All Chapters of My Bully Next Door: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ella I hate Mondays. Actually, that’s not true. I hate school. No—that’s not completely true either. What I really hate is the version of myself that shows up here. The girl who walks through these hallways already preparing for something to hurt. The girl who automatically checks who’s looking before she even realizes she’s doing it. The girl who spends more energy trying to avoid attention than most people spend getting it. By the time I reach my locker, my shoulders are already tight. I tug at the sleeves of my hoodie, pulling them over my hands until only my fingertips show. It’s an old habit. One of dozens. Little things I’ve taught myself over the years. Take up less space. Be quieter. Don’t draw attention. Don’t give people ammunition. The funny thing is, none of it actually works. People notice anyway. They always have. Maybe not in the way I want. But they notice. Too big. Too quiet. Too weird. Too invisible. Too much. Too little. It’s exhausting t

Ella The last person I wanted to be partnered with was Beckett Hayes. Unfortunately, my English teacher apparently had a personal vendetta against me. “Remember, this is a partner grade,” she said from the front of the room as everyone started packing up. “I expect both people to contribute equally. Rough draft outlines are due Wednesday.” A partner grade. Fantastic. I stared down at my notebook while the bell rang and students started pouring into the hallway. All I wanted was to get out of there before Beckett decided we needed to have some kind of conversation. No such luck. “Ella.” I froze. For a second, I considered pretending I didn’t hear him. Then I remembered he was sitting three feet away. Slowly, I turned around. “What?” The word came out sharper than I intended. Or maybe exactly as sharp as I intended. Beckett was leaning against the edge of his desk, one hand shoved into his pocket. He looked tired. Irritated. Like this assignment annoyed him just as much a

Beckett By Tuesday morning, I already know something is off. You can feel it the second you walk into school. It’s not anything obvious. Nobody’s pointing fingers. Nobody’s saying anything to my face. But conversations seem to pause for a fraction of a second when I walk by. People glance at me, then glance somewhere else. A couple of guys smirk when they think I don’t notice. And every time I catch someone looking, their eyes seem to drift toward Ella. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed. I slam my locker shut harder than necessary and immediately regret it when the metal clang echoes through the hallway. “Well, somebody’s in a good mood.” I don’t even have to look up. Sean appears beside me, hands shoved into his varsity jacket pockets. I grab my history book. “What do you want?” He grins. “So.” I hate that word. “So what?” “I heard you and Ella had another little study session.” I stare at him. “It was for class.” “Uh-huh.” The smirk gets bigger. I already know wh

Ella I should have known better. That’s the thought that keeps repeating in my head as I scrub at a perfectly clean section of the stove. I should have known better. I should have seen it coming. I should have remembered who Beckett Carter is. Because for a while there—somewhere between the late-night conversations, the way he looked at me when nobody else was around, and all those confusing moments where he almost seemed like a completely different person—I let myself forget. Not completely. Just enough. Just enough to get hurt. The kitchen suddenly feels too small. Too warm. Too crowded. His words keep replaying in my head like a broken record. You’re not even my type, Ella. I can still hear the frustration in his voice. The irritation. Like whatever is happening between us is some giant inconvenience he can’t get rid of. Like I’m the problem he can’t solve. I blink hard and focus on the pan in front of me. The grilled cheese is definitely darker than it should be

Ella I don’t look back. Not when the hallway falls silent behind me. Not when I can practically feel hundreds of eyes following me as I walk away. And definitely not when every stupid, traitorous part of me wants to turn around and see if Beckett is watching. Because if I do? If I look? I’ll break. My chest already feels tight enough to crack open. By the time I push through the bathroom door near the gym, my hands are shaking. The second the door swings closed behind me, I grip the edge of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror. For a moment, I barely recognize the girl staring back. My cheeks are flushed. My eyes are glassy. And there it is. The thing I hate most. Hope. Still there. Still hanging on. Still refusing to die. I let out a shaky laugh and immediately hate the sound of it. Because after everything Beckett has said to me… After every mixed signal. After every cruel comment. After literally telling me I’m not his type… Some pathetic part of me st