I tapped on the comment bubble. “There’s already fifty-one comments. Everyone is making fun of him for being at my house. I think he set the whole thing up. I don’t know what his endgame is, though—people are making fun of him as much as they’re making fun of me. It wouldn’t be so bad, but right before the post went up, we’d had this long talk about Gramps and his little brother. For just a minute, I thought there was more to him than just his jerkwad cocky attitude, and I let my guard down.” I shook my head. “Talk about being gullible.”
“You are not gullible, Wren.” Brandon’s eyes narrowed in on my phone. “That stupid account is always messing with people,” he grumbled.
I wiped my cheeks with the backs of my hands.
“You know what? Screw Fuller. He’s an ass. You know it, I know it. The whole world knows it.” Brandon’s cheeks were red again. “He thinks he’s untouchable.”
I nodded. I’d never met someone so cocky in my entire life.
“I’m going to confront him. He obviously didn’t take the picture, but I bet he knows who posted it. He needs to get that crap taken down and tell TyShaun, his friends, and especially that witch Marissa to leave you alone. You don’t deserve this, Wren.”
Sniffling, I reached out and placed my hand on Brandon’s forearm. “Thanks, Brand, but please don’t.”
A small spark lit in my core. I needed to fight this battle head on. I never stood up for myself, and it was time that changed.
Brandon placed his other hand on top of mine. “Are you sure? I don’t want to fight your battles, but I want to be there for you. Plus, I’m about to go see that asshole, and it’s going to be really hard holding my tongue.”
“I’m sure. Thank you, though.” I squeezed his hand.
“If you change your mind…”
Wrapping my arms around Brandon, I hugged him again. “You and Dae will be the first to know, I promise.” Looking down at my phone, I sighed. “You better get to practice. I don’t want you to have to run extra laps because of me.”
“Can I drop you off at your car first?”
I let out a small sigh, thankful for my friends. “That would be really nice. Thanks, Brand.”
My phone buzzed as Brandon slid his car into drive.
DAE: Are you okay?
DAE: I just saw the picture and that stupid freaking caption.
DAE: I already reported it.
DAE: But since there isn’t any nudity or anything, I don’t know if Instagram will take it down.
ME: I’ll be okay…
DAE: Do you want to talk about it?
ME: In a bit.
ME: Brand is giving me a ride to my car.
ME: I need to clear my head on the drive home.
DAE: Of course.
I really do have the best friends.
…
By the time I got home, my phone had blown up. More than twenty people had tagged me in the post’s comments, and Fuller had sent me five text messages. Five!
Sighing, I opened the app and looked at the picture one last time. While some of the comments were hurtful and rude, a lot pointed out how creepy it was that someone was taking secret photos of Fuller and me. Others pointed out that the picture didn’t mean anything.
Someone even said, “He could have been out for a run and ran into her. Why would you assume anything else? Desperate much?” That one made me smile.
Deciding I didn’t need to see anything else, I blocked the anonymous gossip account and switched to my text messages.
FULLER: I’m sorry.
FULLER: I promise, I’ll find out who took that picture and get it taken down.
FULLER: I know you don’t have any reason to believe me.
FULLER: But, I swear, I’m not this big of an asshole.
FULLER: I’d never tell someone we were hooking up.
FULLER: Please just let me know that you’re okay.
Even though I hated thinking about middle school, my mind floated back to the night after our seventh-grade dance. Marissa had come over to my house, but instead of comforting me after I humiliated myself by spitting out my retainer, she flat out told me we couldn’t be friends anymore. “Listen, Fuller and I are a thing now, and he doesn’t think you and I should be friends anymore.” I remember the air whooshing out of my lungs.
She didn’t say anything else to me that night. She called her mom, asked to get picked up, and then she turned around and walked out of my front door and, more importantly, my life.
I’d tried calling and texting her, but she refused to talk to me. At school, she straight-up pretended like I didn’t exist, minus when she was calling me Wrentainer. Thank goodness Dae moved to town that same year. He was new, and I was in desperate need of a friend who didn’t think Marissa and Fuller were the world’s cutest couple. Plus, like me, he loved basketball. We immediately became friends. After he and Brandon were paired up for a social studies project, Brandon quickly became part of our crew. Turns out, Brandon and Dae both had little sisters in the same fifth-grade class and they became friends, too.
It was almost like it was meant to be.
Dae was the one who got me into running cross-country. He used to be on the boys’ team, but a knee injury left him on the sidelines this past season. He was looking forward to dominating in javelin for the upcoming track season in the spring, and I’d be right there cheering him on.
Back in the day, the three of us would shoot hoops after school for hours, hang out at Floats, the local ice cream parlor, eat the most delicious Korean food you’d ever imagine at Dae’s house, and spend our weekends watching basketball games on Brandon’s massive flat-screen.
That’s when it hit me. I’d made a vow in Brandon’s car to start standing up for myself, but did I really mean it? I was sick and tired of walking on eggshells around Marissa, Fuller, or anyone at school. I’d been a victim for five years. That was five too many.
Brandon was right, screw them and whoever ran that gossip account. I was done being pushed around, breaking down in tears. From this point forward, I was going to tell them all how I really felt.
