His Favorite Target

Moving away from your home can be overwhelming, but when you’re seventeen with no say in family decisions, you don’t exactly have a choice. You just follow orders. I had to leave everything behind in Toronto—my house, my life, and most importantly, my best friend, Lily.

To the rest of the world, I was just Becky, but for Lily, I was so much more. She knew secrets about me that even my parents didn’t know. Lily was my complete opposite; she loved parties and hanging out, while I hated the idea of being in a loud crowd. Even though she was popular, she would voluntarily skip a party just to stay home with me. We would spend hours reading my favorite romance books and acting out the intense scenes together. I didn’t think I would ever find someone here who would ditch a bash just to stay in bed drinking hot chocolate and reading books with me. Real friends are hard to find, and as I stood before the massive gates and the enormous building of my new school, “The Elite High” in Santa Barbara, California, making new ones felt nearly impossible.

My life was shaken up because my father’s company promoted him here. The house we moved into was also provided by his company, and my mother—a dentist who could find work in any clinic—was more than happy for a “fresh start.” They made that decision for me. Now, instead of senior year with my bestie, I was starting over alone.

The campus was huge and beautiful. I looked around and saw a bunch of students talking—they all looked like rich brats, and I could see heads tilting as I walked past them. But as I stepped into the cafeteria, it felt like I was observing a different species. I scanned the room, categorizing the crowd: the sports team, the nerds, the unbothered loners, and the theater kids. I looked for a place where I might fit, terrified that I’d spend my entire senior year as an outsider, knowing my whole year’s tuition was paid because I was a scholarship student.

Then, my gaze landed on the athletes’ table.

There was a guy sitting on a table; he was genuinely attractive, surrounded by cheerleaders and teammates. He had a girl tucked against his side, his hand resting casually on her waist while he talked. I was caught completely off-guard by his perfect jawline, his brown eyes, and tanned skin with a single dimple on his left cheek. With that smile, he looked like the classic “Sweet Boy.”

Then, his eyes met mine.

He was listening to someone talk about a football game—I overheard a teammate saying, “QB, when’s the practice?”—but his focus was entirely on me. I instantly looked away as it was getting too awkward. Panicked, I tried to bury my face into my textbook, pretending to read as I rushed past.

I was so busy pretending to look at my text that I walked straight into someone. It was a soft collision, but my book fell to the floor. I braced myself for a bully, especially seeing her neatly tied hair and uniform—the maroon blazer and pleated skirt looked perfectly ironed. But she didn’t scream. Instead, she offered a soft smile as she helped me pick up my book.

“Don’t fall on your first day,” she laughed, before hurrying out of the cafeteria.

I watched her disappear in complete shock, as she came like a heat-seeking missile and just left within seconds before I could apologize.

I shook my head as I glanced at the time on my phone screen. I knew I shouldn’t miss my first class, but looking at these new faces made my anxiety feel like a physical weight in my chest. Then, I heard it. Someone yelled the name “Mathew.”

My heart sank. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe. I just rushed toward the staircase and didn’t stop climbing until I reached the school terrace. I just needed to sit, to breathe out the tension of that name, and survive the first day of school.

The warm California breeze touched my face—a constant, warm reality check that I wasn’t in Canada anymore. I sat on the ledge of the roof, forcing myself to breathe in and out. I just needed to be normal. I didn’t want to miss my first class, but I needed this moment of silence to stop my racing heart.

I was mid-breath when the metal door behind me opened slowly.

I tilted my head, expecting a janitor or a teacher. Instead, four boys rushed out onto the rooftop. My heart stopped. Leading them was the quarterback I had seen earlier, but the gentle expression from the cafeteria was gone. He had a tight grip on a guy’s collar who seemed like a junior, dragging him toward the ledge—right toward me.

As he dragged the student closer, his gaze shot to mine. His eyes narrowed, silently commanding to know what I was doing out here, but he didn’t stop. He was on a mission.

