The Bully's Nightmare

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Twenty bucks. I'm telling you, twenty bucks gets you a feel of Mara Hale. Who wants in?

I opened my eyes, and it was ten years ago.

Same classroom. Same peeling yellow walls.

And somebody was taking bets on me.

They snickered. Whispered. Settled it fast.

Weston. You're up.

Yeah, fine, Weston Mercer said. "Easy money."

I stayed slumped over my desk, eyes closed.

And waited for him to walk over.

Last time, that twenty bucks bought my whole life. One photo, passed around the entire class. One nickname: Twenty Bucks. A stepmother who measured my food out by the dollar. A stepsister who climbed while I starved. I blew the one exam that mattered, ran with nothing, and spent ten years clawing my way back.

This time, they pay me back.

A hundred times over.

Chapter 1

Knock, knock, knock.

Weston rapped his knuckles on my desk.

I lifted my head slow, like he'd just woken me up. "What?"

"You free after school? Got something to tell you."

I gave him a long look.

He was doing his best impression of calm. Dead serious, arms loose, like none of this mattered.

"Sure," I said. Nothing on my face at all.

"Cool. Wait for me after last bell."

He turned with a little flourish and strolled back to his seat.

Right on cue, the snickering started behind me.

I didn't need to turn around to know exactly what their faces looked like.

Assholes. Every last one of them.

I put my head back down.

No idea what kind of joke fate was playing, dropping me back ten years.

Ten years ago, I was hungry all the time. So hungry I drank water just to have something in my stomach.

Lunch period, everybody else dozed because they were tired. I dozed because sleeping was easier than starving.

Except I couldn't sleep.

So I heard every word the boys whispered. Video games. Comics. Basketball. Girls.

Me.

Pretty and poor.

A girl like that is a target at any school. But I was a girl, so their ideas got uglier.

They bet twenty bucks.

And the first time I lived this day, I really did follow Weston Mercer into the woods behind the school. For twenty bucks.

He paid. I undid my buttons.

Click.

He took the picture.

By morning it was all over the class group chat.

After that, they called me Twenty Bucks.

When the last bell rang, Weston walked out first. I picked up my bag.

"Let's go," he said.

I followed him without a word.

We left the school grounds and cut toward the woods out back. He kept glancing over his shoulder, like I might bolt.

I pressed a hand to my empty stomach. "Hey."

He turned. "What? We're almost there. Don't tell me you're backing out."

"I'm not," I said. "I'm hungry."

He blinked. Then scoffed.

"So what do you want?"

"Food."

He didn't want to waste the time. He also didn't want to lose his shot. I watched him do the math for about three seconds.

"Fine. Food first."

At the diner I ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

Weston paid.

The place was cramped and greasy, and he wouldn't touch anything in it. He just sat there with his arms crossed, watching me wolf it down.

His lip curled.

"God, Mara. You eat like you're starving."

Chapter 2

I didn't bother answering him.

I'd long forgotten what hunger felt like at eighteen.

But I remembered Rhonda Sutton.

That beautiful woman moved into our house like a virus, daughter in tow, and it didn't take her long to infect my dad.

After that, I was the poor little thing.

Rhonda could calculate, down to the dollar, exactly what it cost to keep a girl alive. That's what she gave me.

Enough for half a loaf of the cheapest white bread.

Per day.

You don't die on that. You just hurt.

Hunger ate whatever I had left for studying. No energy, no grades. No grades, no scholarship, no college. No claim on the family's money, ever.

In that house, only her daughter got fed.

I set down my fork, satisfied.

"Done?" Weston stood up. "Then let's go."

I caught his arm.

He went rigid.

His whole body ran hot, his arm burning through the sleeve like a stove left on.

Ah. Teenage hormones.

Scalding.

His eyes were hotter.

"Mara." He looked down at me, voice gone rough. "You need money?"

I smiled.

What a question. Of course I needed money.

Why else would he have picked me?

"Come to the woods," he said.

I shook my head. My hand slid up his arm, slow, and I leaned in until there was nothing between us. My lips grazed his ear.

"...Next door," I whispered.

Down a dim, narrow alley, one word burned neon through the dark: MOTEL.

Weston swallowed.

Inside the room, his breathing got heavier. He backed me into the door and held himself there, shaking with the effort of not moving.

Right. Eighteen. No experience. All engine, no nerve.

"Shower first?" I said. "You or me?"

