1 After my parents transferred for work, I found myself enrolled in a complete dump of a high school. To give you an idea of how utterly bottom-tier it was: out of the ten classes in our grade, exactly one of them actually studied. The good news was that I had been placed into this sole honors class. The bad news was that even this class, so the rumors went, was notorious for bullying. My best friend back home had warned me that a bookish nerd like me would be the prime target for anyone looking to terrorize the halls. If I wanted to make it through without getting my life ruined, I had to master one basic rule of survival: Look like someone you don’t want to mess with. “Do I look unapproachable enough yet?” I asked, puffing out my cheeks and trying my absolute best to pull off a menacing glare. My friend had given a weary, helpless sigh. “Oh, sweetie,” she had said. “You just look like a very angry hamster that’s about to aggressively waddle away.” I had been at this school for a full week now. Miraculously, no one had actually bullied me yet. But people kept giving me these strange, lingering looks—a mix of bewilderment and faint pity. And absolutely no one spoke to me. I couldn’t tell if this was the ominous calm before the storm, and the anxiety was slowly eating me alive. After turning it over in my mind a hundred times, I finally hit upon a brilliant strategy. Since I was the softest pushover in the room, why not find someone even softer and pick on them first? After a careful scan of the classroom and a lot of internal debate, my eyes finally landed on the guy who spent his entire day face down on the desk beside me. 2 Noah Sullivan. A guy who spent ten hours at school and slept for eight of them. In the entire week since I’d transferred, I hadn’t seen a single soul utter a word to him. Clearly, he was being ostracized. If my logic held up, he had to be the softest pushover in the entire building. “Hey. Desk-mate,” I whispered, reaching out to give him a tentative poke. “I have a rather awkward favor to ask, and I really need you to say yes.” Noah didn’t move. Not a single peep. Silence meant consent. I forged ahead on my own. “Just so you know… when I start bullying you in a minute, try not to make a sound, okay?” Noah finally shifted. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Bullying who?” Poor guy. Not only was he isolated, but his hearing was shot, too. I enunciated every single syllable very clearly. “Bullying. You.” “You?” A slow, incredulous smile touched his lips. “You’re going to bully me?” I nodded with solemn earnestness. “Yes. But please understand, I have my reasons.” Noah seemed to finally wake up. He reached up, sliding a pair of thin silver-rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Propping his chin in one hand, he tilted his head and looked at me with an amused glint in his eye. “Go ahead. I’m listening. What are your reasons?” I laid out my entire “Junk School Survival Guide” for him. If I let people think I was an easy target, I’d inevitably become fodder for the local delinquents. Therefore, I needed to establish a fierce reputation right out of the gate. Noah listened in silence, taking a long moment to digest my elaborate paranoid manifesto. That was when I finally got a good look at him. He had a high, straight nosebridge and impossibly thick, dark eyelashes. The sharp, predatory line of his eyes was softened just enough by the lenses to make him look refined and scholarly. The corner of his mouth twitched. “So, after scanning the room for a week for the softest target… you landed on me?” I gave him a resolute nod. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy, reckless amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Fine. Let’s see it then. How exactly do you plan to bully me?” 3 It was my first time ever bullying anyone. I was so nervous I swallowed hard three times, straightened my school blazer, and then suddenly launched myself out of my seat. I threw a vicious kick straight at the leg of Noah’s chair. The chair didn’t even budge. Still, the sharp thud was enough to make the entire classroom snap to attention. The noisy, chaotic atmosphere of the mid-morning break instantly evaporated. Dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto me, followed by a collective, audible intake of breath rippling through the rows. It was working! They were already terrified of me! Noah slowly lifted his eyelids, looking up at me from his seated position with an expression of absolute, defenseless innocence. He looked so painfully docile. For a second, my heart twitched with guilt. Too late to turn back now, I told myself. I leaned in close, lowering my voice in a desperate bid to soothe him. “I’m so sorry. Once I’m done bullying you, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Noah’s entire body stiffened. The tips of his ears turned a faint, imperceptible shade of red. I tightened my jaw, plastered on my most menacing scowl, and reached blindly across his desk. The original plan was to swipe his pen, but his desk was completely immaculate—not a single speck of dust, let alone a pen. My hand was already out there, though, and I couldn’t just pull it back empty-handed. With zero hesitation, I snatched up his bottled water instead. Another wave of sharp gasps echoed around the room. In for a penny, in for a pound. I unscrewed the cap and chugged half the bottle in one long, dramatic gulp. Even the gasps stopped at