Chapter 3

Tyler

“Sydney Walker,” I’d repeated all day in my head.

And the moment Brooklyn yelled my name, running toward me on the basketball court, and I found out that that curvy genius she hadn’t stopped blabbing about all week was her sister—

Everything shifted.

I swear I’m not a bully. I’ve never had to be one. I mean, even though my mom is one of the pillars of the school, I’ve had to keep my perfect grades, be the best I can be out on the court, and still juggle my social life.

I never really have time to keep track of the girls who smile at me or thin their voices just to speak to me in the hallway.

But when Sydney arrived, something changed.

Honestly, I never planned to get under her skin this way, or throw random jokes when the guys were around.

But there’s just something about Sydney Walker that seems to pull me each time I see her. From the way her gaze drops whenever she passed by a group of people, to the way she always flinches before I even finish a joke.

Sensational.

She’s like a big red button among a bunch of dull ones, just begging to be pushed.

And I pushed—every time.

And each time, she reacted better than the last.

One morning, my mom left early for work, and I finally had the chance to ride one of her cars to school. When I told Brooklyn, she was down for it. So I dropped by her house to pick her up.

And when I walked in, my eyes landed on her. Sydney.

She was coming down the stairs, her sleek black hair down as usual, falling over her shoulders like a dark waterfall.

She saw me and paused, pulling her hand away from the railing.

My eyes dropped to the oversized, long-sleeved sweatshirt that was so long, the sleeves swallowed her hands whole.

I scoffed. “What? Parachute was on sale?”

And just like that, she flinched, and her face fell.

“No. It’s just comfortable.” She muttered, like she was scared I’d hear her.

“You mean they help you feel good about yourself.”

Her shoulders dropped, like some pillow punched once. And then she opened her mouth to speak, but Brooklyn walked in from the kitchen.

“Tyler, quit trying to tease my sister.”

Tease. That was what it ever was. And I was getting better and better at it each day. Squeezing out reactions from Sydney Walker like it was the highlight of my day.

Until the day she actually said more than five words to me.

It was PE.

Everyone had to participate. Didn’t matter if you were sick or allergic to grass or whatever. You still had to sit on the bench and watch at least.

The boys changed into their track suits first—long sleeved jackets and long pants, and then the girls went in after.

And because of previous complaints from some girls about “comfort”, the girls’ track suits were the long sleeved jackets, shorts, and then knee-high socks.

The guys and I were already out on the benches with the PE teacher when the girls came out.

Someone tapped me from behind.

“Hey. Check this out.”

I turned.

‘Damn,’ I thought instantly.

It was the first time I’d seen Sydney in clothes that didn’t qualify to be hot air balloons.

And instead of leaving her alone—letting her walk out with her arms wrapped around her body, I opened my stupid mouth.

“Okay, who let XL on the field?”

The guys roared. And even some girls snickered as they passed by her.

But Sydney…Sydney hunched her back even more, tightening her arms around her body like she was trying to form a shield around herself—a wall I kept breaking each time I saw her.

Maeve put a hand on her shoulder and whispered something. But to my surprise, Sydney stopped walking and turned to me.

“You really don’t have to make comments about me every time, Tyler.” Her voice was low, almost shaky. “It’s not nice. You need to stop.”

That should have stopped me, maybe broken me, or pushed me to stop already. But the guys had already laughed once.

What’s wrong with another show?

“You know what is not nice?” I smirked. “The horror you’re putting those socks through.”

More laughter.

Sydney looked like she wanted to diffuse.

She frowned, and her cheeks turned red. Her eyes darted towards the guys around laughing, and she hugged herself once more as she stepped back.

“God, you are such an idiot, Tyler!” Maeve yelled, pulling Sydney back towards the girl’s group.

But the look on Sydney’s face never left me. It stayed with me throughout practice that day, at the cafeteria when she sat at a far table with Maeve, and all through the final classes, till the last bell rang.

And somehow, I still didn’t know how to stop.

The ketchup incident was the one that came after. And it wasn’t supposed to be that serious.

After Sydney talked to me during PE, I honestly thought she’d snapped. I thought I’d finally pushed past my limit.

So I’d set that trap at algebra—her favorite subject, just to confirm. And she took it like the puffy, angry cloud she’d become.

She corrected me in class, in front of the entire class. And I, I’d never been wrong in algebra.

The guys laughed their asses out as we walked out of the class that day. They made jokes about it. And I just knew I couldn’t let it slide, even if it was my plan.

I couldn’t let them know it was on purpose—for Sydney.

So I organized one prank. One tiny, harmless prank that was supposed to tell Sydney Walker that no matter how much she tried, I saw her everywhere.

At school, at home, when I shut my eyes, in my sleep!

But that day at the cafeteria, where she stood, her eyes had shimmered, and something clawed against my chest.

My heart had skipped—not the way it usually did when I saw her.

But if I don’t torment her in front of the school, how would I explain that I have to picture Sydney Walker’s face before I can fall asleep every night?