Semua Bab My Bully Next Door: Bab 91 - Bab 100

BeckettBy the end of the day, I’ve officially learned one thing.High school can’t keep a secret to save its life.I don’t think twenty-four hours have passed since I asked Ella to homecoming, and somehow the entire school has already decided it’s the only thing worth talking about.Every hallway conversation seems to stop when I walk by.People glance at me, then whisper to each other.A couple of freshmen actually did a double take when I passed them near the cafeteria, like they thought they’d mistaken me for somebody else.Honestly, I probably would’ve reacted the same way a few months ago.Because if someone had told me back then that I’d be taking Ella Monroe to homecoming…I would’ve laughed.That thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.Not because of Ella.Because of me.Because I know exactly what kind of person I used to be.Practice starts an hour later, but Coach gets held up in a meeting, leaving the locker room unusually quiet.Most of the guys are changing, throwing f

EllaThe library has always been my favorite place on campus.Maybe that’s because nobody expects you to be loud here. Nobody expects you to be funny or outgoing or the center of attention. The shelves don’t care what you’re wearing, the books don’t judge the shape of your body, and the silence has always felt comforting instead of lonely.It’s one of the few places at school where I can actually breathe.Lately, though, even the library feels different.Not because it’s changed.Because I have.Or maybe because everyone else has.The whispers follow me in here too.Not loud enough for the librarian to shush, but quiet enough that they drift between the shelves.“…that’s Beckett Carter’s girlfriend…”“…I still can’t believe it…”“…did you see them holding hands yesterday?”I tighten my grip on my history textbook and force myself to keep walking.Don’t look.Don’t listen.Just keep going.Some habits refuse to die.I find my usual table near the back windows and spread my books across

EllaMy mom has always been the kind of person who notices the little things.She’ll know if I’ve changed shampoo because my hair smells different.She’ll notice if I’ve skipped breakfast because I’ll be quieter than usual.When I was little, she used to claim she could tell what kind of day I’d had at school just by the way I tossed my backpack onto the kitchen floor.I always thought she was exaggerating.Now I’m pretty sure mothers are just terrifying.Because she’s been watching me all week.Not asking questions.Just…watching.I can feel it every time I walk into the kitchen.Every time I smile at a text I pretend isn’t important.Every time I catch myself humming while I wash dishes.She’s noticing.I know she is.Saturday morning starts like every other weekend.The smell of pancakes drifts through the house before I even make it downstairs.Mom is already in the kitchen, wearing one of her old college sweatshirts and humming softly to the radio while she flips another pancake

EllaIf someone had told me two months ago that Beckett Carter would willingly walk across the street just to sit beside me without saying a word, I would have laughed in their face.Not because I hated him.Because I would’ve assumed they were making fun of me.That was the thing about spending years as the joke. Eventually, your brain stopped looking for kindness and started looking for the punchline. Even when someone smiled at you, you found yourself wondering what everybody else was laughing about.I hated that about myself.I hated it even more because Beckett was trying so hard to prove me wrong.The porch swing rocked gently beneath us, creaking every few seconds as the evening breeze drifted through the neighborhood. Somewhere down the street a lawn mower hummed, and someone’s sprinkler clicked rhythmically across a front yard. It was one of those ordinary suburban evenings that felt like it would never end.Beckett didn’t rush to fill the silence.He didn’t flirt.He didn’t

BeckettI used to think changing happened all at once.Like flipping a switch.One day you’re one person.The next day you’re someone better.Turns out…that’s complete bullshit.Real change is quieter than that.It’s waking up every morning and choosing not to become the person you were the day before.And some days…that’s harder than I ever imagined.⸻Monday morning started the way most Mondays did.Too early.Too much coffee.Mason was arguing with my mom because she’d informed him dinosaurs had, in fact, gone extinct.“I still think they’re hiding.”“They’re not hiding.”“You don’t know that.”Laura sighed into her coffee.“I have raised a conspiracy theorist.”“I prefer visionary.”I shook my head as I grabbed a piece of toast.“You’ve been watching too many documentaries.”“They’re educational.”“They’re cartoons.”“They educate me.”I laughed despite myself.A year ago, I would’ve been halfway out the door already, barely paying attention to breakfast.Now…I found myself lin