"Oh shit, new girl's ride just got destroyed!"
The words sliced through the crisp March air, making my blood run cold. I whipped my head around, desperately trying to pinpoint which entitled dickhead had uttered those damning words.
Please, God, don't let it be true. Not Ladybug. Not my grandfather's truck that I'd barely had for a week.
I zipped my spring coat up to my chin, a futile attempt to ward off the biting chill that seemed to seep into my very bones. With trembling hands buried deep in my pockets, I steeled myself to push through the sea of navy and red-trimmed coats flooding Fair Oaks Preparatory's parking lot.
My new school.
My living nightmare.
Just moments ago, I'd been on my way to lunch, my mind occupied with trivial concerns like whether the cafeteria would serve something edible today. Then Maddy's text flashed across my screen, warning me about the Three Kings and their latest prank. A prank involving a red truck.
My truck.
The Three Kings. I'd barely been here a week, and already their reputation preceded them.
Kingston Blake, the ringleader, was the first to come to mind. Heir to a billion-dollar shipping empire and star quarterback of the football team. Once upon a time, I'd known him as my childhood friend, before life tore me away from Fair Oaks. But that Kingston was long gone, replaced by someone I barely recognized.
As I shouldered my way through the crowd, my eyes scanned for his telltale intoxicating good-looking bedhead.
Even from a distance, I could picture his scowl—the kind of look that made you freeze in place, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Did everyone quake under that gaze, or was it just me?
My chest tightened as I caught a glimpse of him.
Kingston had that infuriating boy-next-door look, with light blue eyes that seemed to shift to green depending on the light. But his angular face always wore a grim expression, as if the weight of the world rested solely on his broad shoulders. I hated how much I noticed these things about him, how I'd learned to appreciate the dangerous allure of Kingston Blake even as he made my life hell.
Flanking him were the other two Kings: Angelo, the flashy, dark-haired charmer always surrounded by a flock of adoring girls, and Tommy, the strong, silent type who seemed perpetually annoyed with the world.
Together, they ruled Fair Oaks Prep with an iron fist, and I was their latest target.
"Move!" I shouted, surprised by the strength in my own voice.
The crowd parted, and I stumbled forward, my heart pounding in my ears.
Please, let Ladybug be okay.
She wasn't just a truck; she was a 1967 Ford 100 series, a beauty with chrome spoked rims and a history etched into every dent and ding. Grandpa Bo had owned her for almost twice my lifetime, and I'd fallen in love the moment I laid eyes on her.
As the last of the onlookers stepped aside, my worst fears materialized before me. Ladybug stood defiled, her truck bed overflowing with ripped-open trash bags, more garbage stuffed through a forced-open window. But the coup de grâce was the white paint splattered across her windshield and hood, obliterating her classic red charm.
My insides twisted, bile rising in my throat as the stench of rotting garbage assaulted my senses.
This was beyond cruel.
This was personal.
"Where's Waste Management when you need 'em?" a high-pitched voice cut through the air. Sophia Spade, Kingston's top groupie and self-appointed queen bee of Fair Oaks Prep. Her words dripped with malice, each syllable a dagger aimed at my heart.
I locked eyes with Kingston as he emerged from behind the truck, flanked by Angelo and Tommy.
In that moment, I wanted to scream, to lash out, to make him feel an ounce of the pain and humiliation coursing through me. Instead, I froze, my fists clenched uselessly at my sides.
He leaned in close, his cologne—an intoxicating mix of cedar and something distinctly *him*—overwhelming my senses.
I watched, mesmerized despite myself, as he licked his lips before speaking. His minty breath fanned across my face as he delivered the final blow.
"Why don't you get in your broken-down dumpster and get the hell out of my school?"
I stood there, speechless, as he walked away, my mind reeling. This wasn't just another childish prank; this was a declaration of war. And as I watched Sophia saunter past, shoulder-checking me with a smirk, I knew I had a choice to make.
I could back down, lick my wounds, and let them win. Or I could fight back.
As I circled Ladybug, assessing the damage and plotting my next move, one thing became crystal clear. This bullying had to stop. Kingston had to be stopped. And if the school wouldn't handle it, then I would have to do it myself.
I may have lost this battle, but the war was just beginning. And I, Sasha, the new girl with the trashed truck, was about to show Kingston Blake and his Kings exactly who they were messing with.
