Our house is so big that it takes four minutes to shrink in the rearview mirror. When Mom's business kicked off, she hadn't wanted to uproot us by moving, so she'd extended the house to fit her image instead. While the houses around here are bigger than average, ours is now the biggest on the street, known for its white exterior, oak front door, and pristine, latticed driveway. Perfection, or as close to it as my mother could get – if only she could do the same with me.

Sun trickles in through the open car roof. I let Cody choose our music on account of the fact his family sucks, so of course, we have to listen to Blues. I think he's the only eight-year-old kid on this planet into this shit.

"Why do you and mom always have to fight?" he says as he reclines his seat. He's got his head to the window and his sunglasses on like he's King of Blues back here; I don't have the heart to tell him he looks more like an extra out of Spy Kids than Blues Brothers.

"I don't know," I say, looking over. "I guess we just don't agree on a lot of things."

He thinks about this for a moment. "Maybe sometimes you could just pretend to."

"Maybe." But little does he know, I've been doing that most of my life.

We roll to a stop in front of his school. I kiss his cheek and check that he's got everything before watching him bound toward his friends. They jump up and down like they didn't just see each other yesterday afternoon, which, I'll admit, makes me smile. Sometimes I wish I could be that age again. Things were a lot simpler back then.

After dropping him off, I drive to my high school and screech into a parking space. Sometimes I think if my mother just cut me a little bit of slack, I'd be a far nicer person. As it stands, I walk into school with my hands slightly clenched and push through the crowd to get to my locker.

Daisy is already standing there waiting for me. Her face reveals red-rimmed brown eyes and spotty pale cheeks that are flushed. I open my locker without a word and dump my things inside. Turning to face her, I say, "What did they say this time?"

They could be several people, from Danny Monzo and his three stooges to Abby Mason and her coven. It's hard to keep up with the number of people who pick on Daisy because it's always somebody new. Last month, Daisy made a cringy Tik Tok that someone at school found – things have been brutal since.

She wipes her nose and shakes her head. "It's fine, Cassie. Don't."

"Tell me," I say. Between this morning with my mother and seeing her upset, I am not in the mood for bullshit. My heart starts to pound as I step into her line of vision. "Tell me what they said."

She shrugs and looks away before sighing. "Danny and Hyatt told me I was too ugly ever to find a boyfriend."

I slam shut my locker and scan the hall for the duo. With only three minutes to go before the bell rings, they're probably already en route to class. I frown as Daisy takes my arm and steers me down the hallway.

"I love that you look out for me," she says, "but I don't need you to fight my battles, Cass."

I nod, but she's wrong – fighting her battles is all I've ever done. It started in eighth grade after Daisy had just moved to the area from a small, far-off town in Idaho. I'd been walking to class, alone and friendless, just how I preferred, when I saw a couple of girls had stopped to make cow noises. I didn't even think about it; I just saw Stacy Hardman, her mouth pulled into an evil sneer as she mooed like a banshee, and I walked up and decked her in the face. I guess despite the school's zero policy on violence, the principal gave me the benefit of the doubt on account of the fact I'd never been in trouble – at least, not back then – so all I got was a couple of days' suspension.

Daisy showed up at my house on the second day of my suspension. She must have waited until my mom left before choosing to knock, and when she did, she threw her arms around me. "Thank you."

"Uh, you're welcome."

When it didn't look like she was going anywhere, I invited her to my bedroom, where she saw my old-fashioned record player. We spent the rest of the day listening to music and flicking through my collection of magazine covers before Mom returned and told her to leave because I was grounded. From that day forth started a glorious friendship – my one and only.

"Okay," I say as we make our way to English, "I won't say anything."

She turns to me, relieved, and says, "You're the best."

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of boredom. I am what you consider an average person: average grades, average abilities, and average looks. While I'm not exactly excelling in school, I don't find it particularly difficult either, so I spend my classes thinking about the gym.

It's hard to wrap my head around Hayden losing to Nico. We all have our off days, and maybe he'd underestimated Nico too, but now his defeat has disrupted the equilibrium. Anxiety plagues me for the rest of the day at the uncertainty of what this means for GymCon. But one thing I do know is that after last night, things will not be the same.

