Page 51 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

All-Rounder is the club’s unique form of the Olympics. But the rules are stricter for the games. I can’t get away with knee shots, and fighting in pairs is allowed. Coach Greyson is subtly agitating for me to find a partner because the prize money for dual matches doubled this year.

“Maybe she needs her little boyfriend, Curtis, to prep her.” That same voice. Fool.

Ms. Jota turns to Ben. If he so much as breathes out a word about the ring, I will deny him. Ben matches her stare with equal intensity. She shakes her head and peeks at her wristwatch. I feel her pain. He also exhausts me. I helped him, but he’s still mean. I can’t wrap my head around it.

“We will continue next week.” My relief is enormous. I beam at the idea. Her phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and frowns at the screen. “Just a minute,” she says and exits the hall.

A minute passes without Ms. Jota showing up, then it starts. “Juliet, show us your tits.”

I don’t know which of the idiots said that, but when my eyes raise to the audience, Ben’s wide grin is the only thing I see. He slides his phone into his pocket. His smile vanishes, and he glares at me like I am the reason he’s here. I ignore the room full of jerks while drawing circles with my foot. This is our last year together. It will end soon. I’ll never see most of them after this.

“Come on. A little peek won’t hurt anyone.”

“Guys, leave her alone.” I recognize the voice as Ben’s. “Juliet is not so tough without her mask to hide her ugly face.”

The smile making its way to my lips disappears. My face is not ugly. Why does he always have to do this to me? How’s he such an angel with Asher and a demon with me?

“Stop calling me Juliet, you ungrateful prick,” I say through gritted teeth.

The others are being their usual annoying self by teasing me with no real harmful intent, but Ben is deliberately trying to get under my skin.

“I’ll call you whatever I want,Juliet,” he fires back with enough anger to make the hall grow quiet. The whispers increase. They must have sensed the underlying animosity between both of us. I don’t reply with words but flash the loser my middle finger, and snickers break out from the crowd behind him. I know better than to think they are on my side. “What was that, Juliet?”

Red briefly clouds my vision. I try to spell vitiligo under my breath, but it doesn’t work.“What was that, Loser?” I whine, and the cheers grow louder. My head jerks up and down like a puppet on a string. Their laughter fuels me with more courage. “Shouldn’t you be with your fellow losers? Why are you even here?” The thing is, I don’t only ramble a lot when nervous. It also happens when I get too excited, and right now, I am. In a singsong voice, I add, “Loser. Loser. Loser.”

Ben jumps to his feet. His chair clatters to the floor, and the rest of my words hook in my throat. Shit. The room shrinks in size. I start backing away from the stage once his foot connects with the stairs. Double shit. The hall is too quiet. No one is trying to stop the menace storming toward me. Ben climbs the stage. He takes one step, then another, until he is a few feet away from me.

Fear zips through me, and my eyes dart to the door in search of Ms. Jota. Where is a teacher when you need one? I don’t want to be hit again. My feet fail me. They stop moving, and Ben closes the distance in one giant stride. I can do this. I’ll punch him first. His hot breath fans my neck when he leans to laugh in my ear. My legs recover. I take one step away, but he covers it.

We continue the cat and mouse game until I am backed up against the wall with nowhere to hide. “I can smell your fear,” Ben murmurs. I hate this boy so much. I fucking hate him. Maria was wrong, and so was I. I don’t have a crush on him. My chest sags in gratitude when he steps back. He stretches his hands like a host about to reveal an item on sale and cocks his head to the audience staring. “Mother Theresa, oh, sorry, I meant Juliet. Little Miss Juliet isn’t so tough now, is she?”

They erupt in laughter, whistling and stamping their feet like they are in the field. They are so loud that I expect Ms. Jota to burst through the doors and admonish them, but nothing happens.

Noah claps like the fucking moron he is, and his head falls back with laughter. It is not even funny. Ben’s joke is lame. Noah’s partner, Whitney, is all over him, giggling like a fool. I hope his neck snaps and his head rolls onto Whitney’s ugly laps so the bitch will forever be scarred.

Ben returns to torment me. Ms. Jota is taking too long. I count to five, but she doesn’t show up, so I start thinking up a list of drugs to put in Ben’s cake. Asher will have to forgive me, but his brother and everyone who eats that cake will purge till their asses bleed. Then we will know who the true tough guy is. It’s unfair that he is allowed to do whatever he likes and get away with it.

Hooking two fingers under my jaw so my eyes are on his face, he mutters, “You said something when I was down there.” A lump collects in my throat. Ben is so close I can’t breathe properly without inhaling him. Why does he smell so nice? So manly? He looks more handsome up close. Pray tell, why am I thinking of this right now? I need a grip. A slap. “What did you say to me, Juliet? Cat got your mouth now, eh? Miss Juliet, or should I say, masked girl? Are you dumb?”

I shove him, but Ben is a firm wall of muscles, so my effort is useless. I aim for his knee, but he dodges my foot and chuckles. His free hand comes to rest beside my head. Still, I try to defend myself by speaking up. Our gazes meet, and I take a deep breath to ease some of my nerves.

“My name is not Juliet. My name is not masked girl. My name is not Mother Theresa. My name is Tessa Mower. You don’t have to be an asshole to me all the time. I am tired of you treating me like shit. It’s unfair. I didn’t do anything wrong to you.” Tears rush to my eyes. Great. I’m about to cry in front of the jackass and give him more ammunition as if he doesn’t already have enough. “Don’t talk to me at all rather than talk shit to me each time you open that dirty mouth of yours.”

Holy Jesus. Bloody Mary.

I slap a hand over my mouth, stunned by the words that left it. That wasn’t what I meant to say. I meant them, but they were supposed to stay in my head. Ben stiffens. I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I get a chance to tell my parents I love them before he buries me alive. “What did you say?”

“Stop treating me like shit,” I whisper, eyes still clamped shut. Ben scoffs, and I reprimand myself for talking back at him. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut in the right circumstances, like this one. His breath warms my neck, and I imagine him trying to strangle me. “Asher will be disappointed in you, Ben. If only he knows his Benny is just a big bully who preys on girls.”

That was the final stroke. I shouldn’t have said that, but nothing happens. I open one eye to see him staring at me with a bemused expression. I freeze when his thumb traces the outline of my lower lip. Is he going to squeeze my lips until I pass out? Can he do that? Can I die from that?

The fear gradually fades. I become aware of our position and the softness that takes over Ben’s features. He’s not so scary anymore with the vulnerability and sadness swimming in his gaze. He’s right to be sad for making a girl like me miserable. I’m not the best person on earth, but I don’t deserve the hate. Ben blinks. His lashes are so long and curvy. I bet his hair is soft to the touch.

“You think I’m preying on you?” he whispers.

I don’t know if his question is genuine, but my reply is. “Yes. Asher won’t like it. I don’t like it.”

A sad smile pulls the corners of his lips. He cups my cheek, and his thumb moves up and down my cheekbone. My breath catches. What is he doing? My mouth opens to utter a stupid remark because my brain can’t handle our proximity, but Ben presses a finger to my lips to shut me up.

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