My Bullies Funded My Secret Life As A Supersta

Bella Maxwell, the undisputed queen of Blackwood Academy, cornered me by the lockers, demanding to know why I’d left the final question of the calculus exam blank. “Don’t try to pretend you know how,” she asserted, her voice layered with condescension. “Only a handful of people—and I mean only me—could crack that problem. Just admit it, Reed.” That single, arrogant sentence put five thousand dollars into my bank account. My deskmate, Tess Riley, immediately chimed in. “Yeah, stop lying, you Swamp Thing. Always putting on airs.” Another five thousand dollars. I had meticulously curated this role—the ugly, gap-toothed, low-achieving liar—and relied on their daily barrage of scorn and insults. It had allowed me to quietly amass $14.8 million. I continued to play the part. Until the day world-renowned artist and choreographer Corinne Sinclair arrived at school for an exclusive audition, insisting that all male participants be completely bare-faced. Jax Donovan, the resident football star and supposed school heartthrob, smirked with open malice. “Better skip this one, Asher. You don’t want to scare Corinne Sinclair away, do you?” Only I knew how catastrophically wrong they were about to be.

1 I was sixteen when I discovered my ability to monetize malice. I had missed the freshman orientation and retreat due to a sudden illness. By the time I returned to class, the rumor that I was “the ugly kid” had already spread through the entire grade. Jax Donovan and his entourage were the primary sources. “Asher Reed? Yeah, I went to middle school with him,” Jax told his buddies, loud enough for me to hear. “The kid practically lived under a baseball cap and a mask. Guess he knew he couldn’t show his face.” Someone beside him always agreed. “Right? Jax is the school’s golden boy. The fact that the Gargoyle was even in the same building was a privilege. Gross that he followed Jax here for high school, too.” The rumors evolved. It started with me crushing on the most popular girl. Then, somehow, it morphed into me having a secret, sickening crush on Jax himself. I did nothing, said nothing, yet two days into the school year, I had forty thousand dollars deposited into my account. I tracked the amount—it corresponded precisely to four distinct insults aimed at me. Because Jax had established the narrative first, no one ever considered that my appearance was a disguise. I was simply the “Gargoyle” who’d followed the “Golden Boy.” I had operated this peculiar, profitable system for nine hundred and sixty-four days. The balance in my bank account was a number most people wouldn’t see in a lifetime. When I looked at that number, the vile words seemed less important. They weren’t insults; they were a program executing a transaction. I reorganized my life around it. I woke up at four a.m., two hours before everyone else. I spent ninety minutes on my studies and the remaining thirty on meticulously applying the “ugly mask”—the careful arrangement of makeup, hair, and clothing that would reliably provoke the insults and trigger the deposits. For a kid who had to budget every meal, the money was useful. A few words wouldn’t hurt me; my psychological tolerance was high. Besides, in three months, I would graduate, and my life would diverge completely from theirs. 2 Today, Tess Riley brought in a new “Ugly Guy Leaderboard.” My stolen, unflattering photo sat at the top, marked with a huge, angry red ‘X.’ “Congratulations, Asher Reed,” she drawled, her voice a sickly sweet imitation of a TV host. “You’ve clinched number one again.” She turned to the students in the front row. “What can I say? The Swamp Thing is a natural-born winner.” Jax Donovan threw his head back and laughed. I glanced at the photo and tried to focus on my notes. The final college-prep mock exam results had just been posted. Bored students had started a “Guy Rating Scorecard,” and as it circulated, I was consistently awarded the lowest score: two points. In their cruel, coded slang, two points was the rating for “The Gargoyle.” Tess, my deskmate, snatched the form and tossed it onto my desk. “Can’t be helped. Your teeth jut out, your skin is like asphalt, and your personality is worse. I lost a bet, otherwise I wouldn’t sit next to you.” Last month, I’d been accused of cheating. My test paper and Jax’s had suspiciously identical answers, down to the