Playing His Game

Essel's Pov

"Goodness, Essel, please don't tell me you're planning to wear that to school today," Ella exclaims, with a horrified expression.

"What's the issue?" I inquire, glancing at my outfit. "I think I look perfectly fine."

"I'm sorry, Grace Essel," she says, her typically cheerful demeanor replaced by a stern gaze. I flinch at the mention of my full name.

"You shouldn't wear sweatpants and a T-shirt on the first day of school. People might assume you've been out of touch and don't care about fashion or trends."

I look at her with bewilderment. "It doesn't matter to me," I say.

She sighs. "Well, you're not supposed to show that to others."

"What's the problem?" I inquire, feeling even more bewildered.

"Because," she stammers. "You're just not. Now go put on these." She tosses a pair of high-waisted black ripped jeans and a white crop top with words on it at me. "Or I'll ensure that we arrive late to school."

"Why would that even be a concern for me?" She is well aware of the reasons why it would bother me.

She smirks at me. "Because despite your dislike for school, you have this strange fixation on attendance that I could never quite grasp. I mean, if you despise school, why would you care about being punctual and never skipping a single day–"

She constantly attempts to persuade me to wear crop tops and jeans, even though I prefer to wear something else, by using the threat of being late. However, I always refuse and end up going to school in sweatpants and T-shirts because I am more determined than she is and I will never give in.

"I'm not a tomboy or someone who dislikes the clothes-don't get me wrong, the clothes are cute, I just never feel like wearing them.

"I know," she admits reluctantly. "But this year is an exception."

"And why is that?" I tease her, confident that whatever she has in mind is bound to fail."

"How long have you two been in here?"Mom walks into my room with Dad following closely behind.

"It's not important," Dad says casually. "The important thing is that you're going to wear whatever Ella is trying to convince you to wear."

"She's asking me to wear these." I show the jeans with tears running all the way up the thighs.

Dad's expression reflects confusion as he draws out the word "And?" It's clear he probably thinks I'm too dense to understand that he doesn't care.

I may not be the brightest, but still. How rude."Are you not supposed to be objecting to me wearing them because I'm your daughter and no boy should be able to see even a hint of my thighs or stomach?"

Pardon my assumption, but I believed that was typical fatherly behavior.

Ella giggles, capturing everyone's attention.

"Apologies."

"Look, dear," Dad says in a careful tone. "It's just... sometimes it's hard for me to believe that you're a girl."

"Wow, that stings, Dad."

I shift my gaze back and forth between my parents and Ella before I speak. "To begin with, I don't understand why my gender is being doubted just because I do all those things. And secondly, I still refuse to wear the clothes."

They all moan together.

"Here's an idea, darling," Mom suggests.

"You allow Ella to choose your school and school event outfits, while still dressing however you like otherwise, and in return, I'll give you a half-off discount on the amount you need to put in the swear jar for the entire first month, last month, and the month right before Christmas break.

"I almost said it, but then I reconsidered after thinking about what my mom just said."

"Okay," I reply sharply.

"Alright," Mom says. "Just to confirm, we're in agreement, right?"

I briefly ponder if I should rethink my decision. Allowing Ella, of all my friends (not that I have many others besides her and Winner), to plan my outfit every day could easily be one of the worst choices I could make.

"We're in agreement."

Finally, the weekend had arrived.

As the bell rang, I stayed seated, hoping to avoid the rush of students heading for the door. Once the coast was clear, I wearily waved to the teacher, got up, and made my way out of the classroom and into the dim hallways.

Friday, the last school day before the weekend, was a cause for celebration. School had been a dreadful experience, especially when endured alone. I let out a heavy sigh as I opened my locker and tossed my books inside. Looking at my reflection in the small mirror attached to the door, I noticed my brown hair tied up in a ponytail, revealing my face. My two brown eyes stared back at me, and I couldn't help but sigh at the lack of effort I had put into my appearance every morning.

"You can continue searching, but it won't alter your appearance," a voice taunted from behind me. I spun around to confront Comfort Sanders, also known as the girl who had tormented me from the moment she could speak in complete sentences. I loathed her, but I couldn't deny that, despite her artificial appearance, she was the epitome of what I wanted to look like. She was stunning. Her golden locks flowed elegantly down her back, framing her slender jawline. She was dressed in a floral blouse and a knee-length pencil skirt, showcasing her slim legs, and she completed her look with ballet flats. Her face was delicate, and a natural tan graced her complexion. She exuded the aura of a Mediterranean goddess.

"What are you looking at?" Comfort snapped, though there was a slight smile on her face. It was clear from her eyes that she knew I was envious of her. She enjoyed the idea that I would do anything to resemble her. Instead of stopping the bullying, it only fueled it, giving her the opportunity to display her beauty to someone she saw as "pathetic" like me every day, intensifying the envy I harbored.

Comfort let out a small chuckle to herself.

"You're really pitiful," she said in a high-pitched voice, glancing down at her nails. I felt tears welling up in my eyes at her words and I scanned the surrounding area. Students stood by and observed as the situation unfolded - most just walked past and ignored my distress, but a few looked on with empathy. Still, none of them spoke up for me. This was always the case. No one came to my defense. No one would be my savior. But I refused to shed a tear.

I had made a promise to myself that I would never give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me appear weak or vulnerable to their teasing. I was determined never to show any signs of breaking down.

Comfort frowned at me, as she always did when I didn't react like her other targets. Then, she unexpectedly reached out and knocked the rest of the books out of my hand. She smirked, pleased to have made her mark, and walked away, the sound of her shoes tottering as she left.

Everyone averted their gaze from me, clearly disinterested. The source of entertainment had departed, and I found relief in no longer being the center of attention. As I gathered my books, I observed where their focus had shifted and couldn't help but roll my eyes in response.

In the hallway, the school's 'golden boy' strolled alongside his friends. A group of girls subtly smiled in their direction, undoubtedly vying for his attention, while the guys greeted him with smiles as if he were their closest companion. In fact, everyone seemed to wish to be his best friend.

I noticed a black-haired boy standing to the left of the 'golden boy', with bored grey eyes and a permanent scowl etched on his features. His name was Stephen. I observed him looking at the people around them with disdain. He casually dismissed any girls seeking his attention and instead focused on texting on his phone, occasionally glancing up to deter anyone trying to approach them.

I averted my gaze from the absurd scene before me and concentrated on retrieving some books from my locker. It was the final day of school, and if I didn't bring my books, I wouldn't have anything to study over the weekends, leaving me with nothing to do. The only thing I did outside of school hours was study, and... I shook my head to dispel my thoughts. I closed my locker with a bang and turned around, emitting a small startled sound at the sight before me.

Standing right in front of me was The 'Golden Boy', with his hands tucked into his pockets, a smile on his face, and his gaze fixed on me. I blinked.