Page 25 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“Theresa. She was waiting with me.” A long, painful minute passes, and swallowing becomes more challenging for me. I curl into myself when I don’t hear the sound of his bike leaving. “Look, that’s her car!”

Footsteps near my car, and a forehead presses to the window. The figure raises his hand to knock on the tinted glass, his breath fogging my window. My legs cramp from kneeling at an awkward angle for too long, but I don’t move. I don’t breathe until Ben inches away, and my chest sags in relief.

“There’s no one in there, Champ,” Ben says.

“Too bad. I wanted you to meet her.” Thanks, but no thanks. Asher might be a sweetheart, but his brother is a walking demon. “She was really nice, Benny. And pretty too. Can we go now?”

The fading footsteps followed by the revving of the bike calm me. I don’t sit up until I hear the sound of the engine across the street. A note on the curb calls my attention. I walk to it and grin.

It contains the message Asher wants on Benny’s cake. I might switch Benny to Demon so it will read: Happy Birthday Demon. It is what he gets for being an asshole and a liar.

The bright lights attached to the school building guide me as I walk back to my car with my silhouette for company. I settle inside, glad for the respite against the evening cold as my fingers hit the heater. Sadness hangs over me like a cloud. I stare at the spot Ben stood. Emotions clog my chest, and I have to take a deep breath. It has to be because I saw them together. I never miss my brother this much.

Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as I approach our street. I park in front of our dark house. Yay. Another night without my parents. Out of the car, I sling my backpack over my shoulder. I should be more grateful. Their job is why I can drive a car like mine and live in a lovely house.

Once inside, I grab the first drink I touch from the fridge, order pizza, and rush to my room. My room is dark enough to pass for a cinema when the delivery guy arrives. Moments after he leaves, I snuggle under the comforter, my laptop propped on my legs, and a pizza box on the bed. I giggle as the credits roll in. I’ve seen this movie a thousand times, but the suspense remains the same as the first time. I happen to be in the group that would rather rewatch an old movie than start a new one.

A yawn leaves me. I close my eyes and jolt awake to the sound of my phone going off. I squint at the phone, my mind a bit hazy as I blindly reach for the switch. Light floods the room. I blink sleepily at my phone, unable to process the texts. A bottle crunches under my feet as I get out of bed. I toss it into the trashcan beside the door, groaning when my phone resumes vibrating.

Who calls someone this late at night? With a grunt, I answer without looking at the caller ID.

“We won, Tessa,” a shrill voice says from the other end. I retract the phone to glare at my screen, only to groan at the image of Maria smiling at me. Her voice drills through the fog in my brain. I stagger to the vanity and collapse on the chair. Of course, she is the one calling. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“We won.” I wipe the dried makeup off my face with the last of my face wipes. I couldn’t care less about the game if Maria wasn’t involved. She drones on and on about the after-party she missed because she is still grounded. I give the expected responses, humming and forcing out laughter to let her know I am listening. My eyes wander to the table clock, my brain freezes at the time, and I miss her last words. Shit. It’s Saturday already. “Theresa Mower, are you there?”

I place the call on speaker and pinch my pale cheeks to restore color to them. My smile falls a little when my eyes return to the clock. If no one woke me up last night, it means I am home alone on a Saturday. My lips turn down in a frown. Mom should be here. Maria’s annoyed voice snaps me out of my misery, and I pout at the digits on my screen. She has been talking for five minutes.

Still sulking, I trace the shape of the wonder woman sticker glued to the mirror. “Yes? I’m here.”

Her heavy sigh drifts into my room, and I manage a smile. “Are you coming to my house?”

“Why am I coming to your house?” I ask.

“Because I am still grounded,” she replies in aduhtone. “And I’m bored out of my mind.”

“You’re always bored, Maria,” I retort, but I am halfway to the bathroom. “I’m on my way.”

I finish up in less than five minutes and rush down the stairs like I can’t get out of this empty house any faster. I haven’t checked the messages on my phone, but I bet they are from Mom to let me know she will be home later than usual. Being the owner of a fashion line, I would expect her to have enough free time as the boss, but it’s never the case. On the bright side, she’s better than Dad. I always see her every day. In the mornings like yesterday, and I’ll see her tonight.

My car stops in front of Maria’s house, a small white bungalow with pink flowers surrounding the porch. I ring the bell once, then twice. If her mother opens the door, I might get an earful for following Maria to a pub. I guess she’s not mad at me since she didn’t tell Mom, or maybe Maria is an excellent liar. She claims to have told her mother that a kind stranger captured the video.

After another minute without a response, I am poised to ring the bell a second time when the door opens to reveal Maria in a white, halter neck gown. She places one hand on her chest and sighs. My forever drama queen.

“At long last, the queen has arrived. All hail Queen Tessa, party pooper, and—” I push my way in as she tattles nonstop behind me. “What took you so long, Tessa? Did you come with anything?”

I have been to her house far more times than I can count, so I don’t need directions to her room. “Anything like what?”

“No idea,” she replies. “Just anything.”

Well, I didn’t come with anything because she didn’t inform me.

Maria’s room has more posters than mine. Posters of her favorite artist, Shakira, are plastered all over the walls of her room. In addition to the CDs, a closet full of gowns, crop tops—everything a teenage girl should have. Kicking my shoes off, I jump on her massive bed and catch the bag of chips she aims at my forehead. She joins me on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of me like a disappointed grandma. I shove a handful of the chips into my mouth and make a funny face.

With my mouth full, it’s hard to form a coherent sentence, but I still murmur, “I love this. Too good.” Maria’s face scrunches tight in revulsion. I burst out laughing, and bits of chips fly out.

“That’s disgusting, Tessa.”

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