Her dark brow is still furrowed with suspicion. “And he just randomly decided to send you presents?”
“It’s kind of a long story. We talked and bonded a little on the way home. This is probably just his way of being nice.”
“Is it being nice, or is it charity?” she questions, still looking uneasy. “If you needed a new backpack, you could have told me, honey. I don’t like you appealing to strangers for things, especially strange boys.”
That finally does the job of getting a smile off my face, and a frown takes its place. “I wasn’t appealing to him for anything. I didn’t ask for a new backpack; I was fine carrying mine. He did this on his own.”
“A boy I didn’t even realize you talked to a couple days ago is so eager to be nice to you that now he’s sending you gifts?”
“Why are you so hung up on this being a gift?” I demand.
“From a boy,” she adds, like that should help me see why this is so horrible.
My eyes widen. “Stop saying that. Stop saying ‘a gift from a boy.’ My God, what is the big deal?”
She is also frowning. “I don’t know. I feel weird about it. That must have been some walk.”
Aggravated, I toss the packing paper back into the box. I tuck Mockingjay under my arm and grab both my new backpack and my old one. Without a word, I storm down the hall toward my bedroom so I can transfer all my stuff to the new one.
“Where are you going?” my mom calls after me.
“To read,” I state, swinging my door open, stepping inside, and then slamming it.
_______________
I’m tired and grumpy the next day at school.
To start with, I stayed up half the night reading my book, too impatient to read the conclusion of the series to worry about sleeping. Then the book did not go remotely the way I hoped or thought it would. The main character turned into a hot mess, and the ending was downright depressing. I finished reading around 4am, but I was too angry to fall asleep.
To make matters even worse, things were still leftover weird with my mom this morning. We hardly spoke while we got ready, and although the silence was charged like we both wanted to, we didn’t say a word to each other in the car.
Fighting with my mom always results in a terrible gnawing in my gut, but being confused about why we are even fighting to begin with isn’t helping matters.
School is uneventful until fifth period. It’s the only class I have with Hunter, and while normally I don’t pay him any mind, today I find his presence distracting. Today I struggle to drag my gaze away from his desk. I take note of the gray hoodie he’s wearing. It has the school’s wrestling team logo on it—is he on the team? I imagine he is, or he wouldn’t be wearing it.
We lock eyes a couple times in class, but there’s no acknowledgment beyond that.
I’m still distracted.
Lunchtime is next. Hunter leaves with his buddies and I go back to my locker to get the lunch I packed. When I get to the cafeteria, he’s already seated with his friends, talking and laughing like nothing’s wrong.
We never talked before so I guess I shouldn’t have expected us to today, but I want to thank him for my new backpack and the book—even if I nearly threw the book a few times and wanted to set it on fire by the time it finally ended.
I look over at his table more times than I want to admit. After a while, I accept that he’s not going to look my way and I force myself to stop.
I try to catch up to him on the way out to recess, but he’s always surrounded by his friends and I feel too awkward trying to talk to him around them. I’ll feel bad if I don’t find a chance to thank him, but it’s too hard to get him alone.
By the time recess is over, I give up. Maybe I’ll see if I can find his address and send him a nice thank you note instead.
When school lets out, I head home. Mom doesn’t get off for another hour, so I’ll be able to get a head start on my homework before she gets there.
At least, that’s the plan until Hunter catches up to me when I’m heading into the woods toward my usual path home.
“Hey.”
My heart does a weird flail, but I offer a contained smile as I look over at him suddenly walking beside me. “Hey.”
“Backpack looks good,” he says.
“I’ve been trying all day to find a chance to say thank you. I love it. It was so nice of you to do that.”
Casually ignoring my gratitude, he focuses on the part that interests him. “Trying all day, huh? What stopped you?”
“I couldn’t catch you alone. You have a lot of friends.”
“None of them bite,” he assures me. “Well, Sherlock does sometimes, but not at school and I wouldn’t let him bite you.”
“Well, anyway, it’s a great backpack. You chose well.”
Rather than feign modesty, Hunter nods. “Damn right I did. I read the reviews and everything—found a durable one with strong straps. It shouldn’t be so easy to break this one, no matter how many rocks you lug around.” He tweaks the hanging backpack strap. “Did you start your book yet?”
I sigh heavily, dread washing over me at the mere thought of the book. “I finished it.”
His eyebrows rise. “Already?”
I nod miserably. “I stayed up all night reading.”
“And?”
“It was terrible,” I enthuse. “Nothing went the way it was supposed to. I’m so mad!”
Hunter smirks. “Perfect. Now you won’t try to make me read it.”
“You should still read it, that way you can be mad with me. Right now you don’t understand my anger. You need to experience the story yourself, then you can join me in my suffering.”
“I guarantee I wouldn’t care as much as you do,” he assures me.
Rather than take his word for it, I sling my new backpack off my shoulder and unzip it while I walk. I draw out my black paperback copy of Hunger Games and offer it to him. “I brought you book one.”