punctuation. I sat in front of him, and my average scores were always better. But Jax had only to wrinkle his nose and squeeze out a few crocodile tears—he had eyes that weirdly resembled the famous TikToker “A.R. Sings”—and the girls immediately decided I must have copied him. The scandal only died when the Math department head found the definitive proof: a complex problem involving the Greek letter Beta (β) that only I had solved correctly. But after that, the negative chatter only intensified. I went from an overlooked nobody to their definite “Swamp Thing” or “The Rat.” The small harassments started: being locked in a bathroom stall and having a bucket of dirty mop water poured over me, or simply walking past the art wing and setting off a chorus of mocking catcalls and invented rumors about me crushing on one of the cheerleaders. Teenagers are brilliant storytellers, and their vocabulary of cruelty grew daily. Anyone else would have crumbled. I remained perfectly calm. 3 My score on the first mock exam put me second in the entire school. The only person ahead of me was Bella Maxwell, the Dean’s daughter, an accomplished violinist who already had an acceptance letter from Juilliard. But she insisted on taking the college exams, and until then, she’d been the undisputed number one. Since I no longer needed to work odd jobs, I had more time to study, and my scores had finally closed the gap. Sera and I began trading the top spot. I checked my score, confirmed I was well within range for my target school, and started to pack up. Rank didn’t matter to me. But after class, Sera came looking for me. “Asher Reed, the Queen wants a word,” Jax informed me, a venomous edge of jealousy in his tone. I met his gaze and walked out into the hall. The familiar ‘+5,000’ dinged in my head. Sera stood leaning against the wall. Even in the plain school uniform, she looked immaculate, her gold-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on her nose. Her brow immediately furrowed when she saw me. “Asher, why didn’t you attempt the final problem on the calculus section?” I recalled the question. I had solved that exact derivative three times the previous week. I had a rule: if I’ve solved a difficult problem twice, I won’t waste time writing it out again. I told her simply, “I was being efficient.” Her frown deepened, and she reached out, grabbing my wrist. “You can have bad character, Reed, but don’t lie about your intelligence,” she said, her eyes, magnified behind the lenses, were ice-cold. “I spent twenty minutes on that problem. In this entire school, I’m the only one with the capacity to solve it.” She delivered her verdict. “You just couldn’t do it. Don’t make excuses.” Tess followed us out, backing her up. “She’s right, Asher. You’re desperate to save face.” I didn’t know how to respond to such absolute, unshakeable arrogance. Just then, Jax burst out of the classroom, practically vibrating with excitement. “Guys, the National Dance Fellowship is holding an unprecedented audition at our school!” 4 “The notice says this is a fast-track invitation!” Jax waved a flier. “If you get selected, you’re guaranteed a fellowship and a chance to share the stage with Corinne Sinclair!” Corinne Sinclair was an icon. She achieved fame young, studied in Vienna at seven, and was internationally known by fourteen. She was stunningly beautiful and universally acknowledged as an artistic genius. Her immense fame, however, had led to a serious invasion of her privacy. She had retreated to the relative quiet of our state, rarely appearing in public. Jax clutched the flier, his voice ringing with fervor. “Corinne Sinclair… If I could just be on the same stage as her, even as an extra, I’d die happy!” A few boys reached for the flier, but Tess swatted their hands away. “Look at yourselves. This is clearly for Jax. Don’t waste your time. You want to dance with Corinne? Dream on.” Jax lifted his chin, already certain of his success. “I’ll be sure to hand out signed photos later.” Tess instantly fawned. “Oh, Jax, when you’re famous, promise you won’t forget me.” It was only then that Jax seemed to notice me. “Oh, Asher Reed. You’re still here.” He smiled—an awful, fake amiability. “Are you going to try out? The notice says all boys are required to attend. You can sign up with me.” Before I could answer, Tess cut in. “Him? The Fellowship is looking for dancers, not… cautionary tales. Don’t embarrass the class, Asher.” Jax chuckled, a sound like scraping metal. “Yeah, man, you need to know your limits. You definitely shouldn’t go. Especially if Corinne shows up… you might terrify her.” I ignored them, pulled a new set of practice tests from my backpack, and started working. Sera, who had watched the exchange with an unreadable expression, finally asked me, “Asher, are you going?” “No,” I said, without looking up. “Why?” “I have to study.” 