Page 19 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

We are officially enemies.

“Yes, Theresa. What’s the answer?” Mr. Sam asks when I’m beside him.

I force my eyes away from the asshole and the girl crushing on him. I am the type of student who barely speaks in class, so I start solving the equation on the board without a word. I don’t know how much time passes, but the place is quiet when I finish. Mr. Sam collects the piece of chalk with a hint of a smile. His eyes sweep over the board, he nods knowingly, and my chest puffs with pride.

“That’s correct. Very correct, Miss Mower,” he says.

Crossing one arm on his chest, he tucks the hand holding the chalk under his jaw, eyes still glued to the board. He circles the final answer and wipes the subtraction sign to replace it with an addition sign. My cheeks flush. I don’t let it dampen my mood. It didn’t affect my final answer because a zero followed the sign. I tilt my head and catch a smile on Abigail’s face and a scowl on Ben’s.

“Care to explain how you arrived at your answer?” Mr. Sam asks.

My explanation lasts another five minutes. He nods so much in approval that I fear his head will fall off. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his black pants, he nods one last time when I finish.

“Thank you, Theresa,” he finally says. I wince at the mention of my name. Mr. Sam and other teachers insist on calling me by my full name. I am not okay with it but coming from them, it never sounds like an insult. My head dips a little. He motions to the row with my desk and Ben’s. “Have your seat.”

The short journey to my seat is interrupted when someone says, “Sir, I don’t understand.”

Our heads snap to the source of the voice. Ben flips his messy hair and places the pencil I am confident he was doodling with between his book. I avoid his gaze like I’ve been doing since he walked into the class. How will he understand when he spends more time drawing than listening?

“What part do you not understand?” Mr. Sam asks. I ball my hands into fists, and my nails dig into my palms. I choose to focus on the pain instead of the blue-eyed demon bent on making my last year of school miserable. Mr. Sam taps me with a pen. “Theresa? Tell her. She will explain.”

“Everything,” the demon says with a staid expression. “I don’t understand everything she said.”

Pride gleams in his eyes when my lips twitch. If it was up to me, I would have choked him with his shirt for lying. Ben is too brilliant to have missed my explanation. He is fucking with me. Mr. Sam hands me a piece of chalk. I section the board into two, slowly rewriting and explaining what I have on the other side. The class is eerily still when I finish. A few take down notes while the rest stare at my fancy handwriting. My eyes locate Ben, and he scoffs when I drop the chalk.

Slouched in his chair, he picks up his pencil and rolls it between his fingers. “I still don’t get it.”

Someone, please slap this boy on my behalf. A kid would understand what I wrote. It’s simple as reciting the ABC, but this dumb, frustrating human is out to get me. My eyes narrow at the idiot, and my arms tremble slightly in anger when Mr. Sam looks to me for another explanation.

Come on!

I stretch my arms to cover the entire expanse of the board. The letters and figures have all been arranged to make complete sense to a toddler. “You don’t understand any of these?” The smile returns to his lips, and he nods. I scoff. “Maybe you should ask Olivia for an explanation then.”

Someone gasps. I don’t care to find out who it is because my attention is one hundred percent on Ben. I am tired of this guy being a deliberate asshole to me. He clenches his jaw. I almost smirk.

“I don’t want an explanation from Olivia,” he replies through gritted teeth.

Good. We are getting somewhere. Now, we are both pissed. “Too bad for you, Benjamin Carter, because she is the only one who might succeed in getting this into your thick skull,” I fire back.

Pent-up anger from weeks of tolerating him and his girlfriend shatters over me. I don’t want to stop talking until I get every damn thing off my chest. Ben’s mouth parts open in the most silent gasp of shock. Yes, this is what happens when you push an introvert past their breaking point.

I tap a finger to my lips and click my tongue. “Oh, I get it now. You don’t want an explanation from the bitch because Olivia is dumb too. What’s so hard to understand? X plus y equals z—”

“Theresa.”

“What?” I snap. The anger flows out of my body when I realize I talked back at my teacher. I offer him my best smile. “Mr. Sam, I’m sorry. I really am, but this guy is frustrating me. Jesus!”

Mr. Sam levels me with a frown. “Do you need to go to the principal’s office? To cool off?”

“What? No, sir.”

Another person snickers. Evil bunch. I notice Abigail capturing this moment. I storm off to her, snatch the phone, and delete the video. Why do I have to be in the same class as these devils?

The adrenaline wears off. I drop her phone on her desk while she gawks at me in disbelief. Mr. Sam is stunned by my outburst. I am too. I point to the back row. “I’ll just return to my seat, sir.”

At least I have one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of reasons I should never speak in class.

“No.” Mr. Sam shakes his head. “Not yet, Theresa.”

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