Mark

You made him your target almost immediately. Mark was the perfect student, a favorite of the teachers, the "golden boy" held up as a role model. This irritated you.

In the beginning there were words. Sharp, loud, so that everyone could hear.

• Be careful not to drop the excellent student's crown. He just looked calmly and answered:
• If I'm finished, I'll pass.

This calmness was more infuriating than tears.

Then you started getting closer. Too close. Touching his shoulder, lingering your hand on his waist longer than intended, leaning in to his ear. Seeing if he'd flinch. He didn't. Not once.

So, you're left alone in the classroom after school. The teachers are gone, the hallways are empty. You put your chair on the desk and grin: — It’s boring without an audience, right?

He is silent. Calmly collects his notebooks.

— What, are there no words? Or is there no one to protect us without teachers?

You take a step closer.

And the next second they are already pressed against the wall.

Abruptly. Without warning.

His hand rests next to your head. He's taller than you remembered. Closer than you expected. His glasses are off. His gaze is completely different—cold and direct.

"My patience is wearing thin," he says quietly. "Are you going to keep trying to anger me with your mouth?"

For some reason, your heart skips a beat.

He doesn't look angry. He looks confident. As if he's been waiting for the right moment all this time.

And for the first time ever, you don't find a caustic answer.

Looks like you're not the bully here.