5 The day of the Fellowship audition, every boy in the school went to the main yard. Except me. I sat alone in an empty classroom, working through my practice tests. My seat was by the window, giving me a clear view of the proceedings. Jax had preened for the occasion. He’d spent a fortune on his hair, getting a specialized stylist to craft it into an artful sculpture. All the boys had put on their best performance attire, hoping to seize the opportunity. I kept writing. After the Dean’s introductory remarks, Corinne Sinclair walked onto the stage. She wore a simple white gown, and her presence was as cool and distant as her public image suggested. The first step of the audition, she announced, was mandatory: every boy had to completely wash off all makeup, foundation, and hair products. It was, she explained, a non-negotiable requirement from the Fellowship Director. Jax’s face went pale. He shot a frantic glance at Corinne, but resignedly grabbed a cleansing wipe. “Wait,” Corinne suddenly said, her voice cutting across the silence. “Are all the male students present?” The Dean was flustered. “We… we believe so.” Tess piped up eagerly, “Yes, sir! They’re all here, Jax was one of the first!” Corinne frowned. “No. I sense one is missing.” The Vice Principal said, “The hall monitor just checked the classrooms. They were empty.” Bella Maxwell, who had been standing silently nearby, finally spoke. “There is one person missing,” she said, her voice flat. “Someone who did not want to come.” 6 I finished the final problem and closed the test booklet. “Ms. Sinclair, the student is right here.” The Vice Principal ushered a group of people into the room, knocking on the open door. “Asher Reed, still studying? Why miss an audition this important?” He moved to pat my shoulder. I subtly moved out of range. “No need, sir,” I said calmly. “I know I won’t be selected, so I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time.” The Vice Principal’s hand stopped in mid-air, his expression slightly unnatural, much like the last time he’d cornered me privately and asked to “talk” about my “poor attitude.” “Nonsense, son. You can’t know if you don’t try.” A cool, detached voice came from behind him. I looked up and saw Corinne Sinclair. She was exactly as I remembered her: pale lips, long lashes, and an aura of remote perfection. My heart gave a quick, sharp beat. I allowed myself a small, knowing smile. “I won’t trouble you,” I paused, and used the name only she and I ever used. “Corinne.” “Hmph,” she actually responded. “Since you still acknowledge me as your sister, you will come with me now.” Her tone permitted no argument. The Dean and the other teachers exchanged shocked glances, but the Dean quickly recovered, his eyes now alight with a strange new enthusiasm. “Well, Asher, let’s go! You heard Ms. Sinclair!” I had no choice but to follow them to the yard. The boys waiting on the field had been muttering for a while. I caught Tess’s voice on the edge of the crowd. “This is pointless. Why drag Asher Reed out here? Doesn’t he look even worse without his heavy clothes?” Another girl laughed. “Yeah, the first round is looks. He’s already disqualified.” “I thought the Queen had a thing for him, but she just wanted to watch him squirm.” The whispers seemed to soothe Jax, whose color had started to return. The Dean led me back to the stage and addressed the crowd. “We had a small clerical error. We’ve found the missing student. The audition will now continue.” I was escorted to a corner where a basin of water waited. This was no gentle wipe; it was industrial-strength makeup remover. Tess, standing nearby, was triumphant. “That’s from my uncle’s lab! It dissolves anything! Get ready for the freak show, everyone!” Jax, who had finished his own removal, was still covering his face with his hands. Someone shouted, “Hurry up, Asher! Wash it off!” I took a deep breath and plunged my hands into the water.