***

Forever loyal, Daisy waits for me after school so that she can walk me to detention. I hook an arm through hers, about to head toward my hour of hell when I spot her tormentors across the street. I take a deep breath, about to be the bigger person, and leave it, but then Danny looks over, spots Daisy, and makes a crude gesture.

Daisy's protests fade into oblivion as I calmly walk toward them, rehearsing what I'll say in my head. You need to leave my friend alone, I'll say. If you don't, I'll report you to the principal. I stop in front of him as he turns to look me up and down.

Danny jokingly nudges Hyatt and says to me, "How's your mom, Cassie? Saw that new post of her in the bikini. Man, what I'd give to f–"

Just like that, the speech I'd rehearsed flies out of my head, and I punch Danny straight in the stomach. He sucks in a breath and hunches over. Hyatt turns to face me with a screwed-up expression before stepping forward. I'm mentally preparing to hit him, too, when a pair of hands drag me back.

"Come on," Daisy gasps as she pulls me down the path, "before someone reports you."

We scramble around the corner until we're hiding behind the science building. Finally, she turns to face me. "You're an idiot. What if a teacher had seen you? What if someone ends up reporting you? You know there's a zero policy on violence."

"There's also a zero policy on bullying," I say, my throat still thick with anger. "Doesn't stop it from happening."

She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut before opening them again. When she does, they have softened with pity. "You've been doing so well since you joined that gym. What did he say to you?"

I shrug, running my finger back and forth over the face of my watch. I have no idea why, but this action always calms me whenever I find myself stuck in conversations I don't want to have. "It doesn't matter what he said. Look, I need to go, or I'll be late for detention. I'll call you later."

She looks like she wants to say something else but instead pulls me into a hug. "Make sure it's after eight. I have violin practice tonight."

"Love ya," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "Love ya too."

All through detention, I cradle my knuckle under the table. Now that the red haze has dispersed a little, I regret succumbing to violence, but sometimes I can't help it. You can go your whole life counting to ten and being the bigger person, but where does it get you? Sometimes the Dannys and Hyatts of this world only respond to one thing: confrontation.

By the time detention is over, I'm in an even more foul mood than usual. All I want is to get to the gym and work off this steam. As soon as I'm free, I get into my car, turn on my angry playlist, and drive to Burbank. Once outside, I kill the engine and pull out my phone to face time Dad. It's become somewhat of a ritual we call every evening, and tonight is no exception.

He answers on the first ring, as usual, and the sound of his voice helps to calm me. "Hi, sweetheart," he says. "How was school?"

"I got into a fight," I say because I'm not scared to tell my dad the truth like I am with my mom. I tell him everything, no matter how ugly, and even when disappointed, he doesn't do that judgmental thing my mother has perfected. No matter what, he's always in my corner.

"Were you the instigator?" he asks.

"Technically, yes."

His eyes soften. "Cass."

"I know, I know," I say. I've heard this speech too many times to count. "There's no excuse, no matter what was said to provoke me. Sometimes I just get so angry that it feels like I'm imploding."

"Is the gym helping at all?" He sounds so earnest and hopeful that I can't bring myself to tell him the truth this time.

"Sure. A little. I'm sorry, Dad."

"I know you are," he says, his eyes softening. "It's hard, Cassie. I get it." And he does. He's the only one who understands what it's like to be on the receiving end of my mother's impossibly high expectations. When she shot to fame – and I use that term loosely – her expectations spiraled. She would constantly comment on his weight or his hair and anything else she disagreed with. The difference is he's been able to escape her clutches: I'm stuck.

"When can I move in with you?" I ask. "I don't care if the place isn't ready. I'll sleep on the floor if I have to."

"Soon," he promises. "I need to get the apartment done and let the landlord know there will be an extra tenant, and then we'll find a way to break it to your mother. Okay?"

I think about arguing for all of two seconds and then sigh. "Good. I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Chickie."

A/N

Hope you're enjoying this story!!

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