Chapter 1
“I’m a Total Loser”
Sitting on the steps with my legs tucked under me, I watched the students buzzing around campus with a blank stare. Man, they all got on my nerves. I’d made a promise to myself to tough it out, no matter what life threw at me. I’d survived losing my mom and dad. So, whatever was happening now? It felt like small potatoes in comparison.
I don’t cry over spilled milk. I’m not some goth kid dreaming of sleeping in a graveyard and avoiding human contact for months. I’m not an athlete, not “Miss Popularity,” and definitely not part of the chess club.
No, I’m different.
Crazy, freak, outsider, loser… That’s just the start of the nasty labels my classmates slap on me. I try to act tough, but I gave up on that a long time ago. When people keep pointing fingers and telling you to get lost, you just grit your teeth and take it. Most of the folks at Beckson University? I’ve known them since high school.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath to calm myself down. What they did to me in first period today got under my skin. Locking me in the bathroom for half the class? I could handle that. But when they showed everyone a photo of me showering after gym class, that pushed me over the edge.
Yeah, I tried to fight back. But everything always backfired, and I just kept eating their crap. “Deal with it or fight,” I told myself, and I chose to deal. Accepting that I’m a loser is easier than constantly battling an invisible enemy.
Letting out a sigh, I opened my eyes. For a split second, I couldn’t figure out what had happened, and my vision went dark. Shaking my head, I tried to see who’d thrown the ball at me. Some guys from the university football team were cracking up, their girlfriends in pricey outfits cackling with mean-spirited laughter. Even a couple of goths hanging by the flowerbed under a tree smirked.
Shaking my head again, I rubbed my eyes and shot them a glare. Then I felt something drip onto my hand. Looking down, I saw blood. One of the jocks, a dark-haired guy, broke away from his pack of buddies. Grinning, he shouted:
“Hey, little Karla, toss me the ball!”
I flinched. Dropping my head, I scanned the ground for the ball. It was a few feet away. I’d have to stand up to reach it. Blood kept dripping from my nose onto my light jeans and dark burgundy long-sleeved blouse.
“Damn it,” I muttered, shoving my hand into my bag’s pocket to find something to wipe it with.
The jeans were a lost cause, but the blouse might be salvageable. My grandma taught me that spending a ton of money on clothes was just another waste. But I remembered different times…
My life’s split into two parts: with my parents, and after them. They died when I was barely ten. Their death hit me like a truck. For weeks, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I retreated into my own world, turning into an introvert, always lost in my head and my thoughts. I changed.
Grandma Grace raised me the way she thought was right. And when I pushed back or refused to obey, she pretty much gave up on me. If my parents were still alive, none of this nightmare would be happening.
Deal with it or fight. I dealt. I dealt with everything.
“Come on, toss it!” Andy yelled from below.
Pulling out a tissue, I pressed it to my nose and tried to stand. The world spun, and I plopped back down.
“Toss it!” the guy insisted, no longer smiling.
“I can’t,” I croaked, realizing I was seconds away from passing out.
“What?!” he asked, not catching my reply. “What’re you mumbling about?”
My vision darkened, and I fought to stay conscious with everything I had. Once I came to, they’d definitely seize the chance to mess with me again. I felt worse by the second. I could barely make out Andy approaching, saying something to me. I couldn’t hear the words over the ringing in my ears. Tilting my head, I knew: this was it. I didn’t have the strength to hold on anymore.
The last thing my brain and eyes registered was me collapsing right into Andy’s arms.
***
“No!” I screamed. “Enough!”
“Karla?!” a woman’s voice called out, but I kept yelling and pushing the nurse away.
Then someone grabbed my arms and said firmly:
“Calm down! You’re fine. Nobody’s trying to hurt you.”
It was Andy talking to me. What was he doing here?
Gasping for air, I opened my eyes and stared at the guy. He was leaning over me, holding me tight. With effort, I tore my gaze away and looked around. A little farther off stood the nurse, who doubled as the school doctor since no one had wanted to work here for the past two years. They all dreamed of the big city, where there were more opportunities and better pay.
“What’s wrong with me?” I asked, feeling a throbbing pain in my head.
“You tell me,” the older woman replied. “This is the fifth time this month you’ve ended up here. What happened this time? Slipped in the shower and fell? What was it?”