“I never agreed to this,” he reminds me, looking at the book, but not taking it.
“Come on. My best friend doesn’t read and I need someone to talk about it with.”
“Hard pass.” I wrinkle up my nose at him, but before I can further pester him about it, he takes me off guard by asking, “You want to come over?”
I miss a step and nearly trip, but I try to recover as smoothly as possible. “Come over?”
He nods, walking gracefully. “To my house.”
Every thought in my head seems to explode, leaving nothing left but confused thought-shrapnel. I forget how to make sounds. I forget how to do anything but stare at him and blink in a sort of awed confusion.
He wants me to come over to his house?
“I’m gonna take your silence as a yes,” he tells me.
Finally finding my words, I offer, “That’s a dangerous precedent.”
Hunter smirks over at me. “Tell me no, then.”
“Well, I don’t…” I sigh, unsure what to say. I want to say yes, but seeing how weird Mom got over the backpack, I probably shouldn’t. “My mom gets off work in an hour, so I wouldn’t be able to stay long.”
He shrugs. “That’s all right. I’ve got drama homework you can help me with.”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, I ask, “Oh, so you’re just inviting me over to use me for my homework-doing abilities?”
“Obviously,” he says lightly, knocking into me with his shoulder in a teasing gesture. “Why else would I invite you to my house?”
I roll my eyes at him like he’s annoying me, but he’s definitely not. I don’t know why I’m excited to spend time with him or why I’m so preoccupied by him today, but I can’t deny that I am.
When we make it to his place, I see he was definitely underselling the size of his house when he said it was a “little bit” bigger than mine. Hunter lives in a mansion with a huge back yard. We cut through the woods to get here so I don’t see the view from the road, but four of my house could comfortably fit in his ba
ck yard alone.
While I look around in mild awe, Hunter casually fishes his key out of his backpack and leads me up the steps of their back deck. He unlocks a sliding door that opens up right behind their dinner table.
That seems like a good place to do homework, so I stop as soon as I step inside. He keeps going, so I follow him again.
Seeming to remember his manners, he stops before we leave the kitchen and looks back at me. “Want anything to drink?”
I shake my head no.
“You sure?” he asks, walking over and opening the stainless steel refrigerator. “I’m gonna grab water. You want one?”
I shrug. “Okay.”
Hunter grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge, but keeps his slightly narrowed eyes on me. “Are you getting shy on me?”
My cheeks warm and I drop my gaze, embarrassed that he’s calling me out on it. “No.”
“You sure?” he prods, his tone lightly playful. “You’re starting to turn pink.”
“I’ll leave if you’re just gonna make fun of me,” I inform him, planting a hand on my hip.
“Not until you do my homework, you’re not,” he jokes.
“A minute ago I was helping, now I’m doing the homework?”
“By the time you leave, you’ll be showing up in my place to all my classes. I bet you’re excited.”
“I can’t find the words to adequately express my excitement.”
Handing me a cold bottle of water, he asks, “You know any Greek plays?”
“Greek plays? Sure, I know of a couple. I’ve never actually read any, but... Why?”
“That’s the first part of the assignment. We have to find a Greek play for me to read. It doesn’t sound like a good time.”
“They tend to be tragic,” I agree. “Oedipus Rex is the first one that comes to mind, but it’s probably the first one that comes to everyone’s mind. This isn’t a group project?”
“Nope.”
I give him a perfunctory nod. “We’ll go with something less obvious, then. How about Medea? It’s dark, but there’s probably a decent chance no one else will pick it.”
He leads me toward the staircase at the front of the house, then we head up them. “I thought you said you hadn’t read any.”
“I haven’t, but I know what it’s about. It’s a story of vengeance.”
That seems to pique his interest. “Oh, yeah, that sounds good. Why’s this dude want vengeance?”
“It’s actually not the dude who wants vengeance. The main character is this woman who has basically given everything to lift up the dude, Jason. And then the dude decides to leave her for another woman, and boy, does she not appreciate that.”
Hunter cracks a smile. “I bet she doesn’t.”
“Are you acting the play out, or…?”
“Right now we just have to read the play and get a feel for the character we want to make a mask for. We’re making these Greek half-masks though, so I guess we’ll probably have to do some enactment next.”
“Hmm. Well, you could be Jason.”
“I don’t think I want to be Jason. Sounds like he’s gonna get his ass beat.”
“We can try to find one with a less douchey leading man,” I offer as Hunter stops in front of a closed door. “Is this your bedroom?”
“It is,” he verifies, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.
My eyes widen and I’m glad he’s in front of me so he doesn’t see. “We’re doing homework in your bedroom? Where is your mom? Is this allowed?”
“My mom is out with friends, and yes, this is allowed. God, you’ve gotta learn to relax. Is your mom super protective or something?”
“No, she’s a normal amount of protective, but she would definitely discourage me having boys in my bedroom.”
“Guess we won’t be doing homework at your house then,” he says lightly.
“I don’t think I would be allowed in your room alone with you, either,” I tell him, despite the heat rushing to my face.
