Page 85 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“Drama club?” Mr. Sam mutters, and Ben nods. Wrong move. Mr. Sam’s face darkens. I attempt to talk, but he continues, “You are rehearsing for drama club in Calculus class?” At that, Ben has nothing to say, and I feel like an asshole for peeking behind my fingers. No one says a word. Mr. Sam stops between a row of chairs and drums his fingers on a desk. “Principal’s office. Now.”

The class is eerily quiet after Ben leaves. I can hear their unspoken words, the hate directed at me. Mr. Sam turns to me. He says nothing, but his disappointment is palpable. Remorse weighs heavily on my chest. For the rest of the class, I behave. Even when he starts droning about the same things, I listen.

When the bell rings, I wait for everyone to leave. I am halfway across the class when Mr. Sam calls me. “Theresa.” I stop. He drops the notebooks he’s arranging on the desk. “Be careful.”

“Sir?”

Surprise must have been evident on my face. Mr. Sam leans back on his chair as if reconsidering his decision to hold me back. “Don’t get carried away by…” He points to the door. “By him.”

Him is Ben. “I won’t.”

For the next three lectures, I’m distracted. Once the bell for lunch rings, I bolt out of the class. Maria is by the door waiting for me. A frown forms on her lips. I try to play it off by placing an arm on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. She flips her hair over one shoulder as we brush past students.

“Spill.”

I look around. The hallway is bustling with girls and boys rushing to the cafeteria. “Not here.”

Maria nods and drags me to the janitor’s closet. She shoves me into the small space that can barely fit both of us. The place is pitch black, and I can’t see past my fingers. I can’t even see her. A foul smell infiltrates my nostrils, forcing me to plug my nose. “Maria Vega, not here.”

“Agreed.”

We stumble out, laughing, and gulp clean air. Maria’s hand clamps down on my wrist to stop any plans of escape.

“I don’t understand why the kiss is not on BGC,” she says. “It should be the highlight of the day.”

It would have, if Olivia didn’t control what was posted on the site. Anonymous my foot. We all know it’s her, or at least we pretend not to know. It doesn’t matter. I have Ben, and she doesn’t.

The cafeteria quietens once we step in. It might be my imagination, but they all pause to check me out. My palms moisten. Someone claps, and everyone snaps out of their trance. I toss a look over my shoulder to see Olivia. No surprises. She hates when the attention is on someone else.

Where’s my Ben?

Speaking of Ben, he struts into the cafeteria like the handsome jerk he is. Maria sighs again. “Snap out of it, Tessa Grace Mower. What was that you said about not having a crush on him?”

“Maybe I lied,” I reply. It feels good to get it off my chest. We join the slowly moving line to get our meal. I press the tray to my chest. “It was only a teeny-weeny bit of crush that blossomed.”

“Into what?” Her face wrinkles like she’s disgusted at the thought of us together. “Since when?”

I shrug. Ben and I are different. I know that already, but she’s not being supportive.

“Since I don’t know.”

Getting our meals, we find a seat farthest from Olivia, a long bench by the window. Ben has not noticed me, and I don’t know how to feel. Is he even looking? I stab the poor chicken when I see him at Olivia’s table. My chest constricts. I grab my soda and gulp down quarter the entire content.

I release a belch that has Maria frowning at me. But I don’t care. He is at Olivia’s table, not ours.

Why?

“We kissed after Nate’s party,” I say, eyes on the back of Ben’s head. Why isn’t he looking for his babe? Is this payback for letting him take the fall in Calculus class? Maria’s jaw drops. She doesn’t say anything, and I fear a fly will enter her mouth. “I was stranded, and he helped me.”

Remorse flits across her face, but I shrug it off. I’m over it. It’s a good and bad thing she left me. Maria stabs her fries while I push my chicken around the plate. I was so hungry but not anymore.

Maria leans in. “Are you two together now?”

“He called me his Gracie.”

“I noticed,” she cuts in.

“And he called me his babe,” I finish.

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