Lowering my eyes, I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t just blurt out the truth. If I did, I’d be done for.
“Let go,” I asked Andy.
He stared at me intently, making it clear: if I opened my mouth, my life would turn into an even worse hell. Stepping aside, he asked Mrs. Macintosh:
“Can I go now?”
“Yes. Thanks for helping Karla,” the woman replied with a smile.
“Anytime,” the guy grinned back, shooting me one last stern look before leaving.
Once we were alone, the nurse asked:
“So, Karla, what happened? You can talk now that he’s gone.”
“Nothing,” I said, sitting up on the couch. “I just felt sick.”
“Just felt sick? Well, my dear, that big bump on your head says otherwise. Did they hit you?”
I was speechless. I stared in fear at the woman who’d been a friend of my late mother. She was the only person in this town who treated me decently.
“What are you talking about?!” I protested. “Nobody hit me. I felt dizzy. Got overheated in the sun.”
I gestured toward the window, where autumn sunlight streamed through the blinds.
“Overheated in the sun? I’m not buying it. You’ve got a bump the size of a walnut. How do you explain that?”
“I hit my head.”
“Hit your head?” Mrs. Macintosh echoed, sitting down at her desk. “And what if next time they kill you?”
Letting out a heavy sigh, I asked:
“Who’s gonna kill me? I don’t get it. Look, nobody hit me. I passed out and bumped my head.”
“Fine,” she said, slapping her knees as she stood up. “I’ll pretend I believe you. But consider this the last time.”
“Thanks,” I breathed out, feeling awful.
“You need to rest. I’ll write you a note. You can go.”
Turning away, she started scribbling something. I swung my legs to the floor, straightened up, and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea. But it passed quickly. On unsteady feet, I headed for the door.
“Karla, wait,” Mrs. Macintosh called after me. “Take this.” A small packet of yellowish pills appeared in my hand. “Take them three times a day after meals if your head starts hurting.”
“What are they?”
“For headaches,” she replied, opening the door for me. “Don’t let them do this to you.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.
Ignoring my question, she said:
“Come back in two days. If the dizziness and nausea don’t go away, you’ll need to see a doctor.”
Stepping into the hallway, I turned to look at the closed door. I didn’t want anyone else to know what really happened. In the past, I’d lied a lot when conversations turned to stuff like this. Lied without shame or guilt. What else was I supposed to do? I’d accepted what was happening. For the rest of my life, I’d be a loser with a capital L.
Approaching my dorm room door, I listened. It was quiet inside—guess my roommates were out somewhere. In this place, I had just one friend left from high school—Sophie. She’d been there for me in my darkest moments. Always stopped me when I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, reminding me that they weren’t worth the sacrifice. I held it together, and that’s what mattered.
Stepping into the room, I glanced around, half-expecting some kind of prank. My roommate ignored me most of the time. Weirdly, she wasn’t here either. Good. I could’ve lived with Grandma in my parents’ old house. But I didn’t want to burden her, and it’s hard for me to sleep in a place where everything reminds me of the past.
Sitting on my slightly rumpled bed, I let out a heavy sigh and dropped my head onto the pillow. My mind was a mess, one bad thought after another. Still feeling Andy’s touch on me, for the first time in years of being untouchable, I felt… something. Unfamiliar emotions flooded my soul. And yet, it was fear when Andy touched me.
I wonder what it’s like when a guy you love touches you? What do you feel?
Excitement? Joy? Love?
Love. What does it taste like? Sweet, or maybe with a hint of bitterness? I’ll never know. No matter how hard I try, I’m just me. And nothing’s gonna change that.
A single tear rolled down my cheek.
I woke up to the sound of the door slamming shut. Startled, I sat up, rubbing my sleepy eyes. Sophie stood in the doorway. Her short, curly blonde hair was messily tied into a small braid. Usually, she looked cheerful, but right now, she seemed worried about something. Flopping onto her bed, she took a deep breath and said:
“You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Believe what?” I asked, yawning widely, suddenly curious.
Sitting up straight, Sophie was practically glowing. Something had definitely happened to her, no doubt about it.
“Karla, I got asked out on a date!” she blurted out in one breath.
“Cool,” I nodded, feeling another wave of dizziness.
“What, you’re not happy for me?” Sophie asked.
She got up from her bed and sat next to me.
“No, I am. Honestly.”
