We were playing the same punishment game. If any other girl just smiled at him, he would play the White Knight and drink for her. But when it pointed to me, he pointed at the track. "Either go run 10 laps or chug the mystery mix. Your choice." He even stopped others from helping me. "Harper has hands and feet. It’s just a penalty, she can handle it." For Field Day, he designed custom jerseys for the entire homeroom. There were 49 students, but he ordered 48 shirts. He scoffed, "Miss High-and-Mighty would never wear such an ugly thing anyway." But when I actually wore someone else’s jersey, he crushed the water bottle in his hand. "Why the hell are you two wearing matching couple outfits?!" 1. There were 49 people in our homeroom, but only 48 jerseys arrived. Ordering the Field Day gear was supposed to be the Student Council rep's job. But Archer took over. He stood at the front of the class, slamming his hand on the podium to get everyone's attention. "Everyone knows Field Day is coming up. The school wants every homeroom to have a theme for the parade. My dad knows some designers, so I’m handling the jerseys. Sound good?" The class went silent for a second, then erupted in cheers. Archer lifted his eyelids, casting a lazy, indifferent glance in my direction. My pen paused on my notebook, and my heart sank. Ever since junior high, my childhood friend, Archer Vance, had changed. He used to be the boy who wanted me everywhere he went. He couldn't stand seeing me cry. Now, he just loved to bully me. It started with public humiliation. If anyone liked me, he made sure the whole school knew about it in the worst way. His frat-boy friends would say, "Archer, heard some guy from AP Chem likes Harper. That's not cool, right?" "She's basically your little wifey. What if she gets stolen?" Back then, Archer would kick his friend's chair impatiently. "Chill. I have zero interest in a girl who’s as soft as a marshmallow. She's boring." But when we were five, he was the one crying and begging our parents to promise we’d get married. He even stole his mom's expensive jewelry to give to me. "Here, my mom says you need gold to get married. This is my engagement gift." He got a mixed-doubles beating from his parents that night. But I accepted the gift. Over time, he wasn't satisfied with just verbal teasing. Every time he bought coffee for the girls in our friend group, he’d "forget" mine. When he told me the time for group projects, he’d always tell me an hour later than everyone else. At first, I would bite my lip, holding back tears. He would just ruffle my hair and whisper, "Don't be sad, little Harper. I just wanted you to get some extra rest." Once, twice... Eventually, I realized. He didn't forget. He deliberately didn't buy it. He deliberately excluded me. My mom said, "Harper, isn't it true that Archer gave you his family heirloom? If you get in trouble, doesn't he stop others from bullying you?" "That just means he cares about you differently. Boys that age don't know how to express themselves. He’s probably just trying to get your attention but using the wrong method." "Go talk to Archer." 2. The result of talking to him was a basketball whizzing past my ear, grazing my hand. I flinched. I looked at his face—I couldn't tell if it was red from anger or the heat—and his lips moving fast. "Who the hell wants to get your attention?" "So many girls are chasing me, why do you think you're so special?" "Why don't you just admit you're the one desperate to be my wife, so you're overanalyzing everything?" "I told you I just have a bad memory. You think too damn much." He walked away, back stiff, then frowned and ran back to get in my face. He shouted, "Harper, I've been looking at you for years. I'm bored of your face." "I will absolutely never like you." That night, I cried into my pillow until my eyes were swollen. I had taken every promise Archer made as a kid seriously. I really did like him. But as the bullying got worse, I stopped caring about those feelings. This time, the rep counted the jerseys and whispered awkwardly, "Why is there one missing again?" I sat in my seat, unable to even hold my pen. I looked up and met Archer’s playful, mocking eyes. 3. The whispers around me suddenly got louder. "It's probably Harper's shirt that's missing again." "Archer is usually nice to everyone. When I fell, he carried me to the nurse and bought me ice. Why is he only mean to Harper?" "Thank god it wasn't me. I'd die of embarrassment. Everyone has one but her... I'd be up all night wondering what's wrong with me." At the same time, I remembered passing an alley recently. Archer's friend asked him, "Arch, bullying Harper is kinda fun, huh? Every time she looks at you like a scared bunny... honestly, that look makes my heart skip a beat." Immediately, that friend got kicked to the ground. "Don't you dare get any ideas about Harper. Only I can bully her." Someone else pressed, "Why though? You don't actually like her, do you?" "Bullsh*t. I look at her and I get annoyed." "She's always hovering around me, smiling at me. It makes me agitated." "But, you know, we grew up together." Another friend got kicked. In that instant, I understood everything. It wasn't what my mom said about "caring." It was just Archer’s twisted game. My blood ran cold, and my teeth started to chatter. Turns out, you can trace exactly when a person turns rotten. Archer finished handing out the shirts and sauntered over to my desk. "Miss High-and-Mighty wouldn't look at this kind of cheap goods anyway, right?" I looked at him and suddenly smiled, relieved. "You're right. I wouldn't want to look at trash given by you, not even for a second." 4. A gasp rippled through the classroom. Archer’s eyes turned red with anger. No one dared to speak. Suddenly, Bella, the "class beauty" from Homeroom 3, waved from the window, calling Archer’s name. He didn't move. He slammed his hand down on my exam paper. "Is that so? Good for you." "I actually custom-designed one just for you, but it looks like you don't deserve it." In the past, I would have tried to reason with Archer. If he secretly gave me the item later, I would have wiped my tears and smiled. But after realizing my years of affection had turned into mud, nothing mattered anymore. The late remedies, the special treatment... My mind cleared up. Every time he did this, he was just roasting me over a fire. Besides, in a class where everyone matches, the one person wearing something different stands out the most. And not in a good way. While we were in a standoff, Bella walked in and draped her arm around Archer’s shoulder. "Aren't you taking me to the game? Why are we wasting time here?" Archer didn't move, glaring at me with fire in his eyes. Suddenly, he rushed back to his seat, ripped a plastic-wrapped, light-colored shirt out of his bag, and threw it at Bella. He stared dead at me. "Miss High-and-Mighty doesn't want it. It's yours." I recognized the brand. It was the designer Archer always bought for me before I turned fourteen. That designer retired three years ago. To get him to design again, you’d have to run errands for him for a month for free. Last summer, Archer disappeared for a month. He said he was grounded. "Nice stuff. I'll take it. But Harper, it's no fun if you take a joke too seriously." Bella smiled and tugged at Archer’s shirt. He patted her hand, looking resigned. Usually, if I walked a bit too slow, he’d yell at me to hurry up. I smiled bitterly. He could be gentle. Just not to me. The bell rang. 5. The crowd watching the drama dispersed. I gathered my emotions and went back to solving problems. For the whole day, I didn't look at Archer. After evening study hall ended. Archer came over out of habit, waiting for me to pack up, ready to reach out and carry my bag. He had formed this habit since we were kids. But this time, I slapped his hand away. Coldly: "No need to trouble you. I can do small things like this myself." "And I won't need your help in the future, either." He froze, then snapped back to reality. He slammed his own bag on the floor. "What do you mean, Harper? You're drawing a line with me?" "You really can't take a joke?" I didn't know where the limit of his "jokes" lay, nor did I know how much sincerity was in his teasing. But none of that justified him hurting me. Like is like. If I don't like it, I don't like it. Someone whispered, "Damn, Harper changed. Since when is she so tough?" I stared at Archer without speaking. I had been around him too long. In private, we were clingy. The affection was rooted in my heart. So I subconsciously held back my temper around him. But now it wasn't necessary. He wasn't worth my kindness. I picked up my bag and left. Behind me, I heard the sound of tables and chairs colliding.
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