Bully Me: Class of 2020

by Shantel Tessier

  Having done all I could to avoid it, I sighed and dragged my feet over to their booth. My shoulders slumped, my chest caving in on itself farther with every step I took. When I reached their table, I took the pen and pad out of my apron pocket and cleared my throat, glancing up.

  The flat, professional “Can I take your order?” died in my throat.

  Seated between Bonnie and Kelsey, his elbows casually on the table, was Turner.

  Fuck, he was beautiful, with his bomber jacket and his already dark eyes obscured further by the shadow of a baseball cap. He was grinning, his strong shoulders shaking lightly at something Jayden was saying across the table.

  But I didn’t have time to dwell on that. A full-blown tempest of panic, horror, and crippling uncertainty was writhing inside me. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t let him find out like this.

  I looked around at all of them, hoping like hell I didn’t seem like a deer in headlights, even though I felt like one. No one was looking at me. Maybe it had finally happened. Maybe all their jokes about me being invisible had finally translated into reality. I could only hope.

  Turner noticed me standing there like a mute idiot.

  “Oh, hey, sorry.” He gave me a quick glance and a little smile. “I’ll have the cheeseburger. Extra fries.”

  I responded with a tight, polite smile and jotted his order down as the others all groaned, a couple of them throwing napkins at him.

  “What?” He looked confused but laughed as he defended himself from the onslaught.

  “Didn’t you see we were all waiting to see how long she’d stand there, not saying anything like a weirdo?” Steph filled him in.

  “Uh . . . no.” Turner shifted in his seat and flashed me a wary look.

  I just stood there, humiliated, hoping against hope they’d just order and I could slink away without saying something.

  I’d talk to Turner after work. I’d tell him everything. I couldn’t keep doing this.

  After an extended silence—my eyes glued to the table, my fingers gripping the pen so tightly my fingers were beginning to hurt—Turner cleared his throat.

  “I’m starving. Fucking order already.” He said it with a smile in his voice, but I heard the growly tension underneath.

  Another beat of silence, and then Madison made a show of studying the menu, tapping one manicured finger against her chin. The others snickered.

  This was taking way too long. I had two other tables waiting to order; all the other staff were rushing around like crazy. But walking away, trying to ignore them as they did me, would only make it worse.

  “Is the chicken pie homemade?” Kelsey asked.

  I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  “What about the pasta? Is that gluten free?” Steph asked.

  It took physical effort not to grind my teeth or roll my eyes. I shook my head no.

  Then Madison put the nail in my coffin. “I’d like to hear the specials.”

  She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms, giving me a smug look.

  I hated her in that moment. I’d hated her so many times over the last few years, but in that moment, my hatred for her was seething and pure. She was taking my choice away. She was forcing me to expose myself to Turner in front of all of them, at work, with my only friends in the world right there. Donna’s table had gone silent. I could feel their eyes on me, but I could focus on only one crisis at a time. I couldn’t imagine what they were thinking. I was so humiliated.

  And the worst thing was—Madison didn’t even know any of these things. She just had a natural instinct for making my life hell.

  With no other options, I pulled my shoulders back. I refused to do this while cowering, even though every survival instinct I had was urging me to hunch over and duck my head, scurry away like a mouse from a cat. I hoped it looked casual as I told them about the specials, my voice clear and steady—even though I was dying on the inside.

  I looked directly at them as I spoke, but I didn’t see them. My full focus was on Turner.

  He’d been fiddling with the corner of a napkin when Madison had asked for the specials, his face turned down, one arm slung over the back of the booth behind Bonnie’s shoulders. When I started to speak, he froze. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense. His jaw twitched; his long fingers wrapped around the napkin and squeezed.

  He knew. How could he not?

  But why wasn’t he looking at me? Was he repulsed now that he knew who I was?

  I couldn’t stand this. I needed to be away from this whole mess. I let some frustration leak into my voice. “We’re really busy tonight. What’s your order?”

  Several cutting looks were thrown in my direction.

  “Don’t rush me,” Kelsey snapped.

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I was done. I’d send one of the other girls to deal with them.

  Before I could book it out of there, Turner spoke. “Hey, neighbor,” he said in that ocean-calm way, his eyes still downcast and hidden by the hat, not looking at me.

  He wanted to confirm it was really me, but he didn’t want any of them to know. Was he protecting me? Or himself? I so badly wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’d been adamant I didn’t want anyone to know about us. Maybe now he understood the implications. Maybe he was honoring my wishes.

  But he’d still just sat there as they treated me like shit. This moment had been taken from me—just as they took everything else.

  White-hot anger crawled up my spine, giving me the strength to remain upright.

  “Oh, shit.” Jayden laughed. “You two are neighbors? That fucking sucks, bro. Imagine having to look at that face even when at home.”

  A muscle in Turner’s jaw ticked. Someone slammed something onto the table at Donna’s booth. Please, god, don’t come over here.

