4. Keychain

I beg the universe that one day that idiot drops dead.

Victor had been lingering near my house all night. His thoughts were full of sweaty, desperate fantasies—stuff I couldn't unsee no matter how many times I closed my eyes. I ended up shoving a melatonin down my throat just to get some damn sleep.

Apparently, stalking me wasn't enough. Now he wanted to ruin my REM cycles out of spite.

And, of course, I forgot my headphones today. So the bus ride was extra dreadful. No way to block out the thrum of everyone's unwanted thoughts: breakfast cravings, test anxiety, who was cheating on who. All of it pressing in on me like a hundred tiny knives.

I got off the bus and walked toward school alone, head down, footsteps steady. Nothing unusual. Nothing unexpected.

Until I heard it.

'Now's my chance.'

That voice again. His voice.

I had just shaken him off my trail—why was he back already?

"Hey! Anne! Wait up!" Victor's voice rang out across the walkway, too loud, too public, and way too cheerful. Students all around us turned to look. Great. Just what I needed.

"Morning! You look pretty tired! Want some candy?"

I stopped and shot him the nastiest glare I could muster. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Shooting my shot," he said without missing a beat, all grin and no shame.

"Not interested."

"Then I just have to change your mind!" he beamed. And in his head, he was already undressing me again.

What a fucking creep.

I rolled my eyes so hard they practically rotated into the next dimension and speed-walked past him like my life depended on it.

"Running won't solve a thing!" he called after me, sounding entirely too smug.

'I've been at this long enough to assure that.'

Yeah, well, I've been avoiding people like you long enough to know you're not worth the calories.

I walked faster.

***

At first, gym class was tolerable.

The usual chaos: sneakers squeaking, dodgeballs flying, people yelling just to hear their own voices. I stayed in the background, like always. Moved just enough to not look lazy, but not enough to draw attention.

But then I felt it.

The thoughts from the bleachers.

A cluster of popular kids—Victor's court, basically—whispering, laughing, barely pretending to participate. I didn't need to turn around to know they were watching me.

Their thoughts came in loud and poisonous.

'She actually fought Victor?! I can't believe she had the nerve to show up to school again.'

'What was she thinking? Is she trying to get her ass kicked?'

'Victor would've beat her up if he really tried.'

'It's all her fault Victor has a black eye.'

'Honestly, it's pathetic. Victor's like... untouchable.'

'She should've just taken it and kept her head down.'

'Why's this loser think she's as good as Victor?'

It was so fucking lame I had to step away just to stop hearing them. Worshipping him like he was a flawless golden god when he was just a sweaty pervert with zero boundaries and a brain full of p**n.

But what could I do?

You can't fix stupid. Especially when it's gathered in a pack.

Then it started.

One of them launched a dodgeball at me. Fast. Deliberate.

I dodged it, barely.

Then another. Then another.

Suddenly, balls were flying at me from every direction—including from my own teammates.

"Oops! Didn't see you there!"

"Oh man, sorry dude!"

Fake-ass apologies. Laughter. Snickering. A whole gym of idiots pretending this wasn't an organized attack.

And the gym teacher? Just stood there with his arms crossed, watching. Like it was some kind of social experiment he wasn't paid enough to interrupt.

As usual, I was on my own.

I ducked and twisted, catching one of the balls and tossing it aside. Kept moving, tried to keep my cool.

Then it happened.

WHAM.

Something heavy hit me square in the forehead. Hard. Too hard to be a dodgeball.

My vision flickered.

A basketball.

Someone had thrown a goddamn basketball during dodgeball.

The world tilted and I dropped like dead weight, knees buckling beneath me. My hands hit the floor and I stayed there, stunned, blinking at the spinning ceiling lights.

And then I felt it. Warm. Wet.

Blood.

Running down from my scalp, hot and sticky, into the edge of my brow.

The gym coach finally decided to blow his damn whistle—too hard, too late—and jogged over like he hadn't just been a bystander to the whole thing.

His face looked pissed, but his thoughts were louder.

'Great. Now I've got a mess to deal with.'

He pointed at one of the smug little bastards grinning over by the other side of the court. "You. Principal's office. Now."

The kid raised his hands. "Come on, it was an accident!"

Another piped in. "It's just dodgeball! She's just being dramatic!"

"She's just mad 'cause he got hit..." someone else muttered.

But the coach wasn't budging. "If you knew this was dodgeball, why would you throw a basketball?!" he barked, marching the kid out.

'I'll get that loser back for this,' the kid thought as he left.

Because of course. They hit me, but it's still my fault they got in trouble.

I lay back against the floor, blinking slowly, ignoring the throbbing pain in my skull.

This school was hell. And this was just another Monday.

