The Trouble With Bullies: A High School Bully Romance (A Meadow Creek High Book)

by Ruby Vincent

  The Trouble With Bullies

  Ruby Vincent

  Published by Ruby Vincent, 2019.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Final Chapter

  MORE BY RUBY | Marked

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  “Want to know what’s wrong with the world?”

  The cold sting of metal bit into my skin as I shifted on the bleachers. I just couldn’t get the right angle without being blinded by sunlight. I pulled my face away from the camera and adjusted the aperture.

  “Sure. Tell me.” Estelle bumped my shoulder. “What’s wrong with the world?”

  I put the camera back to my face and squinted through the viewfinder. A pack of shaved, plucked, and suntanned girls came into sharp focus. “What’s wrong is that evil people never look that way on the outside. When you’ve got the personality of a gargoyle, you should look like one.”

  She laughed. “Babe, what are you talking about?”

  I put down my camera and pointed across the field. “Them. The cheerleaders in this school might possibly be the worst people on earth, but every single one of them is gorgeous. It’s just not right. What is it about being pretty that makes people so awful?”

  Estelle eyed me up and down. “Rachel, you’re pretty too, you know.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, but I also used to be a raging bitch.”

  “Mmm hmm. You still are.”

  “Hey!” I twisted around and swatted her shoulder.

  “See what I mean!” she cried, putting up her hands. “Now you’re beating on me, your only friend.”

  We burst out laughing even though what she said was true. Estelle Martin was my only friend. I could dwell on how pathetic that was, but Estelle was so awesome she more than made up for all the so-called “friends” I lost in the space of a year.

  “You do have a point though.” Estelle tugged on her impossibly short mini-skirt, pulling it down even lower on her waist. If she kept going, they would be seeing bush. “Why are they such assholes? They have it all. Money. Looks. Popularity. Not to mention they get to hang out with them.”

  My eyes cut across the track field much like I’m sure everyone else’s was. There they were, striding toward the group of cheerleaders as they all dropped their pom-poms and turned to face them.

  The cool, quiet Jace who was one of the few men who could make glasses look irresistibly sexy. Long-haired Liam with a football constantly tucked under his arm. Theo and Geo, the twins, who were double the gorgeous, but triple the trouble. Goofball Ryan with an easygoing smile always on his face, and then, leading the pack, was Christian Moreau.

  I grabbed my camera and put it back to my face. Adjusting the zoom, the world narrowed until all I could see was Christian.

  The boys trailing him were all arguably the most handsome and popular in the school, but still they weren’t anywhere near Christian’s league. From his raven-colored hair tousled to look like he had just gotten out of some girl’s bed, to the naturally red lips, right down to the scar that cut through his eyebrow. Everything about him said wild, dangerous, and... unforgiving.

  It was almost impossible to believe sometimes that we used to be friends—best friends. All through middle school, Christian and I were practically inseparable. But now...

  Click. Click. Click.

  My shutter sounds broke through the silence, capturing Christian’s inscrutable expression as he moved. The wind whipped Christian’s hair across his eyes and he reached up to swipe it back. I clicked quicker to capture the way his eyes fluttered shut. The tilt of his neck. The movement of his powerful hands.

  Christian turned his head to avoid the wind, and as if the act was planned, his gaze fell on me.

  I stiffened, finger hovering over the shutter button. I held my breath as though I had been caught doing something wrong. I knew he could see me. I was sitting high up in the bleachers; everyone could see me.

  But he’s all the way across the field, I reasoned. He can’t be sure I’m looking at him or taking pictures of him.

  His eyes stayed glued to me as he walked up to the cheerleaders and one in particular broke away from the group and launched herself at him. Madison Bernard climbed Christian like a tree trunk and wrapped her legs around his waist. Before she stuck her tongue down his throat, he looked right at me... and smirked.

  “Why do you do that?”

  I took the chance to turn away from the revolting sight and focus on Estelle. She gestured across the field.

  “Why take pictures of them—of him—all the time?”

  “I told you, Estelle,” I replied. “They’re interesting in and of themselves: beautiful on the outside... but beasts on the inside. What’s wrong with capturing the face of evil?”

  She chuckled. “Alright, drama queen. What do you say to seeing those faces of evil up close and personal tonight?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. She was grinning like she was sitting on the biggest secret in her eighteen years of life. “What does that mean?”

  She squealed. “You, my dear friend, are going to Tracy Sinclair’s beginning-of-senior-year party tonight!”

  “Tracy Sinclair?” I turned my head back to the cheerleaders. I couldn’t make them all out without my camera, but I could guess Tracy was the one hanging all over the twins. “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  I shook my head. “That’s impossible. She’s one of Madison’s henchmen. There’s no way she’d invite me to her party.”

  She made a face. “Well, it wasn’t technically her who invited you... and it wasn’t technically you who was invited. Ryan asked me to come and I said I wouldn’t unless I could bring you.”

