Present

End of February

Benjamin Franklin said nothing can be certain in this world but death and taxes.

He was wrong because now, as I sat right in front of my bully in U.S. history, I could easily add another thing to that list.

Nothing can be certain in this world but death, taxes, and Blake Jones' torture.

Blake just had to sit right behind me in this class. He just had to.

I was hyperaware of his nearness every second of this dreadfully long class. Goose bumps broke out on my skin each time I sensed him move, and I could hardly bear it. I had to fight to keep my breathing even, hoping I didn't look like a complete weirdo to my classmate, Marcus, who sat next to me.

That hope waned by the minute because Blake made sure to smear my image in front of him as much as possible. He jeered at me whenever Marcus leaned in to whisper something to me while our teacher scribbled on the blackboard, and I was losing my patience. My heart raced at the prospect of a fight with a guy who was the most complex and callous person I'd ever met.

Blake Jones. Even his name itself gave me the shivers.

He represented a long, distressing story, one that had started on my first day as a senior at this school. He'd bullied me from the moment he laid eyes on me and made my life at East Willow High nightmarish. I'd experienced bullying in middle school and at my previous high school, but that couldn't compare with what I went through with Blake, not by a long shot.

Blake had been crushing me day by day. He tainted my self-image to the point where I disliked everything about myself—from my looks to my personality—and even with therapy, I struggled to remember that I shouldn't care about his insults and should love myself the way I was.

My therapist, Susan, reminded me time and again that I was a beautiful and special girl and Blake was likely only projecting his insecurities onto me, but logical thinking didn't mean much each time he hurt me and brought me to tears.

I was a coward. I was the type of person who would run away at the sight of danger or wait for others to save her, which Blake liked to point out often. He would call me a wimp and double his abuse, just so he could see me crack and beg for his mercy. I constantly lived in fear of his abuse or retaliation if I stood up against him in any way.

I never told anyone about the time he broke into my locker and stole my pads and my period leaked through my jeans by the time my classes finished. The walk out of school was horrifyingly humiliating. Blake was there to document it with his phone, of course.

I also never told anyone he dumped a cigarette butt into my meticulously curled hair as he passed me by, telling me I would catch on fire. Washed over with horror, I tried to remove the lit butt before it burned my hair, only to find out he'd already put out the cigarette before he threw it in. I spent hours crying in my room, unable to understand how someone could traumatize people like that.

Then there was the time he broke into my locker again and left a pile of trash. I reported him to the principal, but he told me I didn't have proof it was Blake who did it and refused to do anything against him. This didn't come as a surprise, as he hadn't helped me after my "welcome party" six months earlier either. The school didn't have cameras, and since no one had stepped up as a witness, it was my word against Blake's. Blake's father was Enfield's mayor, so it was clear whose word had more value in this corrupted school.

Blake had been outraged because I tattled on him to the principal, so he'd gotten back at me by photoshopping my face onto a picture of a woman in a corset and stockings with a whip in her hand and her foot planted on a mini fridge. He sent this to one of his football buddies, who posted it on his Instagram and captioned it "Food Slut." The nickname stuck with me in the following months, reminding me that each time I fought back, Blake was there to make things even worse.

I never knew why he hated me. I never did anything to him, yet he constantly inflicted more and more fear in me until I was close to giving up on my new life in Enfield and returning to my hometown to live with my aunt and uncle. However, I'd made best friends here, and I didn't want to disappoint my parents by giving up.

Blake had stopped bullying me at one point. By some miraculous twist of fate, he stopped harassing me after New Year's, and I thought I could finally have my days free from his cruelty, but then I was proved wrong because he was back at it again lately. I should've known peace wouldn't last.

Now, Marcus had a front seat to my humiliation, and I wished the ground would swallow me up. Or swallow Blake, whichever would be better. The class couldn't finish soon enough.

"Fats," Blake whispered into my ear. I turned rigid because his lips were almost touching my earlobe.

It had been a bad decision to wear a braid today.

"Turn around." His breath caressed my neck, and my stomach flipped.

I pursed my lips as I stared at one spot in my textbook. His fragrance messed me up. It was unfair that he smelled this good.

"You'll turn around, unless you want me to tell your wannabe boyfriend you're a bad kisser."

My cheeks reddened at the reminder of one of the biggest mistakes of my life, accompanied by a stab of pain in my chest because he'd called me a bad kisser.

I glared at him over my shoulder. "Will you stop it already? And he isn't my wannabe boyfriend."

He formed a malicious smile, raising his phone, and snapped a photo of my sneer. "Look at you." He snarled at the photo, as if he was looking at an abomination. "You're a walrus. Now, I only have to use the dog filter and send it to your wannabe boyfriend. I'm sure he'll pee his pants from laughing."

My eyes widened. I reached for his phone in an attempt to delete it along with the other photos he'd taken earlier in class, but Blake wasn't our football team captain for nothing. His reflexes were extraordinary.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast." He held his phone out of my reach.

"Miss Metts, this isn't Starbucks," Ms. Gentry chided, breaking into my bubble of rising anger. I whipped my head around to look at her with burning cheeks. I was mortified that she was taking me to task in front of the whole class. "If you don't pay attention in my class, you can leave."

"I-I'm sorry, Ms. Gentry. I'll pay attention."

Her eyes narrowed as she scowled at me. "You better do that."

I clasped my hands together in my lap, wishing my hair could hide me from everyone. I would not cry. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath. Jess, don't you dare cry now.

I knew Blake was gloating. He enjoyed putting me in the spotlight, and being in the spotlight was something I absolutely despised.

