BABYSITTING MY BULLY

DA

iron gates outside, my eyes snapped open, darting toward the door that n

looked like a ghost of the girl I used to be. I threw on my best pair of jeans-the ones without too many holes-and a cream-colored

ied bacon hit me like a slap. Mrs. Sterling was there, looking flawles

arles is waiting in the garage. Don't be late

you too," I mutter

a black SUV that probably cost more than my dad's entire failed business. He was wearing

e said, not bothering to hide his

peakers. Every time the bass thudded, it felt like it was vibrating against my ribs. I stared out the w

. "Inside those doors, nothing changes. You aren't my roommate. You aren't my friend. You're the girl whose

ast thing I want is for people to think we're friends. It

n and leaned in close, his scent-something like cedar and expensive laundry soap-fill

t turn toward us. The whispers started immediately. I could practically hear the gossi

k back once. He walked with a confident stride, high-fiving teammates and nodding at girls wh

rled, looking like she stepped out of a movie set. Her eyes landed on me, and her expression shifted from a flirtat

e. "Oh, this? My dad decided we needed a new project. Something about 'community service.'

ed the loudest, a high-pitched, mocking sound. "A tutor? Tha

was going to say something to defend me. Instead, he reached out and flicked a stray hair away from my face

I felt the heat rising in my neck, the familiar urge to run and h

at job is making sure Charles actually graduates. Something I'm sure you'd know nothin

uth dropped open. Charles actually choked

ane started, takin

e didn't look at me, but he stepped between us. "She

e standing in the middle of the hallway. I felt a hund

survive. But as I sat down at my desk, I realized that the hardest part wasn't going to be the bullying. It was going to

picture of a baby bottle to my locker. I ripped it off and threw it in

tory notes. It was tedious, frustrating, and a constant reminder of my situation. But as I wrote, I found myself doodling in the

my work that I didn't

ard, or har

tired, his eyes bloodshot, but a s

wave of relief. "How's i

om me. "Hear you've got a new roommate. The

, Jax. Abso

at least the foo

wich and my old life any day," I

vive this. And who knows? Maybe you'll find somethi

tches in the margins. "I highly d

gym the night before. The vulnerability. The fear. It was a crack in his armor, and I was the only