He surfaced and gave me a look. Suspicious. Probably wondering how a girl like me knew the drill.

"You go first, then," I said.

He looked at me like I was something scraped off his shoe and shoved his backpack into my arms.

"I'll be quick."

"No rush."

The bathroom door clicked shut.

I opened his backpack and dug out the camera.

Then I picked up the room phone and dialed.

There was a massage parlor at the mouth of the alley. A woman had been sitting by the door, bored, when we walked past. Her number was painted right on the glass.

I never forget a number.

She picked up. I gave her the room number. Hung up.

Then I went back into the bag and found his wallet.

A fat stack of cash.

Weston Mercer was a rich kid. His dad owned the biggest supermarket chain in the county, and he loved his son the way rich men love their sons.

In cash.

Weston had plenty.

I only wanted half. The other half would cover the lady's fee.

Right on time, the doorbell rang.

And the shower shut off.

Weston stepped out of the bathroom. "Why are the lights off?"

Nobody answered.

The bedside lamp glowed low. On the bed, under the covers, a body-shaped lump.

His breath came faster. When he spoke, his voice shook.

"Mara?"

Chapter 3

He crossed the room and bent down, robe knotted at his waist, a boy's thin shoulder blades showing.

I ran my tongue over my teeth. This part, I was going to enjoy.

In the dark, nothing but his ragged breathing. Then he flipped back the covers.

Soft arms wound around his neck.

He tumbled onto the mattress, two bodies tangling.

Then I hit the lights.

Click.

I took the picture.

Weston's eyes blew wide. He just sat there, frozen. Total system failure.

The woman from the massage parlor glared at me. "What is this? This is not what we agreed."

I held up a hand. Wait. Then I raised the camera and smiled at him.

He came back online all at once. "MARA."

"One photo, 0-0,000." I tossed his wallet onto the bed. "I already took my half. Left you enough to pay the lady."

I turned to her. "Your fee's on him."

Then I picked up my bag and walked out. No hesitation.

Behind me, Weston scrambled off the bed to chase me down.

"Stop right there!"

"Mara! You think you can play me and just walk?!"

"Nobody's paid me yet. Where do you think you're going?"

"Let go of me!"

"Money first! Or you don't leave!"

Dog eat dog.

I slammed the door on all of it.

Serves him right.

Ten years ago, I lived hard.

Because I was too young.

A girl that young has no way to earn. Her body is the only thing she owns.

That deal with Weston bought me one week of food.

It also cost me my name.

My half-bare body, saved forever on the boys' phones.

Notes in my desk, every single day, asking my price.

Twenty not enough? How about thirty?

What about just looking? No touching?

The girls went the other way. They kept their distance, pinched their noses when they passed me, traded looks, traded little knowing smiles.

My life dropped from hell to the floor beneath it.

Nobody hit me. Nobody said a word to my face.

I just got whipped in silence. Every day. Again and again.

So I would not make the same mistake twice.

At thirty, I knew exactly how to play this game.

Weston Mercer had it coming.

I hummed the whole way home. 0-0,000 would carry me through the next six months. Then the exam. Then somewhere far, far away from this town.

Weston showed up late the next day.

He looked like death warmed over.

I'd already heard. His parents got called in.

The woman from the massage parlor filled me in: he refused to pay, made a scene, and the motel staff got nervous. They dug out his student ID and called the school. The school called his dad.

His dad paid.

Silly boy. All that wounded pride over a bill.

Should've just paid the lady.

My mouth twitched.

He caught it. His glare could have eaten me alive.

I turned my face away and huffed a laugh.

Chapter 4

Murder in his eyes.

Some genius wandered over anyway. "Hey, Wes. How'd it go yesterday?"

"You score?"

"Score my ass!"

The kid blinked. "Whoa. What's with you?"

"Get out of my face!"

He kicked a desk over. The whole room gasped.

I didn't turn around. I spun my pen and circled key points in my brand-new prep book like none of it had anything to do with me.

This was a small lesson. A tiny one.

I just didn't feel like being called Twenty Bucks again.

Ten years from now, that name couldn't touch me. Thirty-year-old me was a wall. Nothing from those years left a mark anymore. I'd sanded the past down smooth.

But not yet.

Eighteen-year-old Mara still cared.

After school, he blocked my path again.

No patience this time. I barely lifted my eyes. "Move, or I start screaming."

"Scream!" His grin turned ugly. "You burned me, Mara. I'm not done with you."