Marcus gave me a sidelong glance and handed me a folded paper when Ms. Gentry carried on talking about Benjamin Franklin. Hiding it under my desk, I unfolded the paper.

Don't pay attention to Jones. He'll stop sooner or later.

I could only wish. Marcus didn't know that ignoring never got me anywhere with Blake. In fact, it only incited him to harass me more. Still, I appreciated Marcus for not thinking any less of me because of Blake's put-downs.

Marcus Robinson was in the school choir like me, and he seemed like a nice guy. He'd asked me out the previous week, which had come totally out of the blue because of the long-circulating rumors that he was gay. I told him I didn't like him and turned him down, but he remained friendly with me.

You don't know him. He can be very persistent, I wrote under his words and returned the paper to him. I glanced at Ms. Gentry, and thankfully she wasn't looking in our direction. Marcus unfolded the paper.

I leaned in to tell him not to accept anything from Blake in case he actually sent my photo to his Snapchat, but too suddenly, Blake yanked me away from Marcus by my braid, and I barely managed to stifle a yelp.

I spun around to face him. "What the hell is your problem?" I hissed, trying to be as quiet as possible.

"Burks isn't enough for you, so you also want Robinson?" he said under his breath, wearing a grimace. "So, you're fat and a slut."

I winced, repulsed by his ugly, jealous-sounding words. For once, the urge to put him in his place was stronger than fear, and I blurted out, "Says a guy who's slept with countless girls. It's a wonder your penis hasn't fallen off yet."

His face fell. His gray eyes narrowed to two menacing slits that cut deep into me, and the rest of the classroom ceased to exist. I could feel it—his next attack.

He gripped the wrist I rested on the back of my chair and got up in my face. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" I tugged my arm back to try to free myself, but it was useless. "You know I can ruin you in a second. It's that easy."

"Miss Metts? Mr. Jones?" Ms. Gentry called out, but her voice sounded like it came from far away. Blake and I were too lost in our exchange to care about anyone else, only inches separating our faces now.

"I'll send your embarrassing photos and videos to every college in the state," he said quietly so only I could hear him, and a twinge of trepidation mixed with my anger. "No one will accept you. You won't have any future by the time I'm done with you, so you better think twice before you put my back up again."

I. Hate. Him.

I hate him so much.

"Mr. Jones! What do you think you're doing?"

Our teacher stopped above us, but my anger had reached the boiling point and nothing mattered anymore but hurting him. Six months—that was how long it took me not to care about his sick retributions and pain for once.

Six long months, but better late than never.

He had no limits. He had no shame. And he had absolutely no empathy. It was too much, and I couldn't put up with it anymore. I couldn't just keep quiet and hide under the covers like a scared kid, hoping the danger would pass. No more.

I glanced at his iPhone on his desk—the phone that was there almost every time I was humiliated. That phone documented my tears, my moments of despair, and my moments of mortification. It was abhorrent.

Pent-up anxiety was like a ticking bomb. It could explode at any moment.

Mine finally did.

I stood up before I was even aware of it and grabbed the device I despised so much. I flung it to the floor, relishing the sound of shattering. It was cathartic. His screen cracked in different places, and something akin to satisfaction spread through my chest.

As everyone blended in the background, I raised my head to meet Blake's gaze, and every positive feeling in me vanished. I actually staggered when I saw the hatred like never before in his eyes. The veins on his jaw bulged out as he fought not to lunge at me.

"Miss Metts, this is preposterous!" Ms. Gentry glared at me with her hand placed across her heart. "I won't tolerate such awful behavior in my class. And you." She pointed at Blake. "I'm disgusted by the fact that you're bullying your classmate and it's happening right in the middle of my class! I can't let that go unpunished. I'm giving both of you detention."

What?! "But he was the one who started it—"

"But you continued it." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "I want to see you both here after school on Monday. Now, out of my classroom!"

"You'll be sorry for this," Blake said through his teeth in a voice that chilled me, and I believed him. I truly believed I was screwed. He picked up his phone from the floor and snatched his textbook and notebook from his desk on his way out.

I couldn't look at anyone, unable to shake off the regret and shame. Only now, the consequences of my outburst dawned on me. I'd never gotten a detention before, and my parents weren't going to like this at all.

I scooped up my notebook and textbook with shaky hands and shrugged at Marcus, whose gaze held so much pity. I wanted to rewind the last minute and stop myself from throwing Blake's phone all the more. I couldn't believe I'd thrown it on the ground!

Still dumbfounded by my reaction, I dragged myself out of the classroom and away from the ceaseless whispers of my classmates. I'd just gone around the corner when someone yanked me with a force that left me breathless. My back slammed into a wall, and my gaze met Blake's. His hands on my shoulders prevented me from moving.

"What are you do—"

"You think you can mess with me? You think I'll let you get away with it?!" I flinched as his shout reverberated through the vacant hallway. His six-foot-two body was too close to mine, and my pulse went crazy at his proximity.

I clasped my hands over his to pry them off my shoulders, but he only increased his pressure. "If you hadn't harassed me, I wouldn't—"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear another word coming out of your big, fat mouth." He curled his lip. "And here I thought I could actually give you leeway after New Year's. I thought everything would be better if I just treated you like you don't exist. But you messed up."

He pushed away from me, but instead of feeling relieved by the much-needed distance between us, I felt like I was suffocating, fearing what could happen next.

Facing away from me, he gave me one last glance over his shoulder. "Today, you messed up big time, Fats, and now? Now it's payback time."