Page 9 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

The biker is not from around here; that much I can tell. I wait a few more minutes for him to leave, but he doesn’t. My eyes narrow. Can he see me? What’s he staring at with such intensity?

Our house?

No. He’s staring at me.

A shiver cuts through me. I jump down, but he pulls down his visor before I get a chance to look at him better. Fighting through the pain, I hurry downstairs and wrench the front door open. A disappointed sigh leaves me as he rides off. He was watching me. He was watching our house.

Why?

With an ice pack in hand, I head to my room and sit in front of the mirror. My reflection stares back. I look like shit. There’s a cut between my brows and another below my nose. Thankfully, they can all be covered with makeup. I lift my shirt and suck in a breath. Ben almost ruined my body.

The second round had me sticking to the plan. I focused on his knee. By the time he noticed, I was leading by a wide margin. The few times he managed a hit, he made sure to leave his marks.

I press the ice pack to my side and hiss in pain. Never again. After last night’s fight, I need a month’s break. I deserve it. Coach can get money from his other protégées. I climb into bed and grab my phone from under the pillow. The notification from my best friend makes me roll my eyes. Ever the dramatic Maria. She should consider joining me at acting school if her music career fails. I pull the notification bar down, and my heart slows to a stop at the line staring at me.

Drama Queen:YOU ARE TRENDING!!!

Seven

By Monday morning,I am still trending. It turns out a video of me getting dunked with iced coke by Queen B is far more interesting than a video of Ben kissing Olivia in the middle of the cafeteria. Either way, the entire school is laughing at my expense, and my fame doesn’t seem to be expiring soon. I detest this spotlight. They should be going crazy over Maria’s sweet voice in the background. She sounded like an angel, but those teenage devils would rather come for me.

“Sweetheart, you are going to be late,” Mom calls from somewhere downstairs.

“I’m almost done,” I reply.

Another ping sounds from my phone. I glare at my reflection in the mirror before looking at the sender. This time, it is Daniel. He wants to know if I am okay. Okay? I scoff. If they are taking turns sending me messages, then they must be super worried by my silence over the texts in our group chat. I haven’t had time to reply because every time I pick up the goddamn phone to do that, a message pops up from our class group chat, and guess what it is? Another stupid meme.

I set my mascara down and smack my lips to highlight the red lipstick.

How can I be okay with a sticker of my head attached to a coke bottle or the many caricature pictures that came out of the cursed video? I am not okay, but I will live. High school is fun.

Bullying in Broadway Heights is normal. It goes round and will surely reach the turn of whoever uploaded that video. The tone of the new message lets me know it’s Maria. She must be outside.

I’m not driving today, possibly tomorrow, and for the rest of this week. I apply an extra layer of foundation and splurge concealer over the fading bruises. When I’m done, there’s no indication that I was a walking bruise some minutes ago, and I give myself a thumbs up for a well-done job.

Maria honks again like a crazed woman, and my head pokes out the window. I scream for her to shut the fuck up, but the idiot called my best friend horns again. I swear I hear her laughing. I adjust the sleeves of my sweatshirt and tug them over my knuckles to hide the bruises. The next thing I check is my necklace. After one last glance at the mirror, I shake my hair out of its bun, letting it cascade down my chest. I am dressed the same way, but I dare say I look pretty today.

On my way outside, I grab an apple from the fruit bowl on the dining table and hurry out, barely giving Mom a chance to gush over my makeup. She must be proud. I got my flawless skin from her, but it’s rare to see me in makeup. All I have always needed is lip gloss, and I am good to go. Except today.

I enter Maria’s car and shut the door gently. With her eyes closed, head bobbing to the pop music blasting from her radio, she doesn’t notice me. I spell out vitiligo twice before raining on her parade.

“Hey,” she hollers when I turn off the music. Her eyes shoot lasers. If looks could kill, I would be dead. But I don’t care. We need to get to school, or we will be late. “Why did you stop the music?”

I throw one hand out the window and hit the car while she shrieks like a banshee. “Just drive.”

“Who shoved a stick far up your ass this beautiful morning?” she asks as she reverses out of the driveway. The song resumes playing but on a low. She hits the horn when we are at a stoplight like she’s obsessed with it. The driver in front flips us the bird, and she yells, “Fuck you too.”

And I’m supposed to be the one with a stick up my ass.

The light turns green, and Maria speeds past the angry driver. I fasten my seatbelt because I will be flying out through the open roof of her car at the rate she’s driving. She belts out the lyrics ofLove yourself. So carefree. She reminds me of Sofia Vergara sometimes. Her attitude, accent. She’s also dramatic. When I can’t take her singing anymore, I shut the music. Some of us love silence.

“Why are you such a killjoy?”

“Why are you such a happy person?” I retort.

Maria flips her hair with one hand, effortlessly spinning the wheel with the other as we approach our school. Goosebumps race down my arms. I glance at the enormous building with the name of my school in blue and gold letters. I don’t like this place, and I am sure I will like it less today.

“Daniel will be in school today,” Maria whispers.

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