I sniffed and blinked away the tears. I’d stand up for myself and live my life. I wasn’t going to start initiating fistfights in the parking lot, but if Marissa dared to laugh at me again, I’d tell her to shove it. As for Fuller, even though I wanted to quit working with him, I’d finish tutoring him and then never speak to him again. We’d be done in two weeks, max. After that, there’d be only eight months left of high school. Eight months, then a summer with my friends, STEM camp, and finally college.
I’d escape Marissa, Fuller, TyShaun, and all their immature stunts once and for all.
I turned off my phone and grabbed my backpack, my body buzzing with confidence. I felt like I’d chugged a Red Bull or something, like I could break my personal best running a mile. Gathering my books in my arms, I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. “You can do this, Wren.”
Juggling my books, I managed to slide my key into the front door and push it open.
“Wrenny.” My grandpa met me at the front door with a massive smile. “How was school today?” He was wearing the sweater I’d gotten him for his birthday. It was navy with maroon stripes.
“Hey, Gramps. You look really nice today.” I set everything down on the long, skinny wooden table inside the door and gave him a hug. He smelled like Old Spice. He’d used the same cologne as long as I could remember. “School was okay. How was your day?”
“Oh, you know. I helped your dad make lunch. We had tomato soup and grilled cheese.” He rubbed his stomach. “It was deeeelicious.”
“Mmm, my favorite.” During his lucid moments, it felt like the good old days again—back when he and Grandma used to live down the block and I’d go to their house every day after school. I loved it. There was always fresh fruit or carrot s
ticks with a side of ranch waiting for me when I got there. I’d sit at the kitchen table and race through my homework, even though Grandma always made me go back and double-check it. Sunny days meant long walks and games outside together. Rainy days were for blanket forts and watching movies. Most nights, my parents would pick me up after they got home from work, but Fridays were my favorite because I always got to sleep over.
The memories tugged at my heartstrings.
Gramps nodded. “I know. That’s why I saved you half a sandwich and some soup. Want to warm it up and watch some basketball?”
“Sure, do you know if Mom’s running late?” I asked, recalling that I hadn’t seen her car in the driveway.
“She’s staying late at work and your dad said he’s still full from lunch. So, what do you say to dinner and a game with your ole Gramps?”
Even though I had at least three hours of homework, I didn’t care. I could do it after dinner. Spending time with my grandpa was more important. “Let’s do it. Want to watch the 1998 championship game between the Bulls and the Jazz?”
Gramps’s eyes lit up. “Do I ever!”
“Awesome. Let me go drop off this stuff in my room. I’ll be right out.”
“Oh, Wren, how’s your new friend? That good ball player who came over the other night.”
I froze. Grandpa usually struggled to remember meeting new people, but here he was asking about Fuller like it was no big deal.
“Oh, um. He’s fine. He’s at practice right now with Uncle Chuck.”
“He’s a nice boy. I really liked talking to him. He knows a lot about basketball. You should have him over again.”
“Sounds like a plan, Gramps.” My heart sank. I hated lying, but there was no way I’d ever let Fuller James back into my house.
Chapter Eight
Fuller
“What the hell, Fuller?”
Someone shoved me from behind with so much force that I flew forward several feet and almost crashed into the gym floor.
Spinning around, I put my fists up and got ready to confront whoever had pushed me. “Damn, Brandon! What’s your problem?”
“Did you have anything to do with that picture?” Brandon’s nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed in on mine. I’d never seen him this angry before.
“Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Brandon practically growled as he spoke. With each passing second, his face turned a brighter shade of red.
I glanced over my shoulder. A few of the other guys had entered the gym. Practice had been delayed by half an hour due to a minor flood in the boys’ locker rooms. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find TyShaun anywhere, and Marissa didn’t pick up when I called her. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that she was involved. Feeling helpless, I was stuck waiting until practice started to be able to do anything about that stupid picture.
“Did you?” Brandon demanded. He wasn’t as tall or as muscular as me, but he’d shoved me with as much strength as an NFL linebacker.
“No.” I lowered my voice so no one else would hear what we were talking about. “I swear. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Brandon didn’t budge; instead, he reached out and poked me in the chest. “You better figure out who did and get them to take it down.”
“I’m working on it, Brandon.” I emphasized the two syllables in his name as I said them. I shouldn’t have spoken to him that way—he was a teammate and he didn’t have anything to do with the bet—but he was all up in my face. More importantly, I didn’t want anyone else on the team to know something was up. The quicker I ended this conversation, the better.
Brandon glared and me and spoke through a clenched jaw. “Wren is the best person I know. She doesn’t need someone like you bringing her down. So you, Marissa, and whoever else are screwing with her need to stop.”
“Back off. I’ll handle it. And for your information—”
The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle erupted on the opposite side of the gym. “Fuller, Brandon, is there a problem?”
“No, sir,” we both responded in unison.
“Good. We’re already behind. Get those fifteen laps started.” He blew his whistle again, not taking his eyes off us.
