Page 12 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Ben fakes a punch, and I yelp. The idiot laughs. His palm lowers to my stomach, and he presses hard on the sore spot he hit Saturday night.

“Stop,” I say.

“Stop what? Not so confident without your coach to cheer you, huh?” The force behind his palm increases. Pain spreads through my stomach, and a whimper escapes me. Tears crowd my eyes, but I force them back. He’s a sore loser. “Rematch. Right here. Fight back.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Fight. Back.”

“No,” I grit out. His anger scares me. We are all alone, and I’m at a disadvantage. In the ring, there were rules. Out here, he can do whatever he wants. “Leave me alone.”

Ben grabs my hands and force them into a fist. I drop my arms. “Hit me, or I will.”

“Go ahead then, Ben.” I gather the courage to shove him. At least I try, but his feet are cemented to the floor. “Hit me. Hit a defenseless girl you dragged into an empty class. Go on, Benjamin!”

Rage clouds Ben’s face. His hand swings back, and my eyes clench shut, waiting for that punch.

I don’t feel anything.

One eye pops open, and the second follows. Ben’s fist hovers inches over my nose. He exhales and slowly shakes his head. Well, the hate is mutual. I hate him more than he could ever hate me.

“Asshole,” I whisper under my breath.

Ben twists the knob to open the door. “You would know better. That’s who you are.”

Nine

AP Calculus class is empty,thank God. I take a seat beside the window and plug in my earbuds. To pass the time until others arrive, I hit play on my phone, and Maria’s voice filters into my ears. My head bobs to her cover of Beyonce’s solo. Maria has a whole album dedicated to covers.

My eyes lower to the seat I occupied on Friday because that idiot thought it okay to steal my space. Will Ben be in attendance? If he will, I hope he trips on his way in and breaks his neck.

The door opens. Abigail Adams, a brunette with hot brains, troops into the class. I know her name because she answers almost all of Mr. Sam’s questions. She doesn’t say a word to me as she plops into the seat a few rows ahead of me. No surprises there. We are not friends, but her furious glare has me squirming. I grab my phone and feign busy when she spares me another glance.

“How did it feel?”

I point a finger to my chest. Is she talking to me? What’s she on about?

“Yes, you, Tessa,” she adds.

Rude much? I increase the song’s volume, but I still hear her nasal voice above the music.

“How did it feel to have Ben’s hands all over you? He touched you.” She lets out a dreamy sigh. If she wants to know how it felt, she can continue this chit-chat with his fist. “Lucky you, Tessa.”

Foolish you, Abigail.

One by one, students stroll in, and our one-sided conversation ends. If she thinks I enjoyed him touching me, she’s nuts. Unlike Maria and Abigail, I don’t consider that threatening caress of my cheek an actual touch. Number five item on the bucket list still stands.Let a real man touch you.

Ben is not a man. He is a boy who drags girls to empty classes to intimidate them.

Mr. Sam finally shows up. He offers his apologies for being late and introduces a new topic. I try to focus, but my eyes keep darting to the empty seat beside me. Maria sends a message to check in on me. I reply with a promise to meet her for lunch, resisting the temptation to see what new video is on BGC. I know clips of me will be all over the blog. They will use the best part: the ugly face I made when I thought he would punch me. New memes will be out soon if it already hasn’t happened.

Ten minutes into the class, the door opens. Everyone stops what they are doing, and our heads snap to the entrance where Ben is standing like he didn’t interrupt a lecture. The guts of him.

“You’re late,” Mr. Sam says.

“I know.” His eyes find mine. I avert my gaze and pretend to copy the notes on the board.

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