Bullied (Bullied Series #1) (SAMPLE)

Chapter 3

As usual, the first thing I did when I got outside was to check if Hayden was in front of his house. It was my survival tactic I'd developed over time. I always tried to go to school before him in order to save myself from experiencing any potential embarrassment in the early morning. Luckily for me, he had a tendency to wake up late, and today was probably one of those mornings. Nevertheless, I couldn't let my guard down even for a second.

I sprinted to my old red Ford Escort, which was parked next to my mother's white 90s Nissan Sentra, hoping Hayden wouldn't go to school at all.

One could dream.

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The only high school in our small town, East Willow High, was a huge complex made of three wings, the athletic center, and a large parking lot. The modern building was a mixture of distinctive gray bricks and glass, its shape and structure standing out among maples that turned the most beautiful shade of red during fall. All windows were wide, providing a lot of light, and I loved the soothing brightness they gifted this otherwise gloomy place.

I parked my car at a remote part of the parking, which was as far as I could get from Hayden's parking lot. I took my time walking to the main entrance, the knot in my stomach getting tighter with each step closer to those glass doors.

A flock of students was packed inside, and it felt like it had been only yesterday that I saw everyone last. They were all the same, some of them displaying new hairstyles, combined with new fashion trends, and some wearing highly expensive fall pieces, which would strengthen their position among popular and rich kids. Sadly, people respected those who exuded money.

This was one of the things that made me different from them. I never followed trends, and even if I wanted to, poverty was like a cage that limited all my choices, laughing into my face at the possibility of buying anything pricey for myself.

So, I didn't know what the current fashion or the popular color was. My T-shirts and jeans were plain, baggy, neutrally colored, and paired with ordinary white sneakers. I didn't do hairstyles, preferring to wear my long wavy brown hair down or in a ponytail. My clothes might be drab and ugly to others, but they didn't attract any attention. They helped me feel invisible.

I tried to pass next to the seniors who had gathered close to the front doors, bumping into someone's shoulder in the process.

"Hey, watch it!" this person snarled at me, smacking my shoulder. It hurt, but I didn't even look at him. I just mumbled that I was sorry and dashed forward, attempting to be less noticeable.

School had always been like that—I tried to be out of the way and hoped no one would mess with me, but this was difficult when all they saw in me was a moving target.

They saw me as a creep, and they felt it was okay to insult me just because I was weaker than the rest. I never fought back, thinking—hoping—it would stop, and they would finally conclude that bullying me wasn't worth their time.

I came to my locker half expecting to find it covered in paint or graffiti and exhaled in relief because it was clean. However, this didn't mean that someone couldn't have put some trash or whatever else inside. I entered the combination on my lock, planning to open my locker carefully.

The first day last year taught me this particular caution when I opened my locker and was welcomed with open bottles of soda lying down, the liquid trickling from the upper shelf to the lower creating a large puddle. Not even a second later, they poured out and splashed all over the floor and my sneakers. I spent hours cleaning that mess after class.

This time, I stepped backward and then opened my locker. It was empty. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Some students snickered behind me.

"Expecting something?" one guy mocked me.