Looking back at me over his shoulder, he asks, “Don’t you ever do anything you’re not allowed to do?”
“Not really,” I murmur as I step across the threshold and into his space.
It’s a lot of space. His bedroom is about three times the size of mine, but he fills the space well. He has a big bed covered neatly with a blue comforter and fluffy pillows. Beside his bed is a guitar in front of a big window seat. There’s a trophy case mounted on the wall, filled with evidence of his athletic achievements.
While I peer at the trophies and medals curiously, Hunter walks in front of me and approaches his desk. He drops his backpack on top and turns around to face me. Leaning his hip against the desk, he uncaps his water and assures me, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, looking at him uncertainly. I’d feel too much like a goody goody saying it, but the fluttery feeling in my stomach tells me my mom is probably right, I probably shouldn’t be alone with him in his bedroom.
“Why don’t we—” A bit clumsily, I gesture to the open bedroom door. “It seems like there was more space out there at the kitchen table. If we have to make a mask, that could probably get messy. We’ll need supplies and space to work.”
Hunter pushes off the desk and makes his way toward me. “Nah.”
I take a step back. “Why?”
“I like it in here,” he says, walking around behind me.
I swallow, not knowing what he’s doing. A moment later, he shuts the door and my heart drops into my tummy. “I’m definitely not allowed to be in your room with the door closed.”
“You’re not allowed to be in my room alone with me at all,” he points out, moving up behind me and stealing most of the breath out of my lungs. Dragging a finger along the edge of my backpack strap, he adds, “If you’re gonna break the rules, might as well go big or go home.”
I should definitely go home. I’m just about to say so, but then I hear him unzipping my backpack. Looking back at him over my shoulder, I’m a little thrown by how close he is, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “What are you doing?”
He reaches into my backpack, then draws out my copy of Hunger Games and holds it up to show me. “Borrowing your book.”
My heart pitter patters in my chest, but I try to play it cool. “Oh. Okay. You’re going to read it?”
With that light, teasing tone of his, he says, “Maybe. You gonna make it worth my time?”
I lift an eyebrow in censure. “Suzanne Collins is going to make it worth your time.”
Feigning a grimace, he tells me, “I’m not really into older women.”
“You’re the worst,” I tell him.
“Nah, you like me.”
I kinda do, but hearing him say it so smugly drags a groan right out of me. “A little less with each passing second.”
Now he grins at me. “Liar.”
My cheeks are a permanent shade of red when he’s around, so I embrace the heat and lie my butt off. “I actually like someone else.”
“You do not,” he states, though he sounds a shade less amused. Without even giving me a chance to respond, he demands, “Who?”
I search my mind for even one name that isn’t his, but I come up with nothing. Somehow, I can’t think of a single other boy at school.
My awkward silence lasts too long and Hunter nods smugly. “That’s what I thought.”
“Mark,” I blurt. It’s only a name without a face attached, I’m not even sure I know anyone named Mark, but Hunter’s face darkens.
“Poplowski?”
“Yep. Mark Poplowski. It’s him I like, definitely not you.”
Sounding entirely unconvinced, he asks, “What do you like about him?”
Oh, God, I don’t know. “He’s… modest.”
Hunter smirks. “Nope.”
“He is,” I insist. “And… smart.”
“He’s lucky he can spell his name.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “He’s
kind to others.”
“When we walk down the halls, he regularly knocks a person’s books right out of their arms just for fun.”
Heaving a sigh, I offer half-heartedly, “He has nice eyes?”
He rocks his head side to side, then says, “I can probably give you that one.”
Victoriously, I nod. “There. I’m shallow and I like dumb, mean Mark with the nice eyes.”
Hunter rolls his eyes and walks past me. “You’re full of shit.”
“And excellent book recommendations,” I add, taking a couple of steps toward him since he’s standing in front of his desk now. “I’m full of those, too.”
“Don’t worry, I’m gonna read your stupid book,” he tells me, putting it down on his desk and unzipping his backpack. Nodding his head toward an extra chair in the corner, he tells me, “Get comfortable, you’ve got a lot of homework to do.”
I roll my eyes at him, but as I walk over to grab the chair, I can’t keep a little smile off my face.
_______________
When we first sat down, I checked the time literally every two minutes. I knew it would take me a few extra minutes to walk home from his house, so I knew I had to leave at a certain time. No matter how enjoyable it was to help Hunter with his homework, I knew I had to get home before my mom to avoid another fight.
But then his mom gets home, and his stepdad is with her. Hunter and I are still in his room with the door closed, so when I first hear them, I think maybe they don’t realize they’re not alone.
The sound is muffled so I can’t tell what they’re saying, but their voices are raised and tinged with anger.
I look over at Hunter, uncertain what to do. He’s looking back at his closed door, dread written all across his face. He waits a few seconds to see if they stop, I guess, and when things only seem to escalate, he finally responds. His jaw locks and he shoves back his chair, then he storms across the room and rips his door open.
Bully Me: Class of 2020 Page 33