  “You must be confused. You’ve never seen me . . . stranger.” I hoped he got my meaning. He’d never seen me really—not this ugly, twisted, ground-into-the dirt side of me. Not like this.

  The heat at my spine was going to my head, the rage turning to frustration and despair as the backs of my eyes started to sting. I really fucking didn’t want to cry in front of everyone.

  Turner rested both elbows on the surface of the table and twisted his head to look at me. I dropped my eyes before they could meet his. I didn’t want him looking at me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

  “I’ll have the cob salad.” Madison placed the menu on the table delicately, as if we’d all been waiting for her to make up her mind. As if I wasn’t standing there completely destroyed inside. Was she that oblivious? Or was she turning the knife?

  The others followed her lead and rattled off what they wanted. I kept my focus on my pen and pad and collected the menus, not meeting anyone’s eyes, then turned back toward the kitchen.

  “Wait!” Madison held out a hand but didn’t actually touch me. I paused and looked back at her.

  “Who cooks the food?” she asked.

  Are you fucking kidding me? Couldn’t they just let me leave? I glanced at the counter. Leah and one of the other waitresses were throwing me cautious looks. They knew something was up; I was taking too long. I ground my teeth and answered in as calm a tone as I could muster. “Our cook and his assistant.”

  “So, you don’t actually handle the food, right?”

  “No.” I frowned.

  “OK, cool. Just checking. I wouldn’t want to catch anything and end up looking like someone took an iron to my face.”

  The table burst into laughter as I walked off.

  I couldn’t look at Turner. I didn’t think I could hear his deep voice joining in the laughter, but he hadn’t defended me either. Maybe he really wasn’t the guy I thought he was.

  This was the worst night of my life.

  I could handle them being assholes to me. This wasn’t even as bad as what I usually had to deal with. But the fact that Turner knew everything now, that he’d just sat there and let it happ
en, that the only people in the world I could remotely call friends had seen me treated like a leper . . . My whole world was imploding, and the rubble was all piling down onto my chest.

  As I passed Donna’s booth, I couldn’t help glancing up. Half the group was staring at me in shock, the other half studying the table. They were all deathly silent. Donna’s gaze bored into me with startling intensity. Was she embarrassed? Upset that I’d made her look bad by association? Was I about to lose every single good thing in my life in one fell swoop?

  I rushed away and put the order in, waving off my concerned coworkers with a brittle smile. “Just some kids from my school being dicks. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  We were too busy for anyone to really push the issue.

  I did my best to go into autopilot as I delivered the food and drinks to Turner’s table in batches. The last was a tray of milkshakes. Once I’d deposited them on the table, Jayden didn’t even try to hide the flask as he tipped alcohol into all but one of the frosty glasses. I sighed. There was no point in telling them they couldn’t do that. I could tell Leah—she’d kick them all out on their asses. But that would only make things worse for me at school.

  I grabbed the tray and straightened up as Madison extended one manicured hand, reaching for the milkshake closest to the table’s edge. She nudged it deliberately, like a cat pushing a mug in one of those videos online. I tried to jump back, but it was too late. A strawberry-flavored, icy mess splattered all down the front of my legs and slopped into my shoes.

  I gasped as the cold seeped into my clothes.

  “Oops.” Madison shrugged and pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh. The whole table was shaking with barely controlled laughter.

  “You’re so reckless, Phil. I hope that doesn’t come out of your paycheck.” She tutted, clearly hoping it did. “Oh well. Better bring me another one.”

  Still not as bad as other shit she’d done to me.

  Still Turner did nothing.

  Still I couldn’t look at him.

  Sticky with sugary milk and resentment, I turned to leave.

  Amaya and Drew both got to their feet. Drew’s hands were balled into fists. Amaya looked ready to explode—her beautiful face had gone red, her eyes bugging out.

  My eyes widened, and in a panic, I looked at Donna. She was still seated in the booth, her posture rigid, her intense stare on me. Next to her, Harlow had her head in her hands.

  I gave Donna a pleading look and shook my head. It would only make this worse if they made a scene.

  “Sit your asses down,” she demanded. Drew and Amaya huffed and looked between us, ready to argue. A few of the others had half risen from their seats too, but after a tense moment, they all sat back down.

  I hurried off

  Leah spotted me. “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Can someone please send another strawberry milkshake to table twelve? I need to clean up.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie. Take your time.” Leah squeezed my shoulder as I passed.

  In the privacy of the staff bathroom, as I cleaned up as best I could with my shaking hands, I gave in to the tears. They fell freely down my cheeks, fat drops of sorrow, humiliation, and despair. How the hell was I supposed to go back out there and face them all? What the hell was I supposed to do about Turner?

  I splashed water on my face even as I continued to sob, the hot tears mingling with the cool liquid. Eventually, I managed to stop crying long enough to dry off. I let my mousy hair down, hoping it would at least partially hide my splotchy face and red eyes.

  Fighting fresh tears, I headed back out.

