The Bully’s Blind Spot

Chapter 2

NATHAN

My alarm goes off at six-thirty, but I'm already awake. I've been lying here for the past ten minutes scrolling through i********:, looking at the photos from last night's party at Jake's house. There's a good one of me and the guys with our arms around each other, all of us holding red cups and grinning like idiots. It's already got over two hundred likes.

I post a comment—"Best night 🔥"—and toss my phone onto the nightstand.

Time to get up and own another day.

I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom. The face looking back at me in the mirror is the same one that's been getting me whatever I want since freshman year. Dark hair that does this perfect messy thing without me even trying. Green eyes. Strong jaw. I'm six-two, lean from soccer, and I know exactly what I look like.

I look good.

Girls have been telling me that since I was fifteen. Teachers go easier on me because of it. Coaches love me. My parents think I'm going places. And honestly? They're probably right.

I brush my teeth, run some product through my hair, and throw on jeans and a black t-shirt. The letterman jacket goes on last—it's got my name embroidered on the front and "Captain" on the back. I earned that. Three years on varsity soccer, two years as captain. I've got scouts looking at me from three different colleges.

Life is pretty damn good.

Downstairs, my mom's already made breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast. She's sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee and her laptop, probably answering work emails.

"Morning, honey," she says without looking up.

"Morning." I grab a plate and load it up. My younger brother, Marcus, is already at the table shoveling food into his mouth like he hasn't eaten in days. He's a sophomore and he's trying way too hard to be like me. It's kind of pathetic, but whatever.

"Big game Friday," Mom says, finally glancing up. "Are we still on for the college visit this weekend?"

"Yeah, Saturday morning," I tell her. "Coach said the recruiter wants to meet with me after the tour."

"That's wonderful, Nathan." She smiles at me like I've already won a championship. "Your father and I are so proud of you."

I know they are. I'm the golden child. Marcus is fine, but he's not me. He doesn't have the grades, the talent, the looks. He's just... average.

I finish breakfast, grab my keys, and head out to my car. It's a black Jeep Wrangler that my parents bought me for my seventeenth birthday. It's not brand new, but it's nice enough. Better than most of the cars in the student parking lot.

I pull into the school parking lot at seven-forty, right on time. Tyler and Jake are already there, leaning against Tyler's truck and waiting for me. This is our routine. We meet up, walk in together, own the hallway before first period.

"Yo, Nathan!" Tyler calls out as I park. He's wearing his letterman jacket too. We all are. It's like our uniform.

"What's up, man?" I get out and lock the Jeep.

"Did you see Becca's story last night?" Jake asks, grinning. "She posted like fifteen pictures of you."

I pull out my phone and check. Sure enough, Becca—blonde, cheerleader, definitely into me—has posted a bunch of photos from the party. I'm in most of them. In one, she's got her arm around my waist and she's looking up at me like I'm the only person in the room.

"She's so obvious," Tyler laughs.

"She's hot," I say with a shrug. "I'm not complaining."

We head toward the main entrance, and I can already feel it—the shift in energy when we walk in. People notice us. Girls smile. Guys nod or move out of the way. It's not arrogance if it's true, right? We run this school.

The hallway is packed with students grabbing stuff from their lockers, talking, laughing. It's loud and chaotic, but I'm used to it. I'm scanning the crowd, not really looking for anything in particular, just taking it all in.

That's when I see her.

Sophie.

She's at her locker, fumbling with the combination. She's wearing this ugly green shirt that's about three sizes too big and jeans that don't fit right. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she's got her head down like she's trying to disappear into the floor.

It's almost impressive how invisible she manages to be. Like, she's Chloe's sister—Chloe, who's a junior and somehow one of the most popular girls in school—but Sophie is the complete opposite. She's just... there. Taking up space but not really existing.

"Yo, check it out," Tyler says, nudging me. "It's Sophie."

Jake snickers. "What is she wearing? Did she raid a homeless shelter?"

I grin. Sophie's an easy target. She always has been. She doesn't fight back, doesn't talk s**t, doesn't do anything. She just takes it. And honestly? It's kind of fun. Not in a mean way—or, okay, maybe it is—but it's not like I hate her or anything. I don't even think about her most of the time. She's just... there.

"Let's go say hi," I say, and the guys follow me.

We walk up behind her, and I call out, "Yo, Sophie!"

She doesn't turn around. She keeps messing with her locker, but I can see her shoulders tense up. She knows it's me.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" I say, louder this time.

She finally gets her locker open and steps inside the hallway, but she still won't look at me. That's fine. I'm not done yet.

"Damn, Sophie, did you get dressed in the dark?" I say, loud enough for people around us to hear. A few of them laugh. "That shirt looks like something my dad wears to mow the lawn."

Tyler jumps in. "Nah, man, I think that's her style. Thrift store chic. Very... homeless."

More laughter. Sophie's face is turning red, but she's not saying anything. She never does.

"Hey, Sophie, where's your sister?" I ask, stepping closer. "How come Chloe got all the good genes and you got... whatever this is?"

That one lands. I can see it in the way her jaw tightens, the way her hands grip her notebook a little harder. Comparing her to Chloe always gets a reaction, even if she doesn't say anything.

Someone nearby—some girl I don't know—says, "Leave her alone, Nathan," but it's half-hearted. No one actually cares.

"I'm just asking a question," I say, all innocent. "I mean, they're sisters, right? You'd think there'd be some family resemblance."

"Maybe she's adopted," Tyler suggests, and Jake cracks up.

Sophie finally gets her locker open and starts grabbing her stuff. Her hands are shaking. I notice that, and for a second—just a second—I wonder if maybe we're pushing it too far.

But then Jake says something else, and Tyler laughs, and the moment passes.

"Aw, look, she's nervous," I say, leaning against the locker next to hers. "What's wrong, Sophie? You scared of me?"

She doesn't answer. She's just trying to get her stuff and leave, but I'm not ready to let her go yet.

"Your dad still MIA?" I ask.

The hallway goes quiet.

I don't know why I said it. I heard something a while back about her dad leaving, and I guess I just filed it away as ammunition. It's not like I think about it or care about it. It's just... there. And it's effective.

Sophie freezes. For the first time, she actually looks at me. Her eyes are wide, and there's something in them—hurt, anger, maybe both. For a split second, I feel something twist in my chest. Guilt, maybe? But then Tyler laughs, and Jake says something under his breath, and the feeling disappears.

"That's rough," I continue, because now I'm committed. "I mean, I get it. If I had a daughter like you, I'd probably disappear too."

Even Tyler looks a little uncomfortable with that one, but he doesn't say anything. No one does.

Sophie slams her locker shut and turns to face me. She doesn't say anything—she never does—but she stares at me for a long moment. Then she turns and walks away.

"Run away, little Sophie!" I call after her. "That's what you're good at, right? Running away?"

The guys laugh, and a few other people join in. Sophie disappears down the hallway, probably heading to the bathroom or wherever she hides.

"Dude, that was brutal," Jake says, but he's grinning.

"She makes it too easy," I say with a shrug.

And that's the truth. Sophie makes it easy. She doesn't stand up for herself. She doesn't try to fit in. She just... exists. And if she's going to be that pathetic, then yeah, I'm going to call it out. It's not personal. It's just what happens when you refuse to even try.

We head to class, and I forget about Sophie almost immediately. I've got a calc quiz third period that I didn't study for, and I need to figure out if I can charm Mrs. Peterson into giving me an extension on my English paper.

Sophie's not my problem. She never has been.

If she wants people to stop messing with her, maybe she should stop being such an easy target.