Things started off well enough.
The bike ride didn't stay awkward. Brandon liked to stay a little ahead of me, but I told myself that was just his way of being cool—protective. Like the guys in the romance movies I'd often partake. We'd swing by to pick up his friends, and the minute they showed up, his focus was all on them. Not me.
Actually it was never on me to begin with.
But I didn't care.
I was just happy to be in his presence, you know? I wasn't part of the crowd—not really. I was clinging on at the edge, trailing behind him like the lovesick puppy I was.
Still, even being latched on in the back felt better than being left out completely. Better than not being by his side.
"So did you get the game?" one of his friends asked Brandon, all chummy and eager.
"Yeah, I got it. Haven't opened it yet, but I got it," he answered with that boyish charm and a soft smile that made my heart race.
His other friend jumped in.
"You've gotta set it up so we can play online."
They didn't invite me. Didn't ask if I played. Nothing.
They acknowledged me once—the first day—and when Brandon brushed it off, that was it. I didn't exist to them. By the time we got to school, they quickly left me behind without a second thought.
Now, I know you're probably wondering how school went.
That…took some adjusting.
The place was huge. A big open courtyard buzzing with kids who already had their cliques figured out—friends they'd known since elementary. Meanwhile, I was the seventh-grade transfer who had no idea where to begin.
I did the basics in the following introverted order: lock up my bike, grab my locker assignment, eat breakfast alone, check my schedule, find homeroom, kept my head down.
The teachers seemed more invested here—like they actually cared. Which was nice, but it also meant icebreakers. Introductions. And the closer it got to my turn, the More my chest tightened.
"Next up" the teacher said with a nod and smile as he looked my way, as well as every other student.
I awkwardly stood up and for some reason... I was incredibly out of breath.
Chill, I'm making a funny. I know it was anxiety—now.
Anyway.
I stood up quickly, stiff as my eyes darted all over nervously.
"H-hi! I'm Rhea Liverpool, I'm thirteen and I-"
And cue the snickers.
I hated that name for so long. It belonged to my sperm donor. Lynn's way of creating his legacy, first and last name is based on him. Yes Liverpool is funny, it's odd, but come on give me a break. Kids laugh at anything I swear.
Have you ever tried it? Next kid you see, just say "butt" or "fart" they'll act like you said the funniest joke ever.
You'll be the next bill Burr.
It's ridiculous.
But anyway, back on track—
Yeah. They laughed. They whispered. Made comments.
And one girl made sure to keep her eyes on me. She sat behind me. I forgot her name, but let's just call her Brittle Blonde Boujee Bitch. 'BB' for short
Her hair was like a broomstick that had sway past due for restringing. And I know, I know—I'm not exactly one to talk given my past hair trauma.
But here's the thing: my hair was fucked up because no one ever taught me how to care for it.
Hers was fucked up because she fried it every other week trying to hold onto blonde roots that were losing the battle to brunette genes.
Plus I wasn't a bully.
While BB had a nasty habit of making "jokes" about my lineage.
In case you didn't know, I wasn't full white like my siblings. I was biracial. Didn't even know what the other half was for a long time.
Yeah, I know it now. But it's not important to this story—not like you care anyway.
Back then? I didn't know shit. Which made me easy prey.
"So… you're a mulatto?" she whispered once.
I blinked, completely lost. "A what?"
She smirked.
"You clearly aren't like us. So what are you—like a corn shucker? Cotton picker? Chink? Wetback?"
Young me didn't get it.
I was naïve in the racial aspect.
Painfully naïve.
Embarrassingly naïve.
So what did I say?
I shrugged and answered honestly.
"I've shucked corn before… so yeah, I'm a corn shucker—why?"
Her whole posse erupted in laughter.
Open mouths, hands cupped, making these awful "tribal calls."
I did get the sense they were making fun of me, but I didn't understand why. I thought maybe it was because shucking corn was some country shit, and this was a nice, well-off, posh community.
But no. I was wrong.
They were mocking Native Americans.
Insane, isn't it?
Once I pieced it together, I realized BB had done something I never expected.
She made me painfully aware of something I'd never thought too much about—
my background.
