Page 92 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

Asher smiles, and his missing tooth comes into view. “I want both of you to date. I want you to be his girlfriend.” I also want to be his girlfriend. Tears spring to my eyes, but I force them down. I thought I was his babe. Isn’t that what a girlfriend is called? Maybe not. Asher curves his hand around his mouth and whispers, “Benny likes you very much. He told me. And I like you too.”

I like him too. Asher and Benny. Very much. When Ben joins us, I manage to plaster a tiny smile on my face. Throughout the ride to Asher’s school, I am quiet. I don’t hug or kiss Asher’s cheek when he alights. My fake smile must have been convincing because none of them questions it.

When we are alone, Ben flicks a finger over my ear. It stings, but I don’t react. I am numb and still trying to process Asher’s words. Ben tries to join me in the front as he always does after Asher leaves. But I start the car and stomp on the brake so hard the car crashes to an abrupt stop. Ben is flung back. He groans. His pain doesn’t compare to how I feel, but it satisfies me a little.

“Hey. What was that for?” I drive out of Asher’s school without answering him. “Babe.”

I catch his blue eyes blazing with annoyance in the rear-view mirror. He thinks he has a reason to be mad. I’m not his babe. “Don’t call me babe.” His irritation turns to confusion. He puckers his lips, and his brows knit. Damn him for being sexy. “You told Asher I was not your girlfriend.”

Thankfully we are at a traffic light. I watch Ben’s face for a reaction. He rolls his shoulders in a casual shrug, and it stings more than hearing it from Asher. Tears rush to my eyes, and my breath hitches. I can’t cry for a boy. Chanting the mantra works. I meet his gaze in the rear-view mirror.

He is still unbothered.

“Yeah.” The pieces of my heart clinging to the hope he would deny those words shatter. A jolt of pain flicks through me. I swipe the back of my hand against my eyes. “Last night. I hate labels.”

But I don’t. I want this particular label.

“It puts pressure on me.” He breaks eye contact and looks out the window to watch the other cars waiting in the traffic or maybe to hide as he hurts me with his words. “And when you label it, it becomes real and something you can lose. I don’t like labels, but I like you, Gracie. Very much.”

Different emotions explode inside me. I can’t identify any of them except for the raw, intense anger curdling in my veins. He hates labels because it puts pressure on him. Pressure to do things expected of a boyfriend. Because it becomes too real. So what we have is what, a charade?

I roll down the windows to let in a breath of fresh air. I don’t need someone like him. “Okay.”

Ben doesn’t say anything to my curt reply. The jerk doesn’t care to ask if I am also okay with labels. Nothing. Selfish, arrogant prick. The rest of our ride to school is quiet. He doesn’t make his usual lame jokes, and I don’t try to initiate a conversation. My eyes sting from holding back the tears for too long. I park in the available slot and take a deep breath before unlocking the doors.

The tears are harder to control, and my heart slams against my chest when Maria’s car slides into the space beside mine. She warned me. Ben exits the car first to open my door. I don’t find it or his smirk attractive. All I want to do is slap some sense into him. Hurt him like he’s hurting me.

Ben takes my bag like always, and I snatch it from him. “Babe,” he whines.

I ignore him, empty the contents of my bag on the front seat, and put them back slowly, so he doesn’t feel bad. I shouldn’t care about his feelings. He doesn’t care about mine. He takes a step back for me to get out of the car. When he offers me his hand, I grab my phone so it doesn’t seem awkward or too obvious I am being a bitch. His lips press into a line as his eyes trail my body.

He stretches out his hand to me, but I push it down. “Gracie, where’s my puzzle?”

Asher once mentioned Ben loves crossword puzzles, and we have a pile of magazines with those. I have enough puzzle cutouts to last a session, so I give him one every morning, and he returns the gesture with one of his Little Miss notes. My non-boyfriend drawings are sick. He would draw a tiny-limbed emoji with a Little Miss caption above it and a funny note below the emoji.

Last Monday I got:LITTLE MISS I HATE MONDAY. BUT BENNY IS THERE TO MAKE IT BETTER.

We do this from Monday to Friday. It’s creative and cute and something to look forward to every day of the week. Ben always slips the note into my back pocket while walking me to class but collects his at the parking lot. He nudges me with his arm for his puzzle, and I prepare to break his heart.

“I forgot.” The dumb part of me wants to wipe off that look on his face. The puzzle is between the pages of my biology textbook, but I don’t want to play girlfriend roles to someone who hates the label. His lips quirk in a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. I’ll make up for it tomorrow.”

His disappointment is so thick it forms a veil around us. Guilt gnaws my insides when he nestles his head in the curve of my shoulder, and his arms wrap around me for a hug to seek comfort. He presses a feather kiss to my shoulder, and shivers travel down my feet. I will miss this. Asher too. I pry myself from him before I get in my feelings. We can’t continue this. I will only get hurt.

“It’s okay,” he says with a smile.

Ben runs his fingers through his hair, sending it in all directions. I want to sink my hands in his scalp and straighten the sexy mess he created, but I opt for warming my hands in the pockets of my hoodie.

He hates labels. He doesn’t want what we have to be real. I must never forget that.

“I got you something,” he says in a whisper and retrieves a clip from his backpack. It’s similar to the one I gave Asher, with a little butterfly attached to the end. My lips twitch in a smile. This clip is brand new and shinier than the old one I have had since middle school. Ben tucks my hair behind my ear, stares at the hairclip on his palm, then back at my face. “Here. Do you like it?”

His voice quivers. I should placate him since I am the reason he’s nervous, but my tone falls flat. “Yes.”

His eyes dim when I don’t say more. I don’t know how to act unbothered about that confession. Maria’s voice drags us to reality. I fight a smile as the lyrics of ‘One love’ float into my ears. She must be singing. Sometimes, my friend forgets how loud she can be with her earbuds plugged in. I am sure that’s the case now, but I don’t turn to find out. I can’t even move under Ben’s intense stare.

“Ben, I have to go,” I whisper. His mouth moves into a disappointed frown. I bite my lips to stop myself from kissing him and sidestep to the left to avoid his touch. He tries to touch me again, but I grab his hand and give it a small squeeze. He glares at our linked hands. “Maria will walk me, okay?”

Placing a hand on the hood of my car, he nods at the clip sticking out of my pocket. “Will you put it on? I’d like to see how it looks on you.” He shrugs in that careless manner, but his eyes are hopeful. I want to make him happy, but he hates labels. “I was pretty excited to show you, babe.”

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