Soon the echoes of shoes squeaking on the gymnasium floor rang in my ears. My heart rate picked up quicker than normal. My run-in with Brandon had left a knot in my stomach. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I’d already planned on confronting TyShaun. Since Coach had given us an extra five laps, I’d have plenty of time to do it.
Slowing my pace, I waited for TyShaun to catch up. But before I could say something, Marc jogged up alongside me. “Nice job on pulling off the first part of the bet. I almost didn’t count it, but that stupid grin you had on your face sealed the deal.” He slapped me on the back before putting his head down and sprinting forward. My pulse raced and my mouth went dry.
A moment later, TyShaun passed me. I matched his stride and ran alongside him for a full lap, trying to calm down, before I opened my mouth. “I know it was you.”
TyShaun rolled his eyes and picked up the pace, leaving me behind.
Pushing my body, I caught up with him in a matter of seconds. The backs of my calves burned as we raced around the outer loop of the gym. “I know you took that photo, so you need to tell whoever runs that Instagram account to take it down. Now.”
He laughed. “Now? Are you serious? Coach isn’t going to let me skip out of laps to go slide into someone’s DMs.”
I bumped into his shoulder, shoving him to the left. “I’m serious, TyShaun. I don’t care what you need to do, but you have to tell whoever posted that picture to take it down immediately. Or else.”
“Are you threatening me?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Over Wrentainer? Man, you’ve got it bad for that weirdo.”
Clenching my fists, it took everything in me to stop myself from punching my teammate in the face. TyShaun never used to pull crap like this. He’d changed a lot since he’d started hanging out with Marissa. She was like a poison that contaminated everyone it came into contact with.
I winced. How pathetic was I for dating her for so long?
“Thinking about your girl?” TyShaun’s voice brought me back to reality.
“Get it down or I’ll give Coach the pictures of you doing keg stands at Marc’s party last weekend.”
TyShaun’s smile vanished. “Are you serious?”
“And if you mention this bet to anyone, not only will I give Coach those pictures, but I’ll figure out who runs that anonymous account and I’ll send them the pictures of you sucking face with Chantel Williams.” It was a well-kept secret that TyShaun had been hooking up with his older brother’s girlfriend, but I’d accidentally caught them in the act once. I was acting like a punk by threatening him, and I needed to stop, but this was for Wren.
His eyes narrowed in on mine. “You’re an asshole. You know that, Fuller?”
“Do it. Now.” I didn’t need to say anything else. The next time we passed the locker room, TyShaun told Coach that he’d be right back. He clutched his stomach, mocking a queasy feeling.
As he disappeared through the locker room doors, I put my head down and focused on the warm-up. My arms and legs pumped in unison for the remaining laps. By the time I’d reached number fifteen, TyShaun had reemerged. He gave me a subtle nod before circling up around Coach.
Good. Problem solved.
Coach instructed us to begin a series of passing drills. The guys broke up into pairs. Luckily, Jacob was on vacation today, so we had an odd number of guys on the court.
“Coach, I need to use the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right back.”
Coach frowned. “First TyShaun, now you? Is there a bug going around or something?”
“Ate something at lunch that isn’t sitting right.” I’d been lying way too
much lately. But there was no way I could be honest with Coach about what was going on. Especially because it involved a nasty rumor being spread about his niece. People believed anything that went up on that stupid Instagram account, and the last thing Wren deserved was for our classmates to be gossiping about her, especially since it was my fault.
Brow furrowed, he nodded.
I raced into the locker room and opened up my locker. Fishing out my phone, I quickly opened up Instagram and looked for the post. It was gone. Thank goodness.
Pulling up my texts, I typed out a message to Wren.
ME: It’s down.
My fingers flew across the keyboard. Even though I knew it was him, I couldn’t admit that TyShaun was the one who took the photo. That could lead her to confronting him, and even though I threatened him with exposing pictures of him and Chantel, he might still blab about the bet. I’d already hurt Wren enough. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her cry again.
Nobody deserved to feel like that, ever.
ME: I’m so sorry.
The messages read, “Delivered,” but not, “Read.”
The door opened, causing my heart to jump. I shut my locker door, tucked the phone into my waistband, and ducked into a bathroom stall. If anyone caught me on my cell phone during practice and told Coach, I’d be running laps for the rest of the night.
Whoever it was left a few seconds later. To be safe, I stayed in the stall, standing next to the toilet and looking at my phone. Come on, Wren. Write me back. Feeling desperate, I typed out another message but quickly deleted it. There’s nothing else you can do. Time to suck it up and go back to practice. You can deal with the fallout once you get home.
I left the stall and headed back to my locker. Unfortunately, my little pep talk didn’t work, not even a little bit. Wren’s tear-soaked face was still on my mind. After checking for a response one more time and coming up empty, I reluctantly turned off my phone and shoved it back in my locker.
The intensity of the situation and emptiness of the locker room suddenly felt as though they were crushing my lungs. I dropped to my knees and sucked in the stale air that smelled of body odor and bleach. My heart hammered in my chest and the room started to tilt. Shit, was I having a panic attack or something? Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take several deep breaths. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, everything stopped spinning.
I Hate You, Fuller James Page 8