The Bullied Prodigy

CHAPTER TWO

The drop of rain woke me up.

I looked around to see that I had been on the floor for quite some time. I checked my wrist watch and I saw the day was far gone.

I get home soaked like a drenched puppy before I crashed on

my bed and passed out.

With only one thing in mind, I have to go through tomorrow's daily routine with Jordan once more.

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I thought the worst was over after what happened yesterday. They left me for dread and walked away.

I had thought he would apologise, tell me he was sorry but I was wrong.

Every step that morning felt like walking through quicksand—slow, heavy, and impossible to escape. My clothes still smelled faintly of the damp from yesterday’s water-bucket ambush, the memory still fresh like an open wound. I stared in the mirror before school, eyes bloodshot, face pale, and wondered what the hell I was even doing here.

I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.

Crestwood High was a battlefield, and I was the one always bleeding. Sometimes I wished it could all pass by but I don't know when and I wasn't sure if it was going to ever happen.

I wanted to disappear.

I wanted to vanish into the cracks of the world where no one could see me, mock me, humiliate me.

But no.

The moment I stepped foot into those polished hallways, the whispers started again.

“Look, it’s the wet rat.”

“Hey, E.T., did you forget your umbrella or your dignity?”

" How was the blow to the face?" One of Jordan's cronies asked with a smirk plastered across his face.

The words burned, louder than the chattering students around me. I gripped my backpack tighter, trying to disappear behind the worn fabric. I should have been used to this by now. Years of torment had thickened my skin, or so I thought.

I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

The bell rang for first period, and I hurried to my locker to grab my books. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped my notebook.

A cold, mocking voice sliced through the air: “Hey, Turner. You got a date with the trash can today?”

I barely dared to breathe.

Jordan Easton appeared from around the corner like a storm cloud, flanked by his usual crew. They looked like they were waiting for me.

“Where you headed, ratboy?” he sneered.

Before I could answer, Chris stepped forward and shoved me hard against the locker. The metal clang was deafening, but no one cared.

“Oops. Watch the merchandise, guys. We don’t want to break him before the big game tonight,” Jordan said, his grin full of malice.

Big game. That’s all anyone cared about. Except me.

I was just the punching bag.

They laughed as I slid down the locker, the cool metal pressing against my back. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for it to stop.

But it didn’t.

Troy knelt down, grabbing my wrist and twisting it painfully behind my back. I bit my lip, refusing to scream.

Jordan pulled out his phone, pointing the camera at me. “Say hi to the fans, Eli.”

I forced out a shaky smile, but it was hollow, a mask to hide the fear curling inside my gut.

“You’re pathetic,” Amelia’s voice floated through the crowd, icy and distant. She wasn’t laughing today.

That was new.

I wanted to believe she cared.

But when I glanced at her, she just looked away.

A crowd had gathered—half cheering, half jeering.

The bell rang again, signaling the end of the ordeal, but the damage was done.

They let me go, shoving me forward like I was nothing more than garbage to be discarded.

I stumbled down the hall, my wrist throbbing, my pride shattered.

In class, I tried to focus on Mr. Reynolds’ lecture about chemical reactions, but my mind was elsewhere. The notebook they had ruined yesterday—half the pages were soggy, the ink smudged. The calculator was broken. My scholarship dreams felt further away than ever.

I could feel the weight of every stare, every snicker.

The whispers became louder, sharper.

“Did you see Eli’s face? He’s such a loser.”

“I heard he cried last night.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight.

But I was trapped inside my own skin.

When the final bell rang, I didn’t run.

I stayed behind, knowing what awaited me.

Jordan and his gang were waiting outside the gym for the big game, but this time, their game was different.

“You think you’re tough, huh? Talking all that crap,” Jordan sneered.

“Maybe tonight’s the night you learn your place.”

Before I could react, Amelia stepped forward.

But she wasn’t helping me.

“No one wants you here, Eli. You’re just dead weight.”

Her words stabbed deeper than any punch.

I looked at her—once my friend, now a stranger—and something inside me shattered completely.

I wanted to ask why. Why had she changed? Why was she so cruel?

But the words caught in my throat.

Jordan laughed, pulling out a small bottle from his bag.

“Drink this. A little ‘special juice’ to loosen you up for the game.”

Before I could stop him, Chris grabbed my arm again and forced the bottle to my lips.

I shook my head, but they didn’t care.

The bitter liquid burned down my throat.

I coughed, eyes watering.

“You’re pathetic, Eli,” Jordan whispered close to my ear.

Then, as if it wasn’t enough, they pushed me toward the gym entrance.

I walked in, the crowd already buzzing.

The stands were packed with Crestwood’s best and brightest—cheering for their team, their heroes.

I was the joke.

As the game began, I stood on the sidelines, humiliated and powerless.

And then, it happened.

Jordan made a show of passing the ball.

He spun around, aiming to humiliate me publicly.

The ball hit me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me.

Laughter erupted.

Amelia giggled, hiding behind her hands.

I doubled over, gasping.

Coach called time out, but no one helped me up.

I could feel the heat of the spotlight burning into my skin.

I wasn’t just a target.

I was the entertainment.

The next few minutes were a blur of pain, laughter, and endless shame.

After the game, I dragged myself to the locker rooms, desperate to escape the noise, the stares.

My legs barely carried me.

As I sat on the bench, head bowed, a notification buzzed on my phone.

It was from an unknown number.

Curious and desperate for distraction, I opened it.

“Eli Turner, you have been selected. Check your email.”

I frowned.

Who was this?

But another message popped up before my very eyes. A message that changed everything.

I looked around trying to see if it was another prank from Jordan or one of his cronies.

But then no one.

My gaze went back to my phone, my heart beating fast against my chest.