Page 17 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

Today is Wednesday.

“Maria has a date on Friday night,” I sing offkey, and she turns a deeper shade of red.

We have never had boyfriends. They are not worth it to me, but I’m happy for her. I fire rounds of questions at her, and she volunteers the answers without fuss. Last time I checked, Maria was crushing on Daniel from afar, and now there’s a date? While I was looking for the necklace that boy discarded, they were getting acquainted. What if this is a sign that my crush will also notice me and possibly ask me out? Oh, wait. He already noticed me, and I absolutely loathe his existence.

We head for our classes, enjoying the serenity of the quiet hallway as we giggle at intervals without fear of being recorded. Maria hugs me tight in front of my class, and I ruffle her blond hair.

She pulls back with a look of uncertainty. “Talk to Ben. He might be able to put an end to this.”

Yeah, right. The same Ben who is the cause of my misfortune. I would rather talk to a tree.

“Sure,” I reply. She pats my cheeks, and I grimace at the amount of glitter that covers her palm. I thought I wiped them all. I can deal with having them on my clothes but not my face. “Bye.”

I wave at her retreating figure until she disappears into her class. I’m late, but I’m in no hurry to go in. A round of chuckles greets me once I open the door. Heads turn in my direction. On cue, the entire class breaks out laughing. I don’t look that bad. I flash them my middle finger, but Ms. Eva, the literature teacher, calls me out. Some students say she is a miserable old hag with fifty cats. No one knows if she’s married. Her life’s purpose is to annoy students and take sides with the jocks and richest kids. I don’t hate her, but she is not the nicest teacher we have.

“They were laughing at me. They started it,” I say in my defense, but Ms. Eva wants to hear none of it. The class doesn’t bother to hide the fact they are laughing. She hits her table twice to signify silence at the increased laughter. When I am out of hearing shot, I whisper, “Bitch.”

I might be acting like a spoiled brat, but she’s evil. I feel a pair of eyes boring into me and turn to the source. Without a thought, I flip Ben off. He is the reason I am the laughing stock of the school.

A corner of Ben’s lips twitches. I hold his gaze for another second before looking away. Why are the bad guys always so good-looking? It would be easier to hate him if he was ugly with a pimple-infested face. I give myself a mental punch for checking him out. This guy is a prime dick.

Why must we share another class? I know everyone who should be here, and his name is not on that list. My gaze falls on his desk. He’s the only one here with a photocopied copy of the novel.

Is he really part of this class, or he came to torment me?

“Find a seat, Sparkles,” the hag says, eliciting another bout of laughter from the class.

See, not the nicest teacher.I remain standing in the middle aisle for a moment, confused as my eyes take in the new arrangement. Everyone is in pairs — everyone but Ben. He notices me staring at the seat closest to him and props one leg on it. I suppress the urge to walk over to him and slap the back of his head with my paperback. Who says I want to sit beside him? I’ll rather sit on the floor. I occupy the lone seat by the wall covered with quotes from great philosophers and writers. Once I’ve settled down, I bring out my novel and flip through it to arrive at the page written on the whiteboard.

“Find a partner.”

Without looking up, I know Ms. Eva is talking to me. My chair scrapes the floor, and the screeching sound draws everyone’s attention to me. I offer the class a frigid smile that grows bigger at Ben’s blatant irritation. Not so smug now, eh? I yank the other chair by his left, and his foot drops to the floor with a thud. Ben winces but covers it up with a glare when I notice. I sit without remorse and smile proudly when I catch him glowering at me. Two can play the bully.

Twelve

I lied.

Two can’t play the bully. I don’t want to be another bully; I just want to be the ignored student.

There’s no evidence of yesterday’s mishap on the clean floors of Broadway Heights as I slow in front of the stairs. I use my hand to shield my eyes from the sunlight seeping in through the long window opposite the stairs. My mind is foggy with numerous thoughts, and I’m pretty exhausted.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it and push away from the window. I have graced the blog’s front page long enough to know this is another useless notification from my class group chat. They can make as many memes of me as they want. I don’t give two shits about them.

On second thoughts, I pull out the Samsung phone from my pocket and laugh at the text boldly written on my screen with multiple exclamation marks for dramatic effects. Maria is freaking out about what to wear for her date with Daniel. To be fair, she freaks out about everything possible.

Under her text is a short video clip. I hit the play button on my screen, but the video doesn’t play. Using my shoulder to keep my locker open, I ransack my bag for my lunch ticket. I can’t believe Maria is skipping classes for this date. The video starts. I giggle at the clothes that fill my screen. Her closet is messy, with shoes strewn across the room and only a few dresses left on the hangers.

Drama Queen:I HAVE NO CLOTHES FOR THE DATE. I’M RUINED!!!!!!!!!

I laugh at the desperateness oozing from the text. Indeed, she is ruined by her numerous options.

Me: the date is tomorrow, keep calm. It’s just Daniel

Maria replies with more crying emojis. I forget my meal ticket for a moment and type a fast but cool reply to calm her down. If a guy asks me out, he best believe I will show up in my signature skinny jeans and T-shirt or sweatshirt. I might wear pink sneakers instead of my usual white or black converse to add spice. A guy who likes me wouldn’t care so much about my appearance.

Me: shouldn’t you be in school? Studying like the rest of us single ladies??

Laughter bubbles up my throat. My phone rings and my best friend’s picture appears on my screen. I let it ring, head bobbing in rhythm to the ringtone before ending the call. We both know her parents will be furious if they find out she skipped classes to prepare for a date that’s hours away. For them, it’s school before boys, and I wholly agree with them. Degrees before boys.

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