I didn't expect Stacey to burst into our classroom like that, her perfectly manicured nails drumming against the doorframe, her smile sweet, her tone almost affectionate.
“Hey, Archibald,” she said, tilting her head. “Are you picking me up tomorrow for Froshie’s Night?”
Marcus barely looked up from his notes. “Nah. Going with the boys.”
Stacey’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, flipping her hair. “Oh, okay… I’ll see you there, then.” She cast a fleeting glance at me before turning and leaving the room.
I blinked, confused. “Froshie’s Night?”
Marcus looked at me, leaning back in his chair. “Big event for all the freshmen. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
He snorted. “Everyone’s invited. Just show up.”
* * *
Standing in front of my mirror that evening, I barely recognized myself. My hands trembled as I smoothed down the blue dress – my mother's dress. The fabric hugged my curves in a way that made me feel both terrified and powerful.
I'd spent an hour on my makeup, trying to remember everything I'd learned from countless YouTube tutorials.
My hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders, and for once, I didn't hate what I saw in the reflection.
The party was already in full swing when I arrived. The bass thrummed through the floorboards, vibrating up through my heels.
As I stepped through the door, the conversations around me stuttered to a halt.
Eyes widened, heads turned, whispers started. I forced myself to keep walking, even as my heart hammered against my ribs.
Through the crowd, I caught sight of Marcus. He was standing with his usual group, but his eyes were fixed on me, his expression unreadable.
Stacey clung to his arm, whispering something in his ear, but he didn't seem to notice.
Something hot and unfamiliar coiled in my chest at the sight of them together.
I made my way to the drinks table, grateful for something to do with my hands. The first drink burned going down, but the second was easier. By the third, the edges of the room had softened, and the weight of everyone's stares felt lighter.
"Care to dance?" I turned to find a stranger smiling at me – tall, handsome, with kind eyes that crinkled at the corners.
In another life, maybe I would have been thrilled by his attention. But right now, all I could think about was Marcus's gaze burning into my back.
I let him lead me onto the dance floor anyway.
The alcohol made everything feel dreamlike, surreal. His hands found my waist, and we swayed to the music. When he leaned in, his intention clear, I froze.
My first kiss. This could be my first kiss.
But before his lips could touch mine, he was suddenly gone. In his place stood Marcus, his face dark with something that looked almost like anger.
His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him possessively. The other guy backed away, disappearing into the crowd without a word.
I stared up at Marcus, my head spinning.
The room felt too hot, too small. His face was inches from mine, and all I could think about was how many times I'd imagined this moment in my diary.
How many times I'd wondered what his lips would feel like against mine.
His expression softened for a moment, his lips parting as if to say something. But then Stacey's voice cut through the music like a knife.
"Hey, everyone!" The sound of her voice through the speakers made my blood run cold.
I turned toward the stage, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
There, in Stacey's perfectly manicured hands, was my diary – the small blue notebook I'd poured my heart into.
"I hope you're all having a great time!" she continued, her voice sickly sweet. "As the student council president and head cheerleader, I'll only take a few minutes of your time to welcome our new freshmen! Especially my dear stepsister, Bethany. But you might know her better as Fatty Betty, of course."
Marcus's hand tightened on my waist, trying to pull me away, but I couldn't move. My feet felt cemented to the floor as Stacey's words washed over me like acid.
"What you don't know, though, is that she's quite the little writer. Just listen to this!"
The room spun as she began to read. My most private thoughts, my deepest fears, laid bare for everyone to hear. Each word was a knife in my chest, twisting deeper and deeper.
"When I started university, I thought—no, I hoped—that things would be better. A new place, a new crowd, new opportunities. But as it turns out, the only 'new' thing is bullying. Do I really deserve this? Does anyone deserve to be humiliated just for being who they are?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd. I wanted to run, to hide, to disappear into the floor. But I couldn't move.
"I miss my old life so much. I miss my mom. I miss who I used to be before they turned me into a bait for a joke."
Stacey's voice dripped with mock sympathy. "How melancholic and depressing, Betty! Come on, there must have been something good in your miserable life, right, guys?" she turns to the crowd, who laughs and cheers in response. “And you’re absolutely right, you all! Something good did happen—looks like our little Fatty Betty has a bad crush!’”
I knew what was coming next. The worst part. The part I'd never wanted anyone to know, especially not him.
"It feels strange. Wrong. I shouldn't feel this way about someone who despises me probably more than anyone else. But I can't stop thinking about his touches, the way his stormy eyes lock onto mine. All my thoughts are about feeling them again. I wonder what my first kiss with him would be like. How would his lips taste? Would they be rough and demanding, or soft and gentle? What would it feel like to kiss the golden boy of the university—Marcus Archibald?"
The world stopped. Every breath felt like glass in my lungs. The crowd's reaction – the laughter, the whistles, the shocked gasps – seemed to come from far away, muffled by the roaring in my ears.
I turned to look at Marcus, and for a moment, our eyes met.
Something flickered across his face – surprise? Regret? But before he could speak, Stacey delivered the final blow.
"Well, well, well, our dearest Marcus Archibald, you've officially won the bet—you actually managed to make our Fatty Betty fall for you! Let's give him a round of applause! And Tristan, you now owe him a thousand bucks, you jerk!"
The truth hit me like a physical blow. Every moment, every touch, every look – it had all been a lie.
A bet. A game.
I stared at Marcus, tears blurring my vision. "Why, Marcus?" The words came out broken, barely above a whisper. "What have I ever done to you?"
I didn't wait for his answer. I couldn't bear to hear whatever excuse he might try to give. I turned and ran, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the laughter and whispers that followed me.
My mother's dress caught on something and tore, but I didn't care.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out, until the music faded into the distance, until the only sound was my own broken sobs echoing in the empty night.