I tilted my head and smiled. "And what's the plan? Another motel?"

His face did something spectacular.

Mouth open. Mouth shut. Then, crude as a slap: "Cheap."

I took out the camera.

"Give that back!"

"Who's cheap?" I asked.

Nothing. His chest heaved. His face went red to the ears.

Almost funny. His skin just wasn't thick enough. A boy with real nerve would've worn that photo like a medal.

But there's no sport in kicking someone who's already down.

I tossed the camera over. "Keep it."

He caught it, head down, thumbs flying. Deleting.

Then he looked up. "You backed it up."

"What do you think?"

Of course I did. That photo was my leverage.

His jaw worked. "What do you want from me?"

I crooked a finger at him.

Under this eighteen-year-old skin was a thirty-year-old soul. Cold. Mean.

He leaned in. I bared my teeth and gave him exactly one word.

"Scram."

I wanted nothing to do with him.

I had bigger problems.

A stepmother. A stepsister. The two roadblocks in my way.

They took me down once.

There would not be a second time.

Weston was a side character.

I stopped wolfing down dinner.

Rhonda noticed fast.

Dinner used to be the one meal I could fill up on. I used to inhale it like I was trying to choke.

Now I ate three meals a day. Dinner just wasn't urgent anymore.

Rhonda started to suspect.

But she had no proof.

She even went through my things. My backpack. My pillow. My mattress. Nothing.

The 0-0,000 had been sitting under my stepsister Mackenzie's bed for days.

Rhonda would never find it.

But she wouldn't stop, either.

A person who comes up empty is the most dangerous kind.

She was winding up for something bigger.

Chapter 5

"Don't celebrate yet." Mackenzie smiled. "You can't hide it forever. My mom has ways of dealing with you."

Her voice was pure certainty. "Mara, we know you got money from somewhere."

I kept my head down and read. Deaf.

She settled onto her bed, generous, like she was doing me a favor. "Why study so hard, anyway? Even if you get in somewhere, my mom will never let you go."

I turned and looked at her.

"Save yourself the effort," Mackenzie said.

That look was on her face again. That mild, elevated little smirk. The one that said: work as hard as you want, I can cut your road whenever I feel like it. Crushing you costs me nothing.

"This is my house," I said.

She blinked. She hadn't expected me to talk back.

But she didn't get angry. The soft smile came right back. "And?"

"Sooner or later, Mara, I'm going to have you thrown out of it."

I stared at her, flat.

"Want to test it?" she said. "See whose house this really is?"

As if on cue, the door swung open.

My dad stood in the doorway.

"Brought you girls a treat." He held up a bag. "Peanut butter cookies. Kenzie, share with Mara."

"Okay!" Mackenzie skipped over, took the bag, tipped her face up. "Thanks, Daddy."

He ruffled her hair. Then he looked at me.

"Still studying? Don't stay up too late."

"Got it," I said.

The door closed. Mackenzie bit into a cookie. "Want one?"

She didn't wait for an answer. "Oops. Forgot." A smile. "You're allergic to peanuts."

She was delighted with herself.

The cookies were from my dad. He'd told me to have some, too.

He didn't even remember what I was allergic to.

I found out soon enough what Mackenzie meant by my mom has ways.

Monday morning, Mr. Foster was halfway through announcements when Rhonda burst into the classroom.

Why did I steal money from home? What shameful thing did I spend it on?

"Mara, you cannot do things like this. Anything you want, you come to me, sweetheart, I'll buy it for you. But you do not steal." Her voice cracked with heartbreak. A performance with her whole chest.

Every eye in the room landed on me.

I kept my face cold. "I didn't."

"I don't believe you." She started tearing through my desk, sweeping my books and papers to the floor. "Fine. Deny it. When I find it, we'll see what you have to say."

I understood then. She thought I'd hidden the money at school.

She found nothing.

Mr. Foster snapped out of it and caught her arm. "Mrs. Sutton, whatever this is, let's discuss it in my office. Not in front of the class."

"Come on. My office. Mara, you too."

In the office, Rhonda cried like her lungs were giving out.

"Mr. Foster, I had no choice. If I had any other option, I would never bring this to the school. It's just... Mara is out of control."

"What exactly happened?"

"$500 is missing from my wallet. Mara is the only one who's been in my room."

Mr. Foster looked at me. "Mara?"

"I didn't take it. I'm not the only person living in that house."

Chapter 6