My dad.
Who was he exactly? What was he?
I knew nothing about him.
And every time she called me mulatto or cotton picker, corn shucker or whatever else, I had no defense. I didn't even know what I was.
That was the first time the question ever crossed my mind.
But instead of trying to talk to Lynn or trying to find answers, I buried it. Pretended it didn't matter. It actually didn't at the moment. It wasn't important enough to ruin a good thing. I don't know what she'd do if I asked. I shoved the thoughts aside and poured all my energy back into Brandon.
I mean at the moment him and his mom were huge parts of my life. I didn't want to ruin that by being stupid.
So, yeah, I shoved all that BB bullshit into a mental shoebox and duct-taped it shut. Instead, I doubled down on Brandon.
And when I say doubled down, I mean obsessed.
After school I still went to his house.
Sometimes right away, sometimes I'd wait an hour just so I didn't look too eager. Like that made a difference.
I'd gotten used to being let in. So even when Dylan or Jacob tried to block the door, I'd just smile and say, "I don't mind waiting."
And if Janet answered? Forget it. She'd swing the door wide open and call Brandon down herself.
Now, looking back, I feel so bad for him.
I couldn't see the signs.
How uncomfortable he was.
How scared he was.
How irritated he was with me just… existing in his space.
Or maybe I didn't want to see it. Love can make you blind to things that you really need to see.
But someone like me, who was starved all her life, can be greedy, and selfish.
I think I really did ignore his discomfort, and rationalize it.
Because all I wanted was for him to notice me. Just once. Just long enough to think, "Hey, maybe Rhea's not so bad."
But that day came when, I guess, he finally had enough of my shit.
I was eager.
I was awful.
One day, Janet left us alone on the couch while she "ran an errand." Which I'm pretty sure was fake now. Either way, it was just me and him. He was playing his game, eyes glued to the screen, and I was sitting there, talking his ear off.
"Hey, um… I heard about that new game you guys were playing. Can I try it with you? I've been practicing with my brothers after that time we played, and I think I'm better now—"
Just nonsense. Lies. Endless babbling. Like if I talked enough, he'd finally turn and smile at me the way he smiled at his friends.
To like me. And that made me do something I shouldn't have. That's when I leaned my head on his shoulder.
For a second, it felt like magic. My body got so warm just being that close to him. He smelled clean and safe. My heart pounded in my ears. To me, this was my moment. This was what I'd been waiting for.
"W-what are you doing? Get off me." He shrugged hard, trying to shake me loose.
And I should've stopped.
I really should've.
But I didn't.
Because in my head, this was my only chance. The moment where I proved how much I cared about him. The moment where we finally clicked.
So I kissed his neck. It was a desperate kiss full of longing. I should have known nothing about. A stupid, traumatized child's idea of love.
And then I rubbed his crotch. Tried to slide my hand down his pants.
He shoved me off so hard I stumbled, hit the floor and the table that sat in front of the large TV. And then he started crying.
I looked up at him, and his face—
He wasn't just scared.
He was disgusted.
"Get out of my house, you freak! You're so weird! I hate you! Stay away from me!"
Those words, they broke me. Brandon's words hurt worse than any belt, worse than any insult my mom ever threw at me. They sliced straight into me and didn't stop.
And that was the end of it. Janet couldn't fix it. She tried, but what could she say? What could she do? Her son didn't feel safe around me, and that mattered more than my pathetic crush.
My mom apologized on the outside to Janet and her family, but the second the door closed at home she spat it out:
"You are a sick pervert."
Her words burned, sure. But I was almost numb to her by then.
It was Brandon's words that stayed. That carved themselves into my heart. Like a knife twisting in the wound.
I went back to my old routine. Locked myself in the closet. Dug my nails into my arms until I felt raw. Whispered to myself over and over:
"You freak. You disgusting bitch. You deserve this. You deserve worse."
Because I was a predator. I hurt the boy I loved.
And to this day? I just hope he's okay. That he's happy. That he's living some kind of good life far away from the girl who made him feel unsafe in his own home.
Till this day the pain kind of lingers. It's a wound that'll never fully heal I guess..