My Next Door Mate

Ella

"Hey, James. Did your closet finally lose a fight with a dumpster?"

Laughter broke out behind me.

I didn't turn around.

That was rule number one.

Actually, it was the only rule that really mattered.

Don't react.

Don't engage.

And whatever you do, don't let them see it hurts.

The hallway buzzed with the usual chaos of Monday morning. Lockers slammed. Someone shouted across the hall. A group of cheerleaders crowded around a phone, squealing about something. Normally all the noise blended together into one giant blur I could disappear into.

Today, all I could hear was them.

"Come on," the voice called again. "I know you heard me."

Of course I heard him.

Everyone heard Beckett Carter when he wanted to be heard.

The thing about Beckett was that he never had to raise his voice. He carried himself with the kind of confidence that made people pay attention automatically. Teachers smiled when he walked into class. Coaches practically worshipped him. Girls stared when he passed by.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, he had decided that making fun of me was one of his favorite hobbies.

I adjusted the strap of my backpack and kept walking.

The oversized cardigan hanging off my shoulders felt heavier than usual. It was already too warm outside for sweaters, but I wore them anyway. Long sleeves. Loose clothes. Layers.

Layers hid things.

Layers made me feel safer.

Or at least they used to.

"Maybe she can't hear you," another voice said. "That sweater probably covers her ears too."

More laughter.

Sean.

Of course it was Sean.

Sean laughed at everything Beckett said, whether it was funny or not.

Heat crawled up my neck, but I focused on my locker twenty feet ahead.

Just get there.

Open the locker.

Grab your books.

Go to class.

Easy.

Three more steps.

Two.

One.

Something hit the back of my head.

I frowned.

A second impact followed almost immediately.

Then a third.

I froze.

My stomach dropped before my hand even reached my hair.

Please don't.

Slowly, I pulled my fingers through the dark strands and felt something wet.

A spitball.

Seriously?

For one second, I closed my eyes.

Not because of the spitball.

Because I was tired.

So unbelievably tired.

Tired of pretending it didn't bother me.

Tired of wondering what I had done to deserve being everybody's favorite target.

Tired of waking up every morning already counting down the hours until I could come home.

I pulled the soggy paper free and stared at it resting in my palm.

Behind me, the laughter grew louder.

Several students glanced over.

Most looked away.

Nobody said anything.

Nobody ever did.

That was the thing about bullying.

People always talked about standing up for others.

In reality?

Most people just thanked God it wasn't happening to them.

"Aw, look," Sean called. "She found it."

Another round of laughter followed.

I swallowed hard.

The familiar sting burned behind my eyes.

Not here.

Please not here.

The last thing I needed was to cry in front of half the student body.

I shoved the spitball into the side pocket of my backpack and turned around.

There they were.

Beckett stood in the middle of the hallway surrounded by his friends like he owned the place.

Maybe he did.

At least it felt that way.

People naturally moved around him. Made room for him. Looked at him.

He was tall, broad shouldered, and annoyingly good-looking. Dark blond hair fell across his forehead in a way that somehow looked effortless instead of messy. Everything about him seemed effortless.

Football.

Popularity.

Girls.

Life.

His expression was relaxed.

Almost bored.

But his eyes were fixed on me.

Not Sean.

Not anybody else.

Me.

Waiting.

Watching.

Like my reaction was the part he cared about.

He lifted one eyebrow.

"What?" he asked.

The word made something hot twist in my chest.

Because he acted like he hadn't seen it happen.

Like he hadn't stood there and watched.

Like he wasn't enjoying every second of it.

I stared at him.

And for one stupid moment, a memory surfaced.

A younger version of Beckett.

A younger version of me.

Two kids riding bikes down our street during summer break.

Back when being neighbors meant something.

Back before high school turned him into someone I barely recognized.

The memory vanished as quickly as it came.

"What do you want?" I asked.

The words came out quieter than I intended.

His grin tilted slightly.

"Nothing. Just trying to figure out if that sweater gets bigger every year..."

His gaze flicked over me.

"...or if you do."

The laughter that followed felt like a punch to the stomach.

Heat flooded my face.

There it was.

The joke everybody expected.

The joke everybody laughed at.

The joke I pretended didn't matter.

Walk away.

That's what I always did.

Walk away and survive another day.

But something felt different.

Maybe because I'd barely slept.

Maybe because Mom had left before sunrise again and forgotten to say goodbye.

Maybe because I was exhausted from carrying around the weight of everybody else's opinions.

Or maybe I was simply done.

For once.

Just once.

I couldn't make myself walk away.

I looked directly at him.

"At least my personality doesn't need a team of idiots to survive."

The hallway went silent.

Completely silent.

The words escaped before I could stop them.

For one horrifying second, I forgot how to breathe.

Every single person around Beckett looked stunned.

Sean's mouth literally fell open.

Someone farther down the hall let out a quiet, "Damn."

My heart immediately started trying to escape through my throat.

What did I just do?

What was wrong with me?

Beckett slowly pushed away from the locker he had been leaning against.

The amusement disappeared from his face.

The hallway seemed to hold its breath.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

People moved aside automatically as he approached.

By the time he stopped, I had to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes.

He was close.

Too close.

"You want to try that again?" he asked quietly.

The softness of his voice somehow made it worse.

Everything inside me screamed to back down.

I knew how this worked.

I knew how this ended.