that. Someone in the back let out a choked, “What the actual hell—” Noah shot a cold, lethal glance in that direction. Every single classmate who had been rubbernecking immediately jerked their heads back down to their books. I slammed the empty bottle back onto his desk with a dramatic clatter. “Just so you know, I drank out of that,” Noah said, his voice entirely flat. I choked on air, desperately scrambling to save face. “It’s fine! I don’t mind!” He looked right at me. “What if I mind?” I thrust out an index finger, wagging it back and forth with maximum hostility. “Rule number one of the Junk School Survival Guide: the soft targets don’t get a say.” 4 Ever since I picked on my designated soft target, the looks my classmates gave me shifted dramatically. They went from a mild, sympathetic pity to a solid thirty percent admiration and seventy percent sheer terror. To cement my terrifying new persona, I kept up the abuse. When Noah brought breakfast to school, I snatched half of it. The next day, he brought a double portion. When he fell asleep in class, I yanked him upright by his sleeve and forced him to pay attention. The next day, he showed up wearing earplugs. Naturally, I ripped those out and tossed them in the trash, too. Every time I walked into the room, I made a point of kicking his chair with as much malicious flair as I could muster—followed immediately by a frantic, whispered apology. Noah had the patience of a saint. No matter how much I kneaded, stretched, or tormented him, he never once lost his temper. It was no wonder the rest of the school had isolated him; he was entirely too accommodating for his own good. Of course, I wasn’t a monster. Every time I bullied him, I made a point of making it up to him somehow. Noah never seemed to have textbooks or pens—probably because whoever had terrorized him before had thrown them all away. So, I photocopied my own notes and textbooks, and bought him a pack of ridiculously cute little bear pens. Whenever I had good snacks, I quietly slipped him a share. Whenever I saw a pretty notebook, I split the set with him. Slowly but surely, the clutter on Noah’s desk began to pile up. Even his sad, deflated black backpack ended up decorated with a plush, sardonic little bear charm I’d clipped onto the zipper. 5 On the walk home from school one afternoon, I overheard some kids from my class gossiping about the school’s reigning thug. “Can you believe it?” one of them whispered. “I heard that guy—six-foot-two, built like a brick wall—uses a bear pen now. It’s hilarious.” “Tch, old dogs learning new tricks, I guess. First time he’s ever fallen for anyone.” “Seriously. Think about all the girls and guys who threw themselves at him the last couple of years. He rejected the girls and beat up the guys. Now that he finally grows a heart, he’s acting like a total simp.” I pricked up my ears, trailing behind them, but I never caught the actual name of this infamous delinquent. The next day, I brought it up to Noah. “Do you happen to know who the school thug is?” I asked, blinking innocently at him. Noah’s eyelid twitched. “Why on earth do you want to know who he is?” I chewed on the end of my pen, deep in thought. “Well, if we know who he is, we can actively avoid him, right?” Noah gave me a look that screamed he had a lot of things he wanted to say, but lacked the energy to utter them. Naturally, I assumed that as a low-ranking soft target, he was just as clueless about the school’s criminal underworld as I was. I gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “Don’t worry about it. I heard his crush just reciprocated, so he’s probably in too good of a mood to bother terrorizing anyone right now.” Noah let out a sudden, violent fit of coughing. Sigh. Poor guy. Just hearing the word “thug” was enough to scare him half to death. 6 Sure enough, whenever you dread something, it has a habit of finding you. If I’d known high school was going to be like this, I would have studied harder for my middle school exams and prayed for an early acceptance to boarding school. Walking home that afternoon, I was ambushed by a pack of local punks. Under their casual, casual intimidation, I lost twenty dollars and gained a cup of bubble tea I hadn’t asked for. The next morning, I dragged myself into school looking like a deflated balloon. Noah glanced sideways at my miserable posture and lowered his voice. “What happened?” I slumped across my desk, completely devoid of life. “I’m retiring. The whole ‘acting tough’ thing is a total scam.” “Why?” “Some street punks shook me down for twenty bucks yesterday.” “What?!” The news apparently rattled him to his core. I quickly patted the air between us. “Relax, it’s fine. Twenty bucks is a cheap price to pay for my life.” “I’m not worried about—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, changing tack. “Never mind. Describe what he looked like.” I racked my brain. “Well… his head looked like a bleach-blond with dark roots.” “You know, dyed yellow on top with a solid two inches of dark roots growing out.” Noah couldn’t help it; a snort of laughter escaped him. “Right. I know the type.” He fished his phone out of his pocket, his thumbs flying across the screen as he started texting someone. Our school didn’t bother enforcing a ban on smartphones. It was useless anyway. Besides, letting these problem kids keep their phones was actually a convenient leash; it kept them pacified. A wave of guilt washed over me. I