“Open it. Be quick,” the quarterback commanded, his voice dropping to a cold and dangerous tone. “We don’t have all day for this.”

The boy in his grip was shivering so violently I could see him trembling with fear. “Please, don’t do this,” he gasped, sweat rolling down his forehead. “I swear I didn’t do anything! I won’t ever talk to Emily again, I promise!” he cried.

The quarterback’s grip tightened, shoving him back until he was pinned against the edge of the terrace. “I said, strip,” he commanded.

“Strip! Strip! Strip!” The other two boys began to chant, their voices loud and authoritative.

I watched, frozen, my mind struggling to process the cruelty happening next to me. Terrified, the junior began to undo his blazer with trembling fingers, moving on to the buttons of his shirt. Then, I saw it—the other boys had their phones out. They were filming it.

The quarterback looked back at me, catching my expression of pure disbelief and horror. A slow, cruel smirk pulled at his lips.

“Are you enjoying the show, creep?” he asked.

The words hit me like a strike. I couldn’t believe that just minutes ago, I’d thought this guy was a sweetheart because of a dimple and his smile. I was wrong. He wasn’t a nice boy; he was a monster. No—monsters were better than him. At least monsters didn’t hide behind a perfect face. This guy looked like the perfect dream, but his soul was complete shit.

The guy was about to pull his pants off when I finally lost it.

“Stop it!” I yelled.

The chanting stopped instantly. I looked straight at the quarterback’s face. “Have you guys lost your minds? What are you doing? Why are you torturing him?” I snapped.

“Hey, Miss Uninvited,” the QB said, his voice dropping into a growl. “Back off. This is none of your business.”

“I was already here,” I shot back. “So you guys are the ones who brought your uninvited show to this terrace,” I said, gazing at him in anger. “Stop this nonsense. What did he even do to deserve this?”

“Who is she, Hunter? I’ve never seen her on campus,” one of the guys whispered to the QB.

The QB let go of the boy’s collar and turned his full attention to me. He started walking forward. I instinctively took a step back for every step he took toward me. I tried to keep my face confident, but my legs were moving on their own.

Eventually, I hit the back of a concrete pillar. He leaned in, trapping me by placing his hand on the pillar behind my head.

“Continue stripping,” he commanded. He didn’t even look back at the target of his bullying; his face was inches from mine, his eyes glaring into mine.

“You heard Chase! Remove the pants!” his friend yelled.

So, that was his name. Chase Hunter. I mentally renamed him Chase Monster. I could only see the boy stripping out of the corner of my eye because Chase’s broad shoulders blocked my view.

He reached out, grabbed my chin, and forced my face back toward him. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes filled with a dangerous curiosity.

“I just moved here. It’s my first day of senior year,” I said, trying to sound annoyed rather than terrified. “And I definitely didn’t expect to find a strip club on the school terrace operated by the most popular guy.”

He smirked and suddenly pushed me toward the door. “Get out. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

He started walking back toward the boy, clearly thinking I would run away. He was wrong. I couldn’t just stand by and watch something wrong happening in front of me. I ran back, pushed my way past his friends, and stood directly in front of the junior, who was now only in his underwear.

“I will scream if you don’t leave him alone,” I warned them. “Everyone will come up here, and you’ll have to explain yourselves. Do you want me to start shouting?”

Chase looked furious. He charged toward me, his face filled with rage. His friends quickly grabbed his arms, holding him back. They knew if I made a scene, they would all be in deep trouble.

“You’re going to pay for this,” Chase hissed, giving me a death stare as his friends dragged him toward the stairs.

Once they were gone, I turned to the boy. “Hey, are you okay?”

He nodded in shame, staring at the ground as he scrambled to collect his clothes. I looked away to give him some privacy.

“Put your clothes on,” I told him gently. “I have to deal with something. I’ll catch you later.”

I walked away, but I knew one thing for sure: I had to do the right thing and make this QB pay for what he did.