“Then what’s wrong?” she pressed, frowning as she studied me.
“The fact that I was born,” I muttered darkly, turning away from her.
Sophie’s hand lightly touched the bump on my forehead.
“Who did this? Karla, you can’t keep letting them get away with everything. Hear me out. They’re gonna kill you one day and not even blink, then dump your body in the river.”
I shot her a terrified look. By nature, I’m a kind person and don’t hold grudges for long. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn the other. Isn’t that what the Bible says?
I’m a believer, but not a fanatic. I love listening to rock music: “The Cure” or, say, “The 69 Eyes.” I can’t stand pop music or Britney Spears, while other girls go nuts over her whining. I hate snobs and those ditzy, long-legged cheerleaders and their jock boyfriends.
Maybe my problems come from letting people walk all over me? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
“You really think that?” I asked cautiously, my heart pounding as I waited for her answer.
“Maybe they do mess with you. But I don’t think they’d go as far as murder. Too risky. They don’t have the guts,” Sophie replied with a smirk, then quickly asked:
“So, what happened?”
Propping myself up on my elbows, I quietly said:
“Andy threw a ball at me.”
“Really? Good thing it wasn’t a rock,” she remarked, folding her hands in her lap. “And then what?”
“Nothing. I’ve got a bump on my head, and apparently, he carried me to the nurse’s office.”
“Who carried you?”
“Andy!” I said, louder than I meant to.
Covering my mouth with my hand, I listened. Paranoia. Who could be eavesdropping on us?
“No way,” Sophie said skeptically, eyeing me suspiciously.
“I swear. You can ask Mrs. Macintosh,” I assured her, squeezing her hand.
“Wow,” Sophie drawled. “This day is full of surprises.”
“Why? Wait. Who asked you out?”
Smiling dreamily, she replied:
“Chris Grant.”
“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed, managing a smile.
“Nope,” she shook her head.
“Hold up. Isn’t he Andy’s friend?”
“Yup,” she nodded, still grinning like a lunatic.
“You’re seriously gonna go out with him?”
I was a little shocked at how blunt I sounded asking her that.
“Yeah,” she said firmly, then asked suspiciously, “Are you jealous?”
I coughed, choking on my own spit. That hadn’t even crossed my mind.
“Have you lost it? Jealous of what? Do you hear yourself?” Her words pissed me off. “Andy and his buddies are my enemies. What kind of jealousy are you talking about?”
“That a guy asked me out.”
Her absurd statement almost made me burst out laughing. I held it together with everything I had to avoid damaging our friendship even more. Though, I’ll admit, if someone else had asked her out—someone not from the football team, like a guy from the model airplane club—I’d have taken it better.
Sophie needed to get it through her head how much crap they’d put me through. How they’d bullied me, mocked me, shoved me, thrown paper and food at me. Seems like she forgot all of that the second a football player spoke to her. I get it. Who needs a loser friend with a capital L?
“You’re an idiot,” I sighed, dropping my head back onto the pillow.
“What did you say?” Sophie snapped, leaning toward me.
“You’re an idiot,” I repeated.
Standing up, Sophie looked ready to pounce on me for the insult. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I looked up at her, waiting to see what she’d do.
“You gonna stand by that?” she asked.
“Not taking it back,” I replied, knowing I was in the right here.
Sophie was betraying me by hanging out with this Chris Grant—a hotshot football player. She stepped back, shaking her head. Looking me up and down, she delivered a pretty harsh speech:
“I feel sorry for you, Karla. You’re stuck in your own mess, wallowing in it, and you don’t want to change. You’re selfish!”
The door slammed shut behind Sophie. For a few more minutes, I could hear her footsteps fading down the hallway.
“Yeah,” was all I could manage to say in that moment.
I wasn’t about to apologize. For what? For the fact that she sees everything through rose-colored glasses? I took mine off a long time ago, forgetting what it’s like to be a carefree teenager. I used to dream of nice things: shopping sprees, cool friends. And what did I get instead?
My grandma’s resentment, classmates’ mockery, and constant bullying. Why they hated me so much, I had no idea. That was the worst part of it all.
Now even Sophie. The only person in the whole world who, at least a little, understood me, had turned her back on me. I had no choice but to accept it. But I wasn’t gonna trail after her, begging her to listen. No, I’m not like that. Fine, let me be the bad guy, cold and indifferent.