  The dinner rush had passed; the diner was half-empty. Table twelve had cleared out.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Avoiding everyone’s eyes, I went to clear it. Madison’s group had left an absolute mess and no tip. One plate remained untouched—the cheeseburger with extra fries.

  The booth next to it was half-empty too. Donna, Harlow, and Amaya sat in a row on one side, watching me silently.

  To be continued…

  Note from the author

  I know, I know – that cliff-hanger is brutal! I’m sorry! So, let me reassure you right now – the story is complete. It is written, edited, and ready to be released as soon as possible. I won’t keep you waiting for long, I promise! It had to be done. Mena and Turner’s story couldn’t be contained and, to do it justice, I have to leave you right there, outside the diner, wondering what he’ll do now that he knows. It’s the only way I can give you, and Mena and Turner, the dramatic, angst-filled, twisty conclusion we all deserve.

  To be the first to know when the full-length version of Like You Care is released, please join my mailing list here: http://bit.ly/bmalyc

  About the author

  Kaydence Snow has lived all over the world but ended up settled in Melbourne, Australia. She lives near the beach with her husband and a beagle that has about as much attitude as her human.

  She draws inspiration from her own overthinking, sometimes frightening imagination, and everything that makes life interesting – complicated relationships, unexpected twists, new experiences and good food and coffee. Life is not worth living without good food and coffee!

  She believes sarcasm is the highest form of wit and has the vocabulary of a highly educated, well-read sailor. When she’s not writing, thinking about writing, planning when she can write next, or reading other people’s writing, she loves to travel and learn new things.

  To keep up to date with Kaydence’s latest news and releases sign up to her newsletter here:

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  Forever is composed of Nows –Emily Dickinson

  Blurb

  I crashed my shitty yellow VW Beetle into Calix’s Aston Martin.

  To be fair, he deserved it.

  But Calix and his friends, Barron and Raz, they don’t see it that way.

  Not that it matters.

  They’ve bullied me for years, and I’ve never known why.

  At least today, they have something real to be pissed about.

  All of which would be fine, if today was a normal day.

  But it’s not. It’s far from normal.

  My mantra has always been this too, shall pass.

  But not today.

  Not the worst day of my life.

  They say you live traumatic moments again and again through memories.

  Hot bullies, busted cars, and pain.

  On an endless loop.

  Somebody kill me now.

  Chapter One

  THERE’S BLOOD ALL over my steering wheel.

  The strange thing is, I can’t remember how it got there.

  Reaching shaking fingers up to my head, I come away with a smear of ruby red on my hand, the perfect match to the blood on the steering wheel. This is my blood. The thought comes to me along with fits and spurts of memories from this morning. Running late, spilling scalding coffee down my chest, finding my dress for tonight’s party missing from the clothesline out front.

  I shake my head, and a wave of dizziness washes over me. Looking up, I see the shiny black surface of Calix Knight’s Aston Martin dented and streaked with yellow paint. My bumper is very firmly planted into his passenger door.

  Speaking of … my own door flies open, and Calix’s warm hand is on my upper arm, not, unfortunately, to offer assistance of any kind. Instead, he jerks me out of the seat and slams me back against the side of my car.

  “Are you fucking insane?!” he snarls, releasing me as several concerned citizens approach us, all of them huddled under the protective awning that covers the gas pumps. Just past its barrier, rain pours in a seemingly endless wave, a cold chill working its way into my skin as I shiver and try to remember how I managed to crash into his absurdl
y expensive car. Without insurance.

  Swallowing a lump in my throat, I glance over to see that his car’s parked perfectly straight in the space, right next to the gas pump. My own car—which I bought off my neighbor for about five hundred bucks—is perpendicular to his, T-boned into the side of Calix’s like I did it on purpose.

  Did I? Would I?

  After all the years of suffering he and his friends have put me through, it wouldn’t surprise me.

  I glance back at his face, too handsome for his own good, with cheekbones carved by the gods, and a mouth that’d be worth millions if it ever smiled. The only expressions I’ve ever seen Calix Knight wear on his face are a cruel frown and a red-hot smirk.

  Once, I saw his orgasm face. And even that was vicious, his hands a hot cruelty on my hips, triumph written into every line of his wicked visage. I should never have slept with him. My mistake. I don’t often make the same mistakes twice, but … I’ve just rammed him, apparently. Different sort of ramming, still not a good idea.

  Calix looks at me like he’d very much enjoy wrapping those beautiful hands of his around my neck. Luckily, we’re surrounded by people.

  “Are you okay?” an older woman in a bright yellow shirt asks, approaching us cautiously. I notice she has tiny daisies painted on her nails. Calix levels a dark glare on me before taking a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

  “I’m okay,” I reply carefully, watching him to see what he might do next.

  “Should I call the police?” she inquires, and the crowd, realizing that nothing interesting is going to happen, begins to disperse back to their cars.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Calix replies easily, fixing a smooth smile on his face, one that’s made up of black moths and bats, full moons and starless skies. There’s a darkness to it that makes it sinister, rather than comforting. “We’re classmates; I won’t be pressing charges.”