All Chapters of My Bully Next Door: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Beckett “Uh… hello?” I close my eyes and let my head fall back for a second. Fantastic. Just absolutely fantastic. Across from me, Ella looks just as horrified. Another knock rattles the door. “Some of us actually have to pee!” I recognize the voice immediately. Amber Fields. Of course it’s Amber. Because apparently the universe has decided I haven’t suffered enough today. Ella immediately puts distance between us, taking a step back so fast you’d think I’d caught fire. That shouldn’t bother me. The fact that it does is probably something I should be more concerned about. “Open the door!” Amber calls again. Ella whips around to glare at me. “This is your fault.” I stare at her. “My fault?” “You locked the door.” “You were about to leave.” “I was about to go back to class.” “You were about to run away.” Her eyes narrow. “I was not running away.” “You literally left class.” “Stop saying literally.” For one stupid second, I almost laugh. Not because this situa

Beckett Something is seriously wrong with me. That’s the only explanation I have left. Because Ella Monroe hasn’t looked at me once all day, and somehow it’s driving me completely insane. I sit in fourth period staring at the whiteboard while Coach Ramirez talks about Friday night’s game. Usually I’d be paying attention. Usually football is the one thing that clears my head. Today I couldn’t tell you a single word he’s said. Because every time my brain gets a second to breathe, it goes right back to her. I already hate myself enough, Beckett. The words won’t leave me alone. They just keep replaying. Over and over. And every time they do, they hit harder. Because she meant them. That wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sarcasm. It wasn’t one of our arguments. It was the truth. And somehow that hurts worse than anything she’s said to me. “She literally thinks everyone hates her.” The thought makes my stomach twist. Because the worst part? She’s not completely wrong. People have

Beckett I don’t know how to do this. That thought follows me all the way back to my room. It sits in the back of my head while I brush my teeth. While I change clothes. While I stare at my ceiling for twenty minutes pretending I’m going to sleep. I don’t know how to do this. The problem is, I’m not even sure what this is anymore. A week ago, Ella Monroe was just… Ella. The girl next door. The girl in oversized hoodies. The girl who barely looked anybody in the eye. Now? Now she somehow occupies every free space in my brain. And I hate it. Or at least I keep telling myself I do. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The room is dark except for the glow from my alarm clock. 12:14 AM. Great. Another night of not sleeping. I drag a hand over my face. What the hell happened? Seriously. At what point did this become a thing? Because I can pinpoint the exact moment everything got weird. The pool. Not even the swimsuit. The look she gave me when she walked out

Beckett I almost kissed her. The thought follows me all the way upstairs. It follows me while Mason dramatically announces his impending death from a stomachache. It follows me while Ella walks beside us holding his hand. It follows me while I help get him cleaned up and back into bed. And it definitely follows me when I accidentally catch myself looking at her again. Because that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. Not that I wanted to kiss her. I already knew that. The terrifying part is that she wanted me to. I felt it. Saw it. For one brief second in that kitchen, neither of us was pretending anymore. No arguments. No walls. No excuses. Just me looking at her. And Ella looking back. If Mason hadn’t walked into that kitchen… I don’t know what would’ve happened. The worst part? I think I do. Mason is tucked into bed now, cocooned in blankets, milking every ounce of sympathy from being sick. “I think I need ice cream.” I stare at him. “You threw up.” “Ex

Ella The next morning, I know almost immediately that I made a mistake. Not about almost kissing Beckett. Not about letting myself want him. About letting myself believe any of it actually meant something. Because the second I walk through the front doors of school, reality is waiting for me. And reality looks a lot like Beckett Carter standing in the middle of the hallway surrounded by half the soccer team. Laughing. Talking. Existing so effortlessly in a world that has never once felt effortless to me. I stop at my locker and pretend I’m looking for a book I already pulled out ten minutes ago. Mostly because I don’t trust myself not to look at him. Which is ridiculous. Because two nights ago, he was standing inches away from me in the hallway outside our bedrooms. Two nights ago, his hand was on my face. Two nights ago, he looked at me like— No. Not finishing that thought. I shove a notebook into my bag harder than necessary. The locker rattles. “Someone’s in a go