Chapter 3 THEY ALL LOOKED THE OTHER WAY.

CASEY.

Even I was surprised at the nerves I had to say such.

I waited for a punch, slap or more humiliation. Instead, Ethan threw his head back and laughed. He didn't even look mad—just amused.

"Who the hell is ever going to take what belongs to me?" he scoffed, his arm still tight around Ivy's shoulders. "Keep dreaming, loser. Nothing touches me."

Ivy's eyes flashed with rage. She stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face, the sting blooming hot on my cheek. "How dare you curse my boyfriend, you pathetic freak? You're nothing but a jealous little worm."

The group closed in. Hands shoved at me from all sides—guys from the team, girls in Ivy's clique—pushing and laughing as they joined in.

"Hold her still," Ivy ordered, and someone grabbed my arms from behind. She hit me again, this time in the shoulder, then kicked at my legs. "This is what you get for thinking you could even look at Ethan."

 More refuse came flying—someone emptied another bin nearby, mop water from the corner sloshing over me, sour and filthy, mixing with the earlier trash. Banana peels, old tape, sweaty practice jerseys, and sticky soda cans piled up around my feet and on my head.

My stomach churned from the unbearable smell. I felt filthy.

"Smile for the camera!" one of the guys yelled, phone out, filming everything. Flashes went off. Ivy posed next to me, keeping her distance though.

 "Say cheese, four-eyes. This is going viral."

Ethan just watched from the side, that mocking scoff on his lips, not lifting a finger but clearly enjoying the show. He didn't stop any of it. Just leaned against a locker, arms crossed, shaking his head with a grin.

"Look at her now," Ivy said, stepping back to admire her work. "All dressed up for Ethan's birthday. Perfect gift, right babe?"

"Yeah," Ethan muttered, scoffing again. "Real touching."

The laughter swelled as they filmed more, phones everywhere. I tried to push away, but hands kept shoving. "Please... stop," I whispered, but it only made them laugh harder.

"Get out of here already," Ivy snapped finally, giving me one last push toward the door. "And don't show your face again unless it's to beg for mercy."

I stumbled out of the locker room, trash and mop water trailing behind me, the stench following. My hand throbbed where she'd crushed it, my cheek burned, and every step squelched.

The hallway was full of kids now, staring, whispering, some pointing.

"Is that Casey? What happened?"

"She tried to give Blake a present—hilarious." Phones were out here too, snapping pics. I kept my head down, glasses smudged and crooked, and hurried toward the exit, ignoring the comments.

The rest of the day was a nightmare. Classes dragged on with people staring, wrinkling their noses at the smell.

In history, the kid behind me muttered, "God, she reeks. Did she roll in garbage?"

During lunch, I hid in a bathroom stall, but even there, girls outside the door laughed about the video already circulating.

"Did you see Ivy dump that bin on her? Epic."

 I tried washing some of it off, but the stink clung. By last period, the whole school seemed to be talking. Whispers followed me everywhere.

"Obsessed stalker."

 "Poor but desperate." No one helped. No one even looked sorry.

I snuck home after the final bell, avoiding the main doors, slipping through the side gate. Tears streamed down my face the whole way.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen when I got in, talking about dinner. I crept upstairs quietly, avoiding the creaky steps, and locked myself in my room not wanting them to see me like this. I didn't want to get them worried. Not with everything they already dealt with.

Inside, I broke. The posters of Ethan covered my walls—cutouts from school papers, printed photos of him on the ice, his stats highlighted. I'd put them up over years, reminders of my dream.

Now I tore at them angrily, ripping one after another, the paper shredding under my fingers.

 "Why?" I sobbed, yanking down a big one from the last championship. "I thought you were different."

 The pieces scattered on the floor. I slid down against the bed, hugging my knees, the stench still on me, and cried until my eyes burned dry. He wasn't perfect. None of it was. But admitting it hurt worse than the hits.

I thought things would die down in a few days. Rumors always did, right? But they didn't. The video spread like wildfire. By Monday, everyone knew. Ivy and her clique targeted me openly now, cornering me between classes.

"Still hoping for that heartbreak curse to work?" Ivy sneered one morning, blocking my locker. "Ethan's on top as always. You'll redeem yourself when he actually loses everything—which is never happening."

Her friends joined in. "Yeah, keep waiting, trash girl."

They tripped me in the halls, spilled drinks on my notes, laughed when I dropped my books. Almost everyone piled on. It was an easy way to score points with Ivy and the popular crowd.

Jocks shoved past me extra hard. Girls whispered loudly as I walked by. "She's the one who got dumpstered for her crush."

Even some teachers looked the other way, muttering about "kids being kids." And Ivy's father was the main sponsor of the medical unit of the school. That made teachers try their most to be on her good side. They didn't want to displease daddy's girl.

The principal had called me into his office to tell me that my scholarship was about to be withdrawn due to suspected malpractice.

That broke me more.

The one thing that was my shot at giving my parents a better life was about to be taken away from me.

No matter how I had begged and explained my innocence, he didn't even listen. He kept on going about how reputation was important to this school more than anything.

They knew I worked hard each time to maintain this scholarship and would never jeopardize it. But, he made it clear that the board had decided to replace me with someone else.

My life was over.

If the scholarship went, everything else at home would start shaking too. We would lose the apartment.

After enduring a week of the worst terror that only grew worse each day and now this, I couldn't hold back anymore.

The pranks escalated—spitballs in class, notes calling me names taped to my desk, my backpack dumped in the mud. Then came the locker incident.

 They'd grabbed me after gym, stuffed me inside one of the empty ones in the deserted hallway.

 "Time for a timeout, stalker," Ivy had said, slamming the door.

My clothes were stuffed with insects—crickets and beetles from somewhere, crawling everywhere, biting and tickling in the dark. I screamed, but no one came for hours.

A whole day locked in there, cramped and terrified, the bugs skittering over my skin until they decided I have learned my lesson. Ivy let me out during last period.

I was shaking, exhausted, covered in bites and sweat.

"Please, what can I do to make this stop?" I begged.

Ivy had twirled strands of my hair in her hand and stepped closer. "Maybe, die," she laughed in my face before shoving me back getting highfive from her friends.

I could no longer go on living like this. Maybe she was right.

Tears burned through my eyes as I walked towards the rooftop.

They wouldn't stop until I ended everything myself.