Page 38 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“Love you too,” I say without opening the door. Abigail struts toward us, I step aside, and she rolls her eyes before sashaying into the class. I giggle when Maria raises a brow at me. She won’t leave until I am inside my class, so I go in and wave to her through the glass. “Bye, señorita.”

Abigail and I are alone in the class for less than a minute before other students join us. We are seated for another ten minutes without any sign of Mr. Sam. I stand at the same time the door opens. Mr. Sam walks in with an apology that dies on his lips when he sees me on my feet.

“Where to, Miss Mower?” he asks.

“Bathroom,” I lie.

His brows furrow. I expect a refusal, but he says, “Five minutes.”

I rush out of the class, my feet taking me in the direction of the library. I make it halfway to the other hallway before someone slams into me. Textbooks drop to the floor. I squat to pick them up without glancing at the intruder but pause when I notice the person doesn’t lend a hand. I look up. Ben. I toss all the books to the floor, a deep scowl on my lips as I fold my arms on my chest.

“Typical,” he mutters, bending down to pick up his shit. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Shouldn’t you be suspended?”

Ben growls. I step back before he swings for my face, not like he was aiming at me. “Bitch.”

“Male bitch.” What the fuck? I need a vocabulary upgrade. Ben chuckles. “Asshole.”

“Seriously? That’s the best you have?”

Blue eyes take me in. He asked for it. I spit out the first word that pops into my mind.

“Used condom.” It sounded better in my head. But the point still remains. Useless. Ben is useless except for scaring off girls in the empty hallway and punching them.

Ben’s brows furrow. “What?”

My brain works faster, and his eyes narrow in confusion. “I mean, condom with holes.”

This time, he stops short. “What?” he says.

“That means you’re useless,” I explain. He laughs. Damn him. “If you’re a condom with holes, you have no use for anyone.”

Oh, God. He’s staring at me like I’m dumb. I do need an insult upgrade. But the plan was to confuse him enough so I could easily slip past him. I doubt it’s working.

He steps forward, but I stand my ground. “That’s all you’ve got?” he whispers.

“You want to know what else I’ve got?” My chest puffs out in faux pride, and I stare up at him with the same amount of annoyance he’s showering me. “I’ll let the principal know you violated your suspension. How’s that for a bitch?” His face falls. He withdraws. “Ben, I didn’t mean that.”

But Ben is gone. He shuts down, and I can’t get over the feeling that I fucked up.

I am still feeling that way when the final bell rings. But as soon as I step into the library, some of the sadness melts away. The smell of books instantly comforts me, and I release the breath I held in and allow the worries fade to the back of my mind. My fingertips brush the edge of the shelves as I walk through rows and rows of books. What if Lett hasn’t replied? What if he won’t reply?

On getting to the literature section, my confidence fails me. My heart skips a beat as my fingers connect with the green novel. This is it. I chew on my lips and pull out the book to check for the apology note I left in the middle. The pages of the novel stare back at me with nothing in their center.

My note is missing.

Twenty-Four

Ben hasn’t resumed yet.I wasn’t looking out for him, but it’s easy to notice his absence when he is your partner, or there is no one to bug you in Calculus class. I start for the library. There was no letter yesterday. I will check for all of this week, the next, and the next after that before I give up.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It has to be Maria. She’s driving me home today. I ignore the phone and quicken my steps to the library. Anxiety thrums under my skin as I edge closer to the shelf. I pick the first copy and shake it. Nothing. Again. I should be used to it, but I flip through the novel. I toss the text to the floor and pick another. I open the first page, and my answer is there.

It’s there in the form of a torn note like it was written in a hurry or angrily, as its content depicts. The words staring at me diffuse my joy. The novel drops to the floor with a soft thud, and I am super tempted to end this. I can move on and forget this ever happened, but the poor boy will still be hurting.

Lett: Haven’t you heard of the word privacy?

Me: I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry for the things you had to experience alone. I’m sorry she didn’t believe you. I’m sorry you are hurting. You didn’t deserve any of that. Nobody does. AJ must be proud to have you as his brother, and your dad, too, must be proud. He’s probably sending you a million hugs. For what it’s worth, I believe you, and I really hope she chokes on her smoothie. Tell me where to keep the letter, and I’ll do that.

---