Game on, Your Majesty. Game-fucking-on.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of whispers and sidelong glances. I could feel the weight of a hundred stares on my back as I trudged through the hallways, my head held high despite the shame burning in my chest.
The old Sasha would have crumbled, maybe even cried in the bathroom between classes. But that Sasha was gone, replaced by someone harder, someone with steel in her spine.
As the final bell rang, I made my way back to Ladybug.
The parking lot had emptied, leaving me alone with my desecrated truck and my thoughts. I ran my hand along her paint-splattered hood, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingertips.
"I'm so sorry, girl," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I'll fix this. I promise."
With a deep breath, I climbed into the cab, wrinkling my nose at the putrid smell of garbage. As I turned the key, Ladybug sputtered to life, her engine coughing and wheezing.
I said a silent prayer of thanks that at least they hadn't messed with her mechanically.
The drive home was a somber affair. I kept my windows down, trying to air out the stench, but it clung to me like a second skin. By the time I pulled into our driveway, my eyes were stinging from unshed tears and the acrid smell of rotting food.
Mom was waiting on the porch, her face a mask of concern as she took in the state of Ladybug.
"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed, pulling me into a tight hug as soon as I stumbled out of the truck. "What happened?"
I buried my face in her shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of her lavender perfume. For a moment, I was tempted to let it all out – the bullying, the humiliation, the burning desire for revenge. But I knew what she'd say.
She'd tell me to turn the other cheek, to be the bigger person. To let it go.
But I couldn't let it go. Not this time.
"Just a prank," I mumbled, pulling away. "Some jerks at school thought it would be funny to trash Ladybug. Don't worry, I'll clean her up."
Mom's brow furrowed, her eyes searching mine. "Sasha, if someone's bothering you at school, we can talk to the principal. This isn't right."
I forced a smile, shaking my head. "It's fine, Mom. Really. I can handle it."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. As she headed back inside, promising to help me clean up later, I felt a pang of guilt for not telling her the whole truth. But this was my battle to fight.
I spent the next few hours scrubbing Ladybug inside and out, my muscles screaming in protest as I attacked every inch of her with soap and water. As I worked, my mind raced, plotting and scheming. I may not have the money or the social status of the Three Kings, but I had something they didn't: nothing left to lose.
By the time the sun began to set, Ladybug was looking better. The garbage was gone, and most of the paint had come off with some elbow grease and Dad's special cleaning solution. She wasn't perfect, but she was clean. As I stood back to admire my work, a plan began to form in my mind.
I couldn't out-prank the Kings. I couldn't beat them at their own game. But maybe, just maybe, I could expose them for who they really were.
With renewed determination, I marched into the house and up to my room. I booted up my ancient laptop, cracking my knuckles as I waited for it to wheeze to life. It was time to do some digging.
Hours passed as I scoured social media, school records, and local news articles. I compiled a dossier on each of the Kings, looking for any weakness, any chink in their armor. As the clock ticked past midnight, my eyes bleary from staring at the screen, I finally found what I was looking for.
A grainy photo, buried deep in an old Fair Oaks Gazette article.
It showed a younger Kingston, maybe twelve or thirteen, standing next to... me. We were both grinning, our arms around each other's shoulders. The caption read: "Local children raise money for animal shelter."
I stared at the image, memories flooding back. Kingston and I had been inseparable that summer, united in our love for animals and our determination to save the local shelter from closing.
We'd organized bake sales, car washes, even a talent show. And we'd succeeded.
What had happened to that boy? How had he turned into the cruel, cold-hearted bully I knew now?
As I saved the photo to my computer, a plan began to take shape. Kingston might have forgotten our shared past, but I hadn't. And maybe, just maybe, I could use it to bring him down.
I fell into bed as the first rays of dawn began to peek through my curtains, my mind whirling with possibilities. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, I would start fighting back.
As I drifted off to sleep, one thought echoed through my mind: Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I was about to unleash a fucking ice age on Fair Oaks Prep.
The weak, timid Sasha was gone. In her place stood someone new, someone forged in the fires of humiliation and betrayal. Someone who was ready to take on the Kings and win.
Watch out, Kingston Blake. The game has changed, and you have no idea what's coming for you.