class and punch her so she knows there’s nothing sexy about him.

My anxiety hits the roof as he approaches my desk. Abigail gives me a sly smile, and I gag in my brain. This isn’t cute. I am still avoiding Ben’s gaze when he settles into the seat beside me. Mr. Sam resumes his teaching, and I lose focus. How can I not when this boy keeps gawking at me? I don’t look at him. Instead, I place my backpack on my desk to avoid those intense hateful eyes.

He almost hit me twice, yet he’s acting like I am the guilty one.

“Benjamin, read out the question on page ten.”

“I don’t have the textbook.”

Truly, he doesn’t. His desk has only a notepad for doodling. His drawings are pretty sick, but I’ll never tell him that. Why does he have to be in this class if he doesn’t care? Mr. Sam doesn’t take kindly to Ben’s answer. He storms toward us in a haze. I flip to page ten, prepared to read out the question in case Mr. Sam calls on me. I’m also half-hoping Ben gets detention for disobedience. He deserves it, and I don’t want to see him again. Whatever crush I had on him died this morning.

“No textbook?” Mr. Sam says when he’s at Ben’s desk. His anger dissipates when he realizes Ben is being honest. The guilty boy nods. How does he manage to look innocent? Mr. Sam drums his fingers on Ben’s desk, then nods at me. “Theresa has a textbook. Share with her.”

He doesn’t notice the discomfort his words cause me. Teacher and student glare at each other for a strained minute. I pray Ben refuses so he can get into trouble with him. My dreams of seeing him in detention fade when he drags his seat closer to mine. His arm brushes mine, and I jerk.

“Get a grip, Mother Theresa,” Ben hisses out.

“You get a grip, Father Asshole.”

“Now,” Mr. Sam says from the front of the class, “read the question, Benjamin. Theresa, quiet!”

Ben smirks. Royal bastard. He drags my textbook to his front and reads out the question. I hate myself for this, but I swoon at the sound of his voice. Mr. Sam takes over from there. “Thank you, Benjamin.” He places a hand on his waist and points the other at me. “What’s the answer?”

The answer?

“Theresa.”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my shirt, staring at the question in the textbook like the answer will appear.

“Yes? You will have no choice but to leave my class if you fail to answer,” the teacher says.

That’s it. Mr. Sam hates me. Why do I have to leave the class?

“Fifty-four,” Ben replies. “She can stay.”

Wait, did he—did he just help me? Ben stares straight ahead and explains how he arrived at his figure.

A smile lights our teacher’s face. He shoots me a disappointed look and a proud one at Ben. Usually, I would study over the weekend since I have a hard time concentrating in class, but I didn’t have a chance to do so. The fight was on Saturday, and I spent most of yesterday sleeping.

The rest of the lesson progresses without any hiccups. Mr. Sam doesn’t ask me any questions, and I never volunteer to answer the ones he throws open to the class. Ben continues doodling in his notepad but never misses a question directed to him. Once, I almost reach over to his side to rip out the page.

Minutes until the bell rings, Ben leans over his desk, and his pendant dangles into my view. I feel my neck where my necklace should be. Empty. Who does he think he is?

“Give it back,” I whisper. Ben ignores me and slides his phone out of his bag. I pull my textbook out of his sight, but he continues typing under his desk. How I want to slap him! “Give it back.”

Abigail gives me a pointed look. Is my voice that loud? Not like I care if I distracted her. If she was really focused, she wouldn’t have heard me. I raise my middle finger in response. She can kiss my ass. Ben has my necklace, and he’s acting like he has no idea what I am talking about.

I drop my phone on my desk without pressing it. Ben drapes his arm around my chair.

“Fuck off,” I tell him.

Mr. Sam turns. His eyes dart to my desk. “Theresa. No phone in class, remember?”

Ben chuckles beside me. I mutter a string of apologies and return my phone to my bag.

“Okay. I’m sorry,” I start in my friendliest voice. I’ll make a great actress once I convince myself to enroll in drama class. Another item I need to get off my bucket list. “Please give it back, Ben.”

He tugs on the necklace, and it comes off. His voice is barely a whisper. I have to crane my neck to hear him. “You want this, right?” My throat bobs as I swallow hard. Why do I feel like this is a game to him? I nod, and it goes flying right above my head. Right out the window. “Fetch.”

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