The Time I Sat on the School Bully and Made Him Cry Chapter 1

During my heaviest, most innocent year of high school, I accidentally sat on the school bully and made him cry.

The harder he cried, the more pumped up I got. I threw a leg over him, pinned him down, and wiggled around a few times.

It felt a bit... lumpy.

After that day, whenever he saw me, he ran away so fast he practically left a dust trail.

Three years later, at our high school reunion, my classmates joked:

"Chloe is so skinny now, she could never make Liam cry by sitting on him again."

Liam shifted forward in his seat and casually crossed his legs.

My entire body flushed hot, my face turning red all the way down to my neck.

* * *

I had completely forgotten what Liam looked like.

For the entirety of high school, he ran away the second he saw me. And he ran fast.

So fast that my memory of his face was totally blurry.

At the start of freshman year, my desk mate warned me about him.

Liam was the grandson of the richest man in the city. He was a menace who did whatever he wanted. She told me if I saw him walking down the hall, I needed to take a detour.

My mom had also told me that going to a city high school meant I needed to be humble and absolutely avoid offending anyone.

I memorized that advice by heart.

One day, I saw him cornered on the far side of the sports field. It was one against five.

Five upperclassmen had him surrounded.

He saw me from a distance and yelled:

"Chloe Foster!"

I squinted, taking a few steps forward.

Once I realized it was him, I turned right around and walked away without looking back.

Seconds later, I heard his agonizing screams.

When I got back to the classroom, I felt a twinge of guilt. What if they seriously hurt him?

So, I told the whole class, and then I told our homeroom teacher.

By the time the teacher led the whole class out to find him, his uniform was torn, one side of his face was swollen like a balloon, and he had a black eye like a panda.

It was the first time I had ever seen him up close.

The girls who obsessed over him always said Liam was tall, incredibly handsome, and had deep, striking features.

But right then, he looked like the guy who collected scrap metal in my home village.

I couldn't help it. I let out a small laugh.

He locked eyes with me.

He struggled to stand up, hissed in pain, pointed a finger at me, and said, "You just wait."

Our homeroom teacher swiftly kicked him in the butt, making him yelp in pain.

The next evening, right after I walked out of the cafeteria, Liam and his lackeys blocked my path.

I quickly hid the fried chicken drumstick I was holding behind my back and swallowed hard.

I had just gone in for the first bite, but hadn't even torn a piece off yet.

If the chicken got cold, it wouldn't taste good anymore.

Because of that, I completely forgot my desk mate's warning and my mom's advice. I was incredibly annoyed.

"What is your problem? Are you mad because I didn't help you fight? If I helped you win, wouldn't that just be more embarrassing for you?"

The lackeys behind him looked down, clearly embarrassed that I had hit the nail on the head.

Liam puffed out his chest and yelled, "Fatty Chloe! You're built like a pig and you're still eating fried chicken!"

Was that it?

So childish.

I shoved past him to keep walking, but he grabbed my arm.

I yanked my arm away, and the chicken drumstick slipped from my fingers, landing straight on the dirt.

It was fine. I could just wash it off, peel off the fried batter, and the meat inside would still be good.

But Liam lifted his sneaker, stepped directly onto my chicken, and twisted his ankle to grind it into the dirt.

My gaze slowly traveled up from my ruined dinner and locked onto his face.

Anger erupted inside me like a volcano. I let out a feral roar and tackled him to the ground.

He had one arm in a cast from yesterday, and his other arm was completely useless against my sheer mass.

I landed squarely on top of him, sitting heavily on his stomach.

"Give me back my chicken! Give it back! I only get to eat a chicken drumstick once a year! Waaah..."

Liam's face turned beet red, and two streams of tears rolled out of the corners of his eyes.

A crowd started to form. Someone yelled, "Go get a teacher!"

Hearing that, his lackeys scrambled and ran for their lives.

The harder Liam cried, the more pumped up I got. I threw a leg over him, straddling his waist, and wiggled around a few times.

Just like he did to my chicken drumstick.

For some reason, though, it felt... lumpy.

Eventually, my classmates pulled me off him.

I mourned that chicken drumstick for an entire month.

I was so fueled by grief and rage that I studied like a maniac, ranked first in the grade on the midterms, and only then finally stepped out of my depression.