***

After patching up the gash on my forehead and cleaning off most of the dried blood, I left the locker room with everyone else. My head throbbed beneath the bandage, and all I wanted was to melt into the concrete and vanish.

That's when I saw him—Victor.

Of course.

Surrounded by his usual orbit of adoring groupies, basking in their laughter like he didn't have a single stalker bone in his body.

If I moved fast, maybe he wouldn't notice me.

"Hey! Anne!" Victor's voice cut through the hallway like a chainsaw. I froze mid-step.

He jogged up and stepped directly in front of me, grinning like we hadn't fought just yesterday. "Fancy meeting you here."

'Luckily I caught her in time. I really had to run my ass off to see her. Too bad I couldn't get a peek at her in the shower.'

My lip curled. "Ugh, what? Get out of my way, you creep."

"I'm not a creep," he said, entirely too chipper for someone who just admitted (in his mind) to wanting to spy on me showering. "I came all the way from the math department to see you. What happened to your face?"

His head was full of mental daisies and sparkles like this was some rom-com, not reality. Why the hell did he care?

I stepped around him, but of course, he followed.

"You have chemistry next, right? Want some candy to go with?"

'I looked all over town for her favorite brand of candy just for her. Why won't she take it?'

I kept ignoring him, if only because the energy around us had shifted. The girls nearby were livid—their jealousy bouncing off my skull like nails on a chalkboard. I wasn't saying a word, and that alone was making me public enemy number one.

The safest option was to pretend he didn't exist.

"Are you listening?" Victor asked.

I finally turned, yanked the candy out of his hand, and stared at it. My favorite. How did he know that?

"There," I said, glaring at him. "I took the damn candy. Can you stop bothering me and piss off already?"

"So you do like the candy!" he said, beaming like I hadn't just insulted his existence.

'This is more fun than I thought. Her annoyed face is twice as cute as I imagined. I wonder if I can make her cry.'

He was unhinged.

Why the hell did everyone worship him again?

And that's how the rest of my day went.

***

"Hey, Milkman," someone called behind me. I turned slightly and saw a guy from the wrestling team—Henry, I think. Massive shoulders, small brain.

I frowned at the nickname. Milkman. Real clever—because of my eye, obviously. I didn't respond.

"Did you get close with Victor after fighting him?" he asked, leaning over his desk with too much interest.

"Absolutely not."

"Hm, I was wondering if you were friends with him because of grades," Henry said, clearly trying to piece some conspiracy together in his peanut-sized head.

"Why?"

"You do know he's the school valedictorian, right? I figured since you always come in second place, you'd start hanging out."

Wait. Victor's the one I've been losing to by a few points? That guy?

I stared at Henry. "That's not happening."

Before he could dig any deeper, the bell rang.

So now I knew his full name—Victor Blackwell. I knew he was the one beating me in the rankings. I knew he'd been following me way more than I'd noticed. And worst of all... he seemed to be making this his life's mission.

The more I found out about him, the more insufferable he got.

But today's detention? Oh, he was definitely getting the business.

***

'When is Anne getting here? I've been waiting to see her face for too long already.'

Ugh.

I walked into the empty classroom and found Victor already waiting, grinning like a lunatic.

"Yo!" His whole face lit up like Christmas. "We're waxing the floors today."

"Why?"

"The teacher said so. We wash it, we wax it," he said, dumping a bottle of thick white polish onto the tiles. "Plus the wax will make me slip right into your heart."

"Kill me," I muttered.

He tossed me a mop, and I begrudgingly got to work.

Thirty minutes in, something small hit the floor with a soft clink. I glanced over and saw a Red Ranger keychain. I bent down, picked it up, and flipped it over.

My initials were scratched into the back.

That was my keychain from my dad.

So now he's stealing my stuff?

Or maybe I dropped it... but if I did, he's had plenty of chances to give it back.

'I wonder what she's looking at. So adorable.'

"This key—"

"AH!! WAIT A MINUTE—" Victor lunged for me, forgetting we were working on wet wax. His feet flew out from under him and he crashed right on top of me with a heavy THUD.

His hand, surprisingly, cradled the back of my head before it could smack the floor.

"Seriously?!"

"Why'd you put so much wax there?!"

"You're blaming me? What about this shit?!" I held up the keychain.

"That's not mine! It's my brother's!" Victor said, cheeks glowing crimson as his eyes flickered—everywhere but my face.

And his thoughts?

"So you like Power Rangers?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

'No, I like you more!'

"Fuck, so what if I do?! No one will believe you even if you tell them!"

Ah. He was into Power Rangers. And probably a bunch of other things he thought didn't fit his pretty-boy image. That explained the secrecy.

Interesting.

He snatched the keychain back from me.

Looks like I had leverage now.