Secretly In Love With My Highschool Bully

I Tried ..........

It’s been two weeks since I overheard that conversation, and if I say I’m okay, I’d be lying.

Every night, I ruminate and wonder what could have possibly made Ryan turn on me and fail to say even a single word in my defense, but I just can’t seem to come up with an answer. Being called a sissy isn’t even that bad—I’ve been called worse—but hearing it while the person I trusted most stood there and did nothing somehow makes it hurt so much more.

Mom and Aunt Elise seem to have noticed the growing rift between Ryan and me, but they’re taking their sweet time before intervening. That’s our moms for you. They move at their own pace, but when they finally strike, it’s always straight to the heart of the problem.

Anyways, once classes started, I was immediately chosen as class president, and all the teachers seem to like me, which makes the whole Ryan situation a little easier to bear. Of course, being a teacher’s pet isn’t exactly glorious, but hey, I’m not complaining.

This morning’s class is self-study, and what makes it unbearable is the fact that Ryan is in the same room. Just being near him makes the bitter bile in my stomach churn, and I’m this close to walking over and confronting him when Madam Agatha calls me over.

“Mr. Montez, please inform your classmates that we’ll be having a Literature test during today’s lesson,” she says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Make sure to emphasize that attendance is mandatory since this will contribute to your final grade.”

I nod and head back into class.

Clapping my hands to get everyone’s attention, I relay the message. Groans and complaints immediately fill the room.

“Let’s maintain silence,” I say once the whining becomes too much.

The class quiets down, and then someone raises a hand.

“Ummm, Gavin, what could she possibly test us on? We haven’t even studied all that much,” Albert—the professional backbencher—asks.

“Well, over the past two weeks we’ve covered two novels and a play, so if you really think she isn’t supposed to examine us, then that’s on you,” I reply with a shrug.

Another hand shoots into the air.

“What novels are you talking about?” Osbert—Ryan’s new best friend—asks with a smirk.

“Well, we covered Twelfth Night for drama, and then Animal Farm and Pride and Prejudice,” I list.

We usually have Madam Agatha three times a week, and this upcoming lesson will be her ninth session with us.

Osbert isn’t smirking anymore, and a twisted sense of satisfaction makes me smile slightly—until I glance at the person seated beside him and find Ryan staring at me with an unreadable intensity.

I raise a brow at him.

He immediately looks away.

Selective blindness, for sure.

After Madam Agatha gives us the test and finally dismisses us for the day, I notice Ryan seemed to struggle with it. He has never liked novels, always calling them “delusions written by unemployed people.”

The walk home from school takes about thirty minutes, and today I decide to trek instead of catching a ride.

Not long after setting off, I spot Ryan ahead of me on the road and instinctively jog toward him.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Hi,” he replies gruffly.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask.

“Why would you ask that?” he says, glancing at me briefly before quickly looking away.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind. Don’t really want to talk to anyone right now.”

“That’s why you couldn’t defend me?” I ask quietly.

He flinches.

“Didn’t want to cause trouble,” he finally mutters after a long silence.

“Wow.” My voice cracks slightly. “How long would it have taken for you to say even one word in support of me?”

“I said I didn’t want trouble,” he repeats.

The knife already lodged in my chest twists deeper.

I can feel my eyes beginning to water.

“Why? You never used to be afraid of trouble,” I whisper.

“I just grew up, I guess,” he says. Then, after another pause, he adds, “Also… keep your distance from me from now on.”

That completely shatters whatever resolve I had left.

A tear slips down my face, but I make no move to wipe it away. Instead, I simply turn on my heel and walk home with my back as straight as I can force it to be.

Hearing him tell me to stay away after nine years of being practically attached at the hip hurts far more than I ever imagined it would. And somehow, that makes the betrayal even more painful.

It makes me wonder whether maybe I did something wrong and simply forgot.

Or maybe… I just wasn’t enough for him anymore.