Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series) Vera Hollins (best large ereader txt) 📖

I closed my eyes as another wave of pain hit my belly, ready to disagree, but I stopped myself because I knew better. If I was bullied for my weight, what could non-straight students expect? There were people at our school who were homophobic, and they had a whole slew of expletives ready to go for people they disliked for this or that reason. While I hoped the anti-bullying festival would bring bullies to their senses, unless we worked on understanding and accepting all our differences, I wasn’t sure if the festival would have a long-term effect on them or not.

“Mel would tell you to screw them all and do whatever you want, and my therapist would say not to fritter away your opportunities—especially not because of those who absolutely don’t deserve your attention.”

“I guess you’re right. I’m just s-scared.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I know, Kev,” I whispered. “I know.”

“Jess?” my mom called from the hallway. “We’re ready to go.”

I stood up. “Kev, I have to go.”

“Sure. See you at school.”

Ending the call, I followed my parents outside to my dad’s Tesla, taking a deep breath when my cramps got worse.

I got inside and buckled up just as Dad pulled out of our driveway. I needed something to get my mind off the pain, so I went to Instagram and opened my story, which was a selfie I’d taken before the party, a different one from the one I’d posted on my feed. My eyes skimmed over the usernames of the people who had seen my story before I spotted one that sent my heart spiraling.

blake.j1

That was Blake’s username.

I tapped on my story again just to check if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I wasn’t mistaken. It was him.

My body heated. After the words I’d blurted out to him, I expected only the worst from him. He looked at my Insta story.

It didn’t matter. His attention didn’t matter. I shouldn’t even think about it.

My fingers didn’t care about my thought process. They took me to his Instagram, and my eyes went over the line in his bio again.

You live only to encounter pain.

His last photo was of him and Hayden at the party; both of them looked at the camera with no smile on their faces. They looked intimidating but super hot nevertheless, and of course, the photo garnered a lot of “You’re gorgeous” and “Sooo hot” comments filled with many heart emojis. I moved my fingers over Blake’s face on the screen, imagining I was touching his face for real. Before I knew it, my fingers slipped over the like button beneath the picture.

I flinched. Had I accidentally liked his photo?

I breathed through my open mouth, gaping at the empty heart icon as my heart pounded fast. I hadn’t liked it. Good. Phew.

I stuffed my phone in my bag before I did something more stupid.

Mom turned around in the passenger seat to look at me. “Why are you so quiet, honey? Is it because of your sore throat?”

“Sorta. I think I might die from my period.”

“Maybe you’re catching cold.” She extended her hand. “Come here.” I leaned closer to her, and she felt my forehead with the back of her hand before turning back. “You don’t have a high temperature. Did you take Advil for your cramps?”

“Yep, but it doesn’t help. My stomach hurts like hell.”

“Don’t think about it, and it will pass,” my dad said, his eyes set on the road.

My dad always looked so serious when he was driving. He didn’t like to talk, listen to the radio, or answer phone calls so he could fully focus on the road, which was bad because I needed music in the car. I should’ve brought my headphones.

“If only it were that easy.”

“You can always learn to meditate,” my mom said, and I rolled my eyes. Recently, she had this obsession with yoga and meditation; she’d bought lots of scented candles and lit them all around our house. She said they would help us cleanse our spirits or something equally uninteresting.

“Or you can make me chocolate cake. You know that always works for me.”

She grinned and turned to look at me over her shoulder. “Since you got into Owen’s college, you deserve a little treat, right?” She winked at me, and my stomach churned with unease.

“She deserves more than a treat for that.” Dad glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll finally buy you a new guitar.”

I willed my lips into a smile, but it was so fake my chest ached. These days, he kept asking me if I’d responded to his college, assuming I would accept its offer of admission, and the pressure I felt got stronger. I couldn’t be happy about that guitar when I knew they wouldn’t take well my decision to accept the offer of a music college.

“You don’t look happy about it,” my mom remarked.

Grin, Jess. Make it convincing. “I’m thrilled! But I’ll drop dead any moment now from this pain.”

My dad tsked. “Women and periods. I’ll never understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” I asked. “It’s obligatory hell.”

“I can imagine. Anyway, have you accepted the admission?” There he was again. I needed a distraction right this moment.

“I’ve been busy with school assignments, but I’ll find some time soon. Sooo, what’s up with this client? Who is he? Or she?” I crossed my fingers that the diversion tactic would work.

“He’s the mayor.”

I choked on my spit. “The mayor?” My voice reached the limit of its shrillness. No. Just no.

He gave me an odd look in the rear-view mirror. “Yes. Mayor Jones.”

My mom glanced at me over her shoulder. “Is something wrong, sweetie?”

Something wrong? Wrong?

Just a level-seven catastrophe!

“Nope. I just didn’t know you were working for the mayor.”

“You know Owen’s firm works with some politicians too,” Mom said. “Enfield’s mayor is one of them.”

“His son is your age,” my dad added. “You must have heard of him. His name is Blake.”

Hearing his name created flutters in my belly, which was