It Started With a Dare

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 (Re-written)

"Good night, Anna dear," Gran Mary hugged and kissed me on the cheek. "Happy birthday. You take care of yourself, alright?"

"Yes, Gran," I nodded. "You better go. The others are probably waiting for you already."

Gran Mary nodded and gave me one last hug before she left my flat, leaving me alone in the vast room. My birthday party was just a simple dinner with my family. My relatives came and ate dinner then left after giving me presents and having some small chat. Gran Mary stayed behind and helped me clean up. I was thankful for that. I always hated being alone in here.

My parents usually visit on special occasions like Christmas or my birthday, but lately, they haven't been visiting. Dad's daily emails also have been cut down to twice or thrice a month. I tried not to let it get to me. I was just glad that he remembered my birthday though. He gave me a call early this morning. It was short, but it was really meaningful to me. Mum, on the other hand, didn't try to contact me at all. I always think about how she's doing and if she ever worries about her only child.

There nothing much to do after Gran Mary left, and I was still pumped up with sugar from my birthday cake and ice cream. I didn't want to do school work, nor do I want to read a book. I settled on browsing through the internet.

I was browsing through memes and funny clips when my phone buzzed, indicating a new message. Strange, I thought. I looked at the clock. 11:29 p.m., it read. Who would send me a text this late at night? I was sure it wasn't my relatives back in Europe. They made sure that their messages were convenient for me to read in my time. I curiously opened the message.

Unknown number: Happy birthday, Annie-chan!

I felt my blood run cold. I felt cold sweat seeping from my back. Although the number was not recognized, I only knew one person who would call me Annie-chan. It was Alex.

Alex Chase. He was once-upon-a-time my bully and my crush. During middle school, he bullied me non-stop for no particular reason. Anyone who thought he had a crush on me was completely wrong. He tormented me all the time about my weight, my face, and he was also the cause to put my effort to change my British accent because he also teased me about how it made me stand-out and so posh. He made me cry all the time only for him to comfort me, and when I started easing up to him, he would start all over again. Despite all his childish cruelty, the inner masochist side of me developed a crush — my very first crush — for him. Word about it got out, and the bullying intensified. It was a living nightmare.

During my last year of middle school, I was practically singing my praises of the fact that he was transferring to another school building for the start of his high school. The celebration didn't last long though. He visited every single day.

One day, I got fed up. I punched him in the gut. Before I basked myself in satisfaction, he returned a punch to my side. It knocked the air out of my lungs, mostly because I didn't expect him to hit a girl. I hit him again, this time straight at his jaw. I remember laughing when his head snapped to the side. We began to fight in the middle of the school hallway. I didn't care if I got in trouble and got sent to the principal's office. All that matter was releasing all my pent up frustrations to the person to created them.

Fortunately, his best friend, James, caught us both and stopped before anything bad happened. I didn't really understand how Alex was best friends with a person who was as level-headed as James. He talked sense into both of us, so Alex and I got away with little injury, him with a slightly swollen jaw and me with a bruised side.

The next day, Alex called me out. He was not in his mischievous character, which surprised me. He was actually being serious for once. He offered me a truce. He wanted us to be friends. I was very cautious back then, but what teen-age girl didn't want her crush offering his friendship to her? I accepted and offered a handshake. Instead, he pulled my hand and hugged me. I remember how my face flamed up and my insides melted like warm marshmallows.

Then he told me that we was moving.

It was as if he was moving to another country or another state. It was just to the next city. Despite all that, I cried. Really hard. Every time I recalled that memory, I'd cringe. I was such a love-struck teenager that I would cry that much for a boy who bullied me all the time. I was despicable. I needed a slap to the face. My slap was when the next week from we made that truce. He was already gone.

And now he's back.