Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 6

Billie

"The engine growled low as I pulled out of the lot, tires chewing gravel like they were pissed too. Brandon leaned half out the passenger window of his beat-up Jeep, yelling over the rumble.

"Yo, you're really ditching game night? We got the new map, full squad, I even bought the stupid battle pass just so I could flex on you"

I didn't slow down. "Pass. I'd rather stare at my ceiling than watch you die in the same bush for the third round"

He clutched his chest like I'd shot him. "That bush had emotional value, asshole. You're breaking the sacred bond"

"Sacred bond my ass. You screamed like a toddler when a chicken pecked you last week"

"That chicken was possessed. Everyone saw it"

I flicked my turn signal, already halfway out of the parking lot. "Tell the chicken I said hi. And don't text me mid-game begging for revives. I'm off the clock"

He yelled something about loyalty and betrayal, but the wind ate most of it. I cranked the stereo until the bass drowned him out completely.
Home smelled like burnt garlic and whatever experiment Mom was running in the kitchen.

Finneas was sprawled on the couch like he owned the cushions, controller in one hand, phone in the other.

"You're late" he said without looking up.

"Traffic was busy being dramatic"

He finally glanced over. "School called again. Principal's voice sounded like he's one fight away from early retirement"

I dropped my bag. It hit the floor with a dull thud. "He should retire. Save us both the paperwork"

Finneas paused his game—paused it. That was new. "They're talking expulsion this time. Mom's gonna lose it"

"Let her. Maybe she'll finally admit her perfect little delinquent isn't fixable"

He snorted. "You're not a delinquent. You're just... aggressively selective about who gets to keep their teeth"

I grabbed water from the fridge, twisted the cap hard enough the plastic cracked. "Poetic. You should write that down"

"Already in the group chat. Brandon's calling you 'Traitor and teeth collector now"

"Tell him he's next if he doesn't shut up about that bush"

Finneas laughed—real, surprised. "You're in a mood"

"I'm always in a mood. You're just noticing because you paused your game"

Dinner was the usual battlefield. Mom plated chicken like she was serving peace treaties. Dad sat at the head, scrolling emails, pretending not to eavesdrop.

"So" Mom started, fork hovering, "how was school, sweetheart?"

"School-like. Bells, hallways, mild violence. The usual"

Dad looked up. "We got another call"

I speared a piece of chicken. "Oh! shocker, what did they said?"

Mom's voice softened the way it does when she's trying not to cry. "Billie, honey. We just want you to graduate. Maybe... try a club? Art? Debate?"

"Debate?" I almost choked. "I'd get expelled faster"

Dad chuckled despite himself. "She's got a point. Last time she debated the lunch lady, we got a bill for a new tray cart"

Mom shot him a look. "Not helping"

I shrugged. "Look, I'm not failing. I'm just... creatively absent. And the fights? They start themselves. I just finished them"

Finneas, mouth full, mumbled, "She's basically a hall monitor with anger issues"

"Shut up, Fin"

Mom sighed, long and theatrical. "We love you. We just don't want to visit you in juvie instead of college"

"College is overrated. I'll just sell beats and live in a van"

Dad raised his water glass. "To the van life dream"

Mom elbowed him. Hard. I finished eating in silence, excused myself before the guilt trip could land its second act. I never really, really told anyone about my dream, probably scared of not being able to achieve it. Upstairs, door locked, I flopped onto the bed and pulled out my phone. Scrolling through instagram for about good hour, ignoring text from group chats, Hannah, other friends texting about the fight, Party.

Boredom hit hard. Her contact stared back: my bitch.

I grinned, slow and mean.

Me: You still thinking about that bathroom wall?
Read at 9:14 pm.

Three dots. Stop. Three dots again. Stop.

Her: What do you want

Me: That's not how you greet someone who made you blush so hard. Try again.

Her: I'm trying to sleep

Me: Sleep's overrated. Tell me what you're wearing rn.

Her: Sweatpants. Hoodie. Go away or i block u

Me: Liar. Bet it's that little skirt from earlier. The one that made me wanna bend you over the sink.

Her: You're disgusting. Blocked.

Me: If you do, u know whats gon happen And you're probably wet just reading this. Don't lie.

No dots for a full minute. Then:

Her: I changed your contact name.

I laughed bit into the dark room.

Me: Oh yeah? What'd you pick?

Her: Anna's bitch.

Me: Cute. But mine's better. Yours is literally my
bitch and whore if i want it to be optional.

Her: You're insane.

Me: Insane for you, maybe. Send a pic. Prove you're not lying about the sweatpants.

Her: No.

Me: You are boring, maybe i should train you not to be boring.

Her: You're actually the worst.

Me: And you keep texting back. Kinda tells me everything.

Her: I'm blocking you.

Me: You won't and you still haven't. You like the way your stomach flips when my name pops up.

Her: ...

Me: That's what I thought. Night. Dream about me pinning you to that counter again.

Her: I hate you.

Me: Hate you more. 😈

I locked the phone, rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. Heart still doing that stupid flutter thing. Annoying. Addictive. Tomorrow I'd push harder. See how long it took before she stopped pretending she didn't want it just as bad.