Page 4 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

Again, I ignore Ben.

Maria sends another text to know if I’ve seen the video, and I reply with a picture of the type of flowers she should bring to my funeral because I’m dead. When I finally lift my head from my phone, the class is empty, or so I think until I notice Ben watching me. Is he waiting for me? He looks away before I voice my suspicions. I pull my bag over my shoulder and stand.

This is weird.

It’s also our first time in the same place alone. We have spoken in unavoidable situations, but I bet he doesn’t remember those encounters. I doubt he knows my name. I clear my throat to call his attention, but he looks out the window as if he’s embarrassed to get caught staring at me.

Alright then. Without a word to Ben, I exit the class for my next lecture.

The rest of my classes are a blur. Stolen glances and more stolen glances are directed at me. A few pointed fingers and giggles here and there, but no physical attacks. I faintly remember Maria leading me to the cafeteria and dumping a tray in front of me. No soda. No junk on my tray. I have a fight on Saturday evening, but she doesn’t know that. She thinks I’m watching my weight. As if I am not already skinny enough. I pick at my salad, taking only a bite before I push the tray away.

“Cheer up. It’s not the end of the world,” Maria says in her overly happy voice. Easy for her to say. She’s used to being the center of attention. Me, I’ll rather disappear. “The video will be forgotten soon.”

Her jacket is gone, revealing her fitted top. It must be nice to have great boobs, not the dots God stuck on my chest as an afterthought. My boobs are not that bad. They are just not great for someone super conscious about her appearance. I tune her out once she starts on her latest YouTube video.

Of her five siblings, she’s the best singer, and her dream is to one day perform with Shakira. I am all for supporting your best friend, heck, I was her first subscriber, but I need some quiet for the rest of today. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I let out a sigh. The cafeteria was a bad idea. I jump to my feet, prepared to leave, when the doors of the cafeteria swing open. I sink into the bench as everyone redirects their attention to the group strolling in. My eyes instantly locate Ben.

Ben, the showstopper. And he doesn’t even try.

They pause at the center of the cafeteria to allow us a chance to admire them openly, but the only person I am interested in is Ben. The tall hunk with a flirty grin. My smile vanishes as his arm snakes around Olivia’s waist. He must have known I was staring because he kisses her cheek.

Are they a couple now? Who cares? I stab the lettuce on my plate. Maybe I do care, if only a little. It’s unfair how everything is easy for her. Watching them drop down to an empty bench, that tightening in my chest occurs again when Olivia claims Ben’s lap. Her arms band around his neck while his settle on her waist. Ben must be out of options or lacks great taste in females.

Maria taps me, but I cannot look away from the couple. They fit together.

“Are they dating?” she asks the question lingering in my mind.

Ben doesn’t date. I have been here long enough to know that. What if Olivia manipulated him? His eyes meet mine over Olivia’s shoulder. I freeze, my cheeks a bright red at his subtle wink.

Four

I hate crowds,so why am I here in a noisy pub with shitty beats in the name of music?

Simple. For my best friend.

Maria slides a tiny glass of coke to me. I make a face when she gulps the colorless content in her shot glass with a grimace. In less than a year, we will both be eighteen and eligible for semi-clubbing. Not like it matters to me, but Maria is looking forward to it. My head bobs to the beat as I squint at the bright, colorful lights swirling over the small crowd moving on the dancefloor.

Though our fake IDs allowed us entries, alcohol is off-limits. For fun, I had them serve my coke in a shot glass, acting like it’s the almighty vodka we have heard so much about. Only tonight, Maria got lucky. She got her first real taste of vodka. I need a clear head for tomorrow’s fight.

“Ryan Reynolds, smash or pass?” she asks, shot glass turned over to catch the last drop of vodka.

I fake gag. The man might be fine, but no way. “Pass. He’s older than you. Both of us.”

“He’s not that old.”

But I am not interested in smashing him. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, showing off a hoop earring that’s so mine.

“Alright, Zac Efron?” she mutters.

I curl my hands around my neck and pretend to strangle myself.

Maria laughs. “Party pooper.”

Hey, I’m not the one who wants to talk about boys.

Maria nods at her empty glass and burps. “Doesn’t sting as bad as they say it does.”

The DJ starts a new song, and the dancefloor cheers with appreciation. My body sways with the music, and I snap my fingers along to Coldplay’s jam. Maria eyes the dancefloor with longing but remains seated. I am a lousy dancer, but she’s not. Being a great dancer must come with her singing ability because she does both effortlessly. If we were in a movie, she would be the leading actress while I’d play the supporting character, the silent and supportive best friend in the shadow.

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