Twice Claimed: My Bully

Chapter 3

AMARA

By the time my last class ended, I wasn't even thinking about notes or homework. I just wanted to be somewhere that didn't smell like ice rinks and cologne, somewhere nobody called me "bookworm" like it was an insult.

I texted Peyton before I even made it to the parking lot. Please tell me you're home. Her reply came back in seconds—always, come suffer with me—and honestly, that was all the invitation I needed.

I needed a break from the testosterone overload at home. After two straight nights of "tutoring" that felt more like endurance training, I escaped to my best friend Peyton's house right after classes.

Peyton lived in a cozy two-story with her parents usually out, perfect for venting. Nova, our other close friend, had joined us too. The three of us had been tight since high school-study groups, sleepovers, the works-but lately, it felt like Peyton and I were on different planets when it came to my stepbrothers.

I collapsed onto the oversized couch in Peyton's living room, kicking off my shoes. "You guys have no idea how annoying they are. Kingston and Maddox are literal nightmares. Last night, Maddox kept flicking my ponytail and stealing my eraser like we were in middle school. And Kingston? He doodled all over my notes and spilled water on them on purpose. They crowd me at the table, bump my knees constantly, and call me 'bookworm' every five seconds. I'm trying to help them pass calc so they don't get benched, but it's like tutoring two oversized toddlers with hockey sticks."

Peyton leaned forward on the armchair, eyes lighting up instead of showing sympathy. Her cheeks flushed a little. "Wait, but they're so hot though, right? I mean, those twins? Kingston with the glasses looking all smart and intense, and Maddox with that wild vibe. I saw them at the last game-sweaty, built like gods on skates. You're living with that every day? God, Amara, I'd kill to switch places. Even if they tease you, it's probably just because they like having you around."

I stared at her. Infatuated didn't even cover it. Peyton had been crushing on anything hockey-related since freshman year, and my stepbrothers were the star players. Every time I complained, she turned it into some fantasy.

"Peyton, they're bullies. They make my life hell on purpose. It's not cute; it's exhausting," I said, rubbing my temples.

Nova sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a magazine quietly. She wasn't like Peyton at all-more grounded, less boy-crazy, always the one to call things straight. Her dark curls were tied back, and she gave me a sympathetic look.

I turned to her. "What do you think, Nova? Am I overreacting, or are these sessions going to drive me insane?"

Nova set the magazine aside. "Don't mind Peyton, Amara. There's nothing you can do other than continue to coach them. They need the grades, your parents are counting on you, and bailing would just make family dinners awkward. But set some boundaries. Tell them no more messing with your stuff, or you walk. You're the one with the power here-they're the ones failing."

I sighed heavily and dramatically hit my head back against the couch cushion. "Ugh. You're right. But it's so tempting to let them flunk and watch Coach bench them. They deserve it after hiding my charger last week and 'accidentally' knocking my books everywhere."

Peyton laughed. "Or you could invite me over for tutoring next time. I'd happily take notes ... or whatever."

We all groaned at that, but it broke the tension. Nova rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Peyton, you're hopeless. Come on, let's not let Amara's evil twins ruin the whole night. Movie time?"

The idea perked me up. "Yes. Anything but hockey highlights."

We moved to the kitchen to prep. Peyton took charge of the popcorn, popping kernels in the microwave and drizzling them with caramel and sea salt. The buttery smell filled the air quickly. I handled the cocktails-nothing too strong, just some fruity mixers with vodka from Peyton's parents' stash, shaken with ice and fresh lime. Nova dove into baking mode, whipping up a quick batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven. The three of us moved around each other effortlessly, the familiar rhythm of girls' night easing the knot in my stomach.

As the cookies baked and popcorn cooled, we joked and laughed about everything else. Peyton recounted her disastrous date from last weekend-the guy who spent the whole dinner talking about his fantasy football league. Nova mimicked him perfectly, making us double over. I shared stories from my literature class, complete with impressions of our overly dramatic professor. We gossiped about campus drama-who was hooking up with whom, the upcoming party at the frat house, and how Peyton's crush on the basketball captain was going nowhere fast.

"Seriously, though," Nova said between bites of a test cookie, "you need to carve out time for yourself, Amara. Don't let those stepbrothers take over everything. Come to the library with me tomorrow after your sessions."

"Deal," I said, clinking my cocktail glass against hers. "And Peyton, if you keep defending them, I'm banning you from hockey talk."

Peyton grinned, unrepentant, tossing a piece of popcorn at me. "No promises. But fine, truce. Tonight is about us."

We carried everything back to the living room-bowls of popcorn, a plate of warm cookies, and our cocktails on coasters. The movie started, some lighthearted rom-com that had us quoting lines and laughing at the predictable plot twists. For a couple of hours, it felt normal. No broad-shouldered twins invading my space, no green-eyed smirks mocking my notes, no constant physical jabs disguised as accidents. Just my friends, junk food, and zero pressure.

Halfway through the second movie, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I glanced at the screen, expecting a text from Mom. Instead, it was from an unknown number in our family group chat-probably Maddox or Kingston. I opened it.

Where are you Amara? This is 7pm you should be home. Don't tell me you have a bf nerd.

I groaned out loud, sinking deeper into the couch. Of course they'd notice I wasn't there. Probably because it meant no tutoring torture session for them tonight. The message had that signature cocky tone-half command, half taunt. I could picture Maddox typing it without glasses, smirking, or Kingston adjusting his frames while hitting send.

Peyton peeked over. "Is that them? What'd they say?"

I showed her the screen. She squealed. "See? They care! Ask if they want company next time."

Nova shook her head. "Ignore it for now. Finish the movie. You deserve the break."

I set the phone face-down, but the buzz had pulled me halfway back to reality. The twins were waiting at home, ready to resume their normal bullying routine tomorrow. Crowding the table, stealing supplies, making snide comments about my habits. For now, though, I grabbed another cookie and turned up the volume on the TV.

The night stretched on with more laughs, more stories, and the warm glow of friendship. But that single text lingered in the back of my mind, a reminder that my bully twin stepbrothers weren't done making my life complicated.