muttered, “I’m really sorry for picking on you all the time. Since this whole act obviously doesn’t work, I’m done harassing you. Deal?” Noah kept tapping away, not even looking up. “Who said it doesn’t work?” “Huh?” “Have you ever considered that you just weren’t bullying me hard enough?” I blinked, thoroughly disoriented. “What?” He lifted his gaze, the light behind his lenses flashing with a sudden, razor-sharp edge. “Haven’t you noticed? Ever since you started bullying me, everyone in this class has been terrified of you.” I paused. Now that he mentioned it… even the class president looked like she wanted to burst into tears every time she collected my homework. Noah looked at me, his expression melting back into something infinitely soft. “Today after school, when the gates are at their busiest… hit me. Really lay into me.” “I promise you, after that, not a single soul will ever dare lay a finger on you.” 7 My stomach was doing backflips. Up until now, I had only ever bullied Noah in front of our immediate classmates. Doing it in front of the entire school was a whole different tier of public execution. Just walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him toward the exit made me feel the weight of a hundred burning stares. Could everyone tell I was about to commit a hate crime? My palms were sweating profusely. I took a massive, shaking breath. “Alright, whenever you’re ready,” Noah murmured, leaning in so close his breath brushed my ear, making me jump out of my skin. Before I knew it, we were standing right in front of the main gates. He was looking down at me with a soft, crescent-eyed smile. “Want me to hold your backpack so you can get more leverage?” The late afternoon sun was dipping behind him, casting a halo of warm gold around his shoulders and sharpening the handsome lines of his face. The evening breeze ruffled the stray locks across his forehead. He looked impossibly gentle, a picture of quiet, effortless grace. For a second, I completely forgot how to breathe. My heart skipped a bizarre, uncoordinated beat. Noah gave me a tiny nod, silently signaling that it was time to strike. I let out a long, ragged exhale, raised my hand, and squeezed my eyes shut. Putting every ounce of force I possessed behind it, I brought my palm down hard against his shoulder. Slap. The world went dead silent. The sound was far too crisp, and the tactile feedback felt completely wrong. I snapped my eyes open. Noah had instinctively ducked his head, turning his face away from the blow. And right there, stark against his pale cheek, was the unmistakable crimson imprint of my hand. 8 At the bustling school gates, the air froze solid for a single, agonizing second. Every single pair of eyes within a fifty-foot radius snapped toward us. My brain completely short-circuited. I swear on my life I had aimed for his shoulder! Who could have predicted he would lean down at that exact microsecond, putting his face right in the trajectory of my swinging hand? Honestly, I wanted to drop to my knees right there on the pavement and beg for his forgiveness. Slapping someone across the face in public was the ultimate violation of human dignity! Yet Noah didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He casually worked his jaw, reached over to take my backpack from my shoulders with practiced ease, and swung it over his own. “Show’s over. Let’s go.” Before I could process it, he slung an arm around my paralyzed, wood-stiff body and steered me away under the weight of a thousand gaping stares. I kept shooting terrified sideways glances at his face. The handprint was fading, but why was his face getting redder? Panic clawed at my chest. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to do that.” “Yeah, I know.” “Should I go buy an ice pack?” “I’m fine.” “Then why is your face still so bright red?” Noah’s stride faltered for a fraction of a second. He turned his head just enough to meet my eyes. “If you keep staring at it like that, it’s going to get redder.” Right. I ripped my gaze away, staring fixedly at the ground, too terrified to look at anything else. Consumed by guilt, I spent the rest of the walk home offering a steady stream of frantic apologies. Noah brushed it off with admirable magnanimity. “Don’t sweat it,” he said with a warm, easy smile. “You’re going to be famous around here by tomorrow morning. I guarantee nobody will ever bother you again.” When we finally reached my apartment building, I nervously twisted the hem of my shirt and dropped into a deep, agonizing bow. “I swear I’m going to make this up to you!” Noah chuckled, handing me my backpack. “Looking forward to it.” “Take your time,” he added softly, “since you’re going to be protecting me from now on anyway.” 9 I racked my brain until my temples throbbed, but I couldn’t come up with a single way to compensate Noah for that accidental face-slap. The little things I’d done before—sharing snacks, buying pens—felt entirely inadequate now. Slapping someone across the face wasn’t something you could fix with a novelty notebook. After tossing and turning all night and running entirely on fumes, I finally crawled out of bed with a brilliant plan. When I got to school, Noah slid a ready-made breakfast sandwich across my desk. “What were you doing last night? You look like a panda.” I snatched the carton of milk and sucked down half of it in one go. “Thinking about you.” Cough! Cough! Cough! Noah, who had been right in the middle of a bite, nearly choked to death. He went into a violent fit of coughing before finally catching his breath, shooting me a look of pure, unadulterated panic. “Thinking about… what?” “You.