  I put up a hand. “I’m sorry, let’s back that up a couple of steps. Did you just say Ryan? As in Ryan French? Christian’s Ryan?”

  Her smirk got even more insufferable. “That’s the one. Remember I told you I got a little playmate this summer...”

  I gaped at her. “You’ve been sleeping with Peanut Butter Boy?!”

  “Peanut Butter Boy?”

  I nodded. “You forget how long I’ve known these guys. You rolled into town during freshman year, but I’ve been going to school with them since elementary. Ryan French was that weird kid always farting to get a laugh and slathering peanut butter on everything he ate. I mean everything. I saw him dip a chicken leg in there once.”

  She laughed.

  “You know I heard that he hasn’t given up his peanut butter obsession,” I continued. “They say he pulls out a jar during sex.” I lowered my voice even though we were the only ones on the bleachers. “Is that true?”

  Estelle tossed her long, dark curls over her shoulder. She was another one who was incredibly beautiful, but there was no gargoyle inside her. Just an uncontrollable sex drive that got her labeled a slut and sent to social Siberia with me.

  “A lady never tells,” she replied.

  “I know, but you’re not a lady, so spill it.”

  Estelle threw her head back laughing. “How about this?
I’ll give you all the raunchy, peanut-buttery details if you come to the party with me tonight. It’ll be way too boring without you there.”

  “There’ll be a target on my back the second I step through the door. They torment me enough at school. I’m not about to let them do it after I’ve escaped this hellhole.”

  She sighed. “That is completely the wrong attitude to take. This is the first day of our senior year, and you’re not going to spend it shuffling through the halls and hiding behind your camera.”

  “But—”

  “Say it,” she demanded. “Right now. Repeat it.”

  I heaved a sigh, rolling my eyes up. “This is the first day of senior year and—”

  “With feeling, Bryant.”

  “This is the first day of senior year and I’m not going to—”

  “Louder!”

  I hopped to my feet and threw my head back. “This is the first day of senior year,” I shouted at the sky, “and I will not spend it shuffling through the halls and hiding behind my camera!”

  Estelle whooped. “That’s my girl. Now, tell me you’re going to that party.”

  I plopped back down on the bench and shot her a look. “Nope.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Estelle gathered her things and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “I’ve got to get to Spanish, but don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. Text me later. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  My smile disappeared the moment she turned her back. I glanced back over to where the cheerleaders and Christian’s crew were mingling. How could I go to this party knowing everyone who despises me will be there? I didn’t want to leave Estelle on her own but there was no way this was going to end well.

  If Tracy Sinclair is throwing the party, then all the cheerleaders will come, which includes their captain, Madison. And if Madison is there, then Christian might show up too. The guy is kind of hard to pin down; he does what he wants, when he wants, and goes where he wants. But since Madison is his latest “playmate” then there is a good chance he will make an appearance.

  I can deal with my former cheer team and the viper queen that I used to be tight with, but I can’t deal with Christian Moreau on top of it.

  Because, after all this time, his words still sting. The filthy looks he gives me still cut to the bone and the sound of his laughter when Madison and her cronies are humiliating me in front of the school still make my stomach churn.

  Christian was my best friend, and although he never knew, my first crush. Then he moved away in our freshman year and when he came back everything changed. It was like the guy had left to get a personality transplant on Asshole Island. The Christian that returned became my tormentor... my bully... and I still don’t know why.

  Chapter Two

  “Seriously, Bryant, you can’t let me go to this party alone. You’re my best friend; it’s in the rules.” I stuck my spoon in the bowl of ice cream and scooped a hearty helping into my mouth. “What are you going to do tonight anyway? Sit in your pajamas watching old movies and eating ice cream?”

  I froze with the spoon half out of my mouth. It was almost scary how spot-on she was. My bunny shorts were already on and there was a pile of DVDs sitting on my dresser waiting to be queued up.

  “No,” I said defensively. “I’m going to eat ice cream, watch movies, and print out some photos. So, ha!”

  She heaved a sigh. “Rachel, seriously. At some point, you have to stand up for yourself and show them you’re not going to take their shit anymore. You can start by showing up to one of their stupid parties and proving you’re not scared of them. Come on. What do you say?”

  “I say this ice cream is not going to eat itself.”

  “You’re the worst and I hate you.”

  I barked a laugh, almost choking on a creamy piece of cookie dough. “I love you too. See you tomorrow.”

  I ended the call and tossed the phone on the comforter. As first days go, this one wasn’t so bad. There were whispers and titters following me all through the halls, but no one cornered me or came right out and said what they were all thinking. That’s a good day, especially compared to what they put me through last year, and there’s no reason to mess with my lucky escape by actively pissing Madison and Christian off.

  I shifted my gaze to the stack of DVDs. I was in the mood for rom-com that night. Nothing like watching someone with a love life more disastrous than mine still win out in the end. It gives a girl hope.

  Knock. Knock.

  I looked up. “Come in.”

  The door opened and a head with blonde hair as vibrant as mine poked through the crack. “Hello, sweetie. Can we talk?”

  I stiffened. I loved my mom, but nothing good ever followed when she asked me “can we talk?”

  I tried for a smile. “Why? Are you breaking up with me, Mom?”

  Margaret came fully into the room and cocked her head at me as she approached my bed. “Breaking up with you?”

  “Just a joke, Mom.”

  She sat down next to me and patted my knee. “That’s good, baby. Humor is an important part of the healing process.”

  I pulled away. “Mom, don’t.” Sitting up, I transferred the bowl to the bedside table and didn’t shift back to look at her.

  “Sweetie, I know it must be very difficult for you—”

  “You don’t have a clue how I feel.”

  “—but it’s important that we keep open and honest lines of communication.” She went on like I hadn’t spoken. “Your father and I were talking and we realized it’s been a while since we’ve had a sharing circle.”

  Dear god, no.

  I twisted around so fast she blinked at me. “Mom, I don’t want to do another sharing circle.”

  She nodded, lips pursed. “I hear you saying that you don’t want to participate. Now, let’s explore why that is.”

  I barely stifled my groan.

  “The sharing circle is a safe space where the three of us can speak without judgment. What about that are you pushing back against?”

  All of it!

  “I’m not pushing back against anything, Mom. I just can’t do a sharing circle tonight!”

  Mom kept her tone even. “When we raise our voice, it’s because we feel we are not being heard. I am hearing you, baby. I am listening.” She got to her feet. “Just like I will listen to you tonight in the sharing circle.”

  There was a firmness in her voice that brokered no argument. Margaret Bryant may speak like she swallowed a psychology textbook nowadays, but she was still my no-nonsense mom. If I didn’t think fast, I would be subjected to another hour-long nightmare where my mother spoke about her frustrations with their sex life and wished that her father was more open to experimenting.

  “Mom, seriously, I can’t,” I said quickly.

  She raised a brow. “And why is that, Rachel Anne Bryant? You’re hardly busy.”

  I cast about for an excuse. “Because I’m going out with Estelle tonight. There’s a... um... study group meeting at the library. You know, first day of senior year, we all want to start off on the right foot.”

  “Study group?”

  “Yep, and I was about to get dressed. She’s coming in twenty minutes so no time for sharing circles.”

  Her corners of her eyes tightened. “I hear you saying that you’ve made plans with Estelle tonight—”

  A sigh ripped from my throat. “Mom, please, can we speak like normal people for once?”

  “Rachel, I feel disrespected when you interrupt me.”

  I snapped my mouth shut and gestured for her to go on.

  “Thank you. Now, as I was saying, I understand you’ve made plans, but it’s important that you communicate them to me in advance. How do you feel about that?”

  I held up my imaginary skirts and curtsied. “I feel that is a perfectly reasonable request, Mommy Dearest.”

/>   To my surprise, her lips quirked up into a smile. “Good. Home by ten. Check in by nine. Call if you’re going to be late and expect consequences if that is the case.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mom finally left me in peace and I took a deep breath. Time to bite the bullet.

  “Estelle?” I said when she answered. “That invite still good?”

  I yanked the phone away from my ear when she squealed. “I’m so glad you’re coming! What made you change your mind? Was it my inspiring speech?”

  “Two words: sharing circle.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.” I drifted to my closet and rooted around for something to wear. “I’d rather throw myself off the ravine than spend another minute in a sharing circle.”

  “Dude, for real. I swear they put you through that torture so you’ll never have sex again.”

  “If that’s the goal, it’s working.”

  She laughed. “Not for long. Wear something hot, babe—we’re talking fiery. I’ll be at your place in fifteen minutes.”

  Getting dressed didn’t take long as I had exactly one dress that matched Estelle’s expectation of fiery, and it was one she bought me. It put the little in little black dress. I squeezed into it and tried to tug it further down my thighs, but that only exposed more cleavage. It was gorgeous, but between the plunging neckline, cut-outs in the midriff, and short hem, I was showing more skin than I did in the shower.

  “Rachel?” Her voice came through the door. “Estelle is here.”

  “Be down in a second.”

  Quickly, I pulled the dress up to my stomach and slid into some jeans. Next, I threw an old shirt over my head, tossed my makeup in my backpack, and headed out the door.

  “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.”

  Estelle gave me a funny look when I got in the car. “What are you doing with your backpack? And why do you look like I should be dropping you off next to a cardboard box and trash can fire?”

  “Very funny. I had to sell the study group lie to Mom and Dad.”

  She sighed and started the car. The engine barely made a rumble. Estelle had one of those sleek, hybrid cars that made you feel rich and environmental. While I had a bicycle.