My Next Door Bully

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 - READY? ... GO!

THE REST OF THE week flies fast and before I know it, it's the weekend. I'm working on a history paper at eight in the morning.

Now, I know what you're thinking: what kind of person does homework on a weekend this early? Well ... me. And I'm so focused on researching and writing in a rhythm that I don't realize until the sound is too loud to ignore.

I head over to my window to find Ashton throwing rocks at my window. Before he could see me, I duck and stay on the floor, out of his view. I cannot let him see me, if he does then I'd have to engage in a conversation. I try to roll on the floor back to the comfortable spot on my bed, unfortunately I hit my head on the way..

"C'mon, Bell, I saw you!" His voice sounds muffled on the other side of the glass, but I know I've been caught.

I stand up and turn the latch on my window to get it open.

"What?" I harshly ask, sliding the window up, and rubbing my head where I banged it on a chair.

He's wearing dark jeans, a gray hoodie under his loose red flannel shirt, and a backwards baseball cap on his head with black sneakers. "What are you doing?" he asks calmly like it's the most obvious question one asks after throwing stones on a window at this time of the day.

I roll my eyes, "couldn't you have knocked on the door? ... Like a normal human being?" He gives me a hard look, so I answer his question, "working on a paper." I beg the gods or anything, that this is a good enough excuse to get me out of this interaction.

His eyebrows lift almost as high as his hairline and I know what he's thinking, this early? "When is it due?" he crosses his arms over his chest.

"... Tuesday."

"I thought so. Put something warm and meet me outside." He shifts his weight from foot to foot waiting for my response.

"What on earth makes you think I'll do that?" I ask. I can feel the annoyance running through me.

"I don't. But I hope you say yes. So ... please say yes?" he holds his hands together in a pleading motion. "I'll only need one hour of your time tops."

I narrow my eyes, thinking this through. I could shut the window and go back to my happy space writing, or I could go with the person who almost ruined my life.

I groan, "fine."

I'm sliding the window shut when he says, "and bring your camera."

When I was twelve years old, I became extremely obsessed with looking at things differently behind a lens. Like adjusting views and shades, and seeing the things one misses with the naked eye. I loved it so much behind my phone and basically, any old school camera, my birthday, monthly allowance, and Christmas money could buy. (To this day I have more than ten different cameras like disposable ones filled with memories I haven't quite gotten discarded or super old ones that I'm afraid to touch because I'm scared I'll damage them).

I saved up for a whole year straight on all those things so I could buy the Canon camera of my fantasies. And when I finally did, it was a dream come true. I took so many pictures I had to buy three thirty-two gigabyte sd cards to hold the tons of pictures I took. And not only the big things like a friend's birthday party or witnessing my mom taking people's orders and smiling politely. But also catching people off guard and all the little moments that no one knew could be so special; from smiling to themselves to washing the dishes or just being in a bad mood. I thought it really caught the essence of nature at one being their true selves.

I adored photography.

Until Ashton.

We were friends at the time, so most of my pictures were of him and us hanging out at all hours of the day. Sleepovers, park hangouts, museums. I caught everything that mattered to me and made our friendship so special. When he started being distant, I didn't do photography as much, but I stopped altogether when the bullying started. I feel to this day like I don't deserve to see things behind a lens, I think it's too sacred and special.