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He stared at me with unblinking intensity. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and pressed on. “I thought about it all night, trying to figure out how to make it up to you. And I finally came up with something!” “Oh.” Noah turned his head away, clearing his throat. “You were thinking about that.” “What else would I be thinking about?” “Nothing,” he muttered, taking another bite of his sandwich and looking back at me. “So, what’s your master plan?” “Hehehe…” I leaned in close across the aisle. “Get closer. This is a secret.” He tensed instantly, the heat rising all the way to his hairline. “What are you doing?” “Shh, keep your voice down. This isn’t the kind of thing you shout about.” I dragged a thick textbook over and propped it up like a barricade to block the view of anyone looking our way. “This compensation method I came up with… it might feel a little invasive. I’m not entirely sure you’ll be comfortable with it.” Noah’s throat worked again. “…How invasive?” “It involves a fair amount of… compulsion.” The pupils behind his lenses dilated sharply. I chewed my lip, pushing forward. “And once we start doing this, there’s no turning back. You don’t get to quit halfway through.” I looked up—and stopped. Noah’s entire face was so red it looked like it was about to start whistling steam. I tilted my head in confusion. “Why are you so red? Is the classroom that hot?” He stared at me, trapped in a visible war between utter disbelief and grim resignation. “Little scholar… your tastes are… this specific?” I quickly waved a hand. “Well, to be fair, it’s mostly just a healthy outlet for my academic stress.” “Of course, if you really don’t want to do it, I won’t force you.” “That’s why I said we had to keep it quiet. It’s a bit forward. And honestly, I didn’t feel like our relationship had… reached this stage quite yet.” Noah abruptly straightened up in his seat. He yanked off his glasses, pressing the bridge of his nose as he took a series of heavy, measured breaths. “Give me a second. I need to mentally prepare myself.” I blinked obediently. “Take all the time you need!” Then, trying to be encouraging, I added, “Don’t worry, it’s the kind of thing that hurts so good. I promise you’ll grow to love it!” Noah froze mid-motion. He slowly lowered his hand, his handsome brows furrowing in deep perplexity. “How… how did you figure that out? Is it because of that slap at the school gates?” I stared at him, entirely lost. What did any of this have to do with the slap? “I’ve been observing you for a while,” I explained patiently. “I just knew you had a lot of hidden potential.” Noah let out a long, shuddering sigh—the sound of a man whose internal debate had finally reached a brutal, inevitable conclusion. “Fine,” he said tightly. “I’m in.” “Yes!” I pumped my fist in victory. “Alright, let’s start this weekend. At my place. I still need to go pick up some supplies.” Noah’s entire body went rigid as a board. The blush rushed back down his neck, coloring even his ears, and his voice turned distinctly choppy. “We need… supplies?” I gave him a reassuring, confident pat on the shoulder. “Just put yourself entirely in my hands. Trust me, I’m a professional.” 10 Over the next few days, however, things started to feel deeply weird. As I walked down the school hallways, random students—the kind who looked like they regularly terrorized the faculty—would actually stop, look at me, and bow. One or two I might have written off as mistaken identity. But as I walked the short stretch from the classroom to the cafeteria, seven or eight different people bowed to me in sequence. That was getting statistically alarming. Being naturally timid, I didn’t dare ask questions. When they bowed to me, I instinctively bowed back, which apparently only terrified them more because they would double the angle of their waist and practically sprint away. “Desk-mate, have you noticed anything weird lately?” I poked Noah’s arm. The guy who had been dead to the world, face down on his desk a second prior, jerked upright at my touch like he’d been electrocuted. His face flushed bright red instantly. Refusing to meet my eye, he stammered, “Maybe… maybe people around here just really like stretching? Don’t worry about it.” “Then what’s up with you lately?” I narrowed my eyes, inspecting him with mounting suspicion. “Every time I look at you, you look away. Every time I touch you, you jump a mile. And you’re blushing every five minutes…” A sudden flash of understanding hit me, and I dragged out the syllable. “Ohhh~ I know what’s going on!” Panic flashed across his face. “You know what?” I poked him in the chest with an accusatory finger. “Have you been doing something shady behind my back?” Noah’s eyes darted away, muttering under his breath, “Things that happen in dreams shouldn’t count as shady…” He spoke too quietly for me to catch. “What did you say?” “Nothing.” “Fine. Just don’t forget to come over this weekend,” I said, flashing him a bright grin. “The supplies have arrived!” Noah turned a brilliant shade of crimson all over again. I knew there was something wrong with him!
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “546288”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply