But my bully just shrugged, their expression unchanging. “We’ll see about that,” they said, before walking away.
I laughed, a bitter sound. “You’re not helping,” I said. “You’re just trying to hurt me. And it’s not going to work.”
As I sat in the living room, watching my mother Yuna interact with my bully, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. It had been a few days since my bully had started to make their move, trying to corrupt my mother’s perception of me. They had been spreading lies and half-truths, trying to make me look like a bad kid in her eyes.