Chapter 3

“She threw all my clothes on the floor! That dress alone costs over £200! She should pay me back—or get expelled!”

Mrs. Baines turned to me, “Why did you throw her clothes out?”

I smiled. “They were on my bed, which makes them my stuff. I could burn them if I wanted to.”

“See, Mrs. Baines! She’s a troublemaker! No respect for you at all!”

I smirked. “If you respected Mrs. Baines so much, why didn’t you tidy your clothes up before now? You knew I was moving in today, yet you dumped your stuff on my bed. I took it as a gift—shame I don’t wear trash.”

Laughter erupted around the room.

Jess’s face turned beetroot red. “Well, you shouldn’t have thrown them on the floor. You’re not the one cleaning up, where’s your sense of decency?”

I cursed silently.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to clean up. What’s your problem?” I opened my suitcase, grinning at Mrs. Baines. “I haven’t unpacked yet—too much rubbish around. Might as well clean it all at once.”

I proceeded to scrape the remains of someone's watermelon rinds and discarded seeds from the table and threw them onto the pile of Jess’s clothes. I even gave it a couple of stomps for good measure.

“Press it down—makes it easier to clean,” I said, smirking.

Now the whole lot was drenched and covered in food. Useless.

Jess let out another wail, her face drained of colour.

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Baines said firmly, turning to Jess. “You all need to learn to live together. Sort these things out between yourselves.”

After Mrs. Baines left, Jess shot me a venomous glare.

I raised my head and said coldly, “Stop glaring—your contact lenses are slipping.”

The other girls, finally free of Jess’s tyranny, were more than happy to help me unpack and introduce themselves.

Jess, on the other hand, retreated to her bed, sulking behind the curtain.

I still needed to pick up a few things, so I asked the girls for directions and headed out, mask and baseball cap on. It took me about half an hour to find the Sainsbury’s they mentioned.

As soon as I walked in, I could feel the unfriendly stares.

When I went to the checkout with my items, a guy cut in front of me and sneered to his mate:

“See, even ugly bints go psycho.”

“Course they do, mate. No blokes like her, so when other girls get attention, she just loses it.”

Even I wasn’t thick enough not to realize they were talking about me.

Bloody hell, it felt like I was in some twisted reality show where every episode was a new challenge.

I slammed my items down on the counter and wedged myself between them.

“What’s the gossip, then? Mind if I join?”

They both looked shocked, stepping back involuntarily. I used the opportunity to slip in front of them, grinning.

“Ugly girls are meant to be psycho, right? You two look like you know all about it.”

Their faces turned a deep shade of red. “Who the hell are you calling ugly?”

“You two, obviously.”

They were left speechless.

One of them, clearly more cocky than smart, rolled up his sleeves like he was ready to fight. I wasn’t having any of it. I grabbed an apple from my shopping bag and crushed it in one hand. Juice splattered everywhere, dripping down my fingers.

I shot a glance downwards, and suddenly both blokes clamped their legs together in panic.

“Bye now, boys!” I said cheerfully, striding out of the shop.

It was clear this hadn’t just come out of nowhere. When I got back to the flat, I pulled Alice aside and asked if there was some sort of group chat I didn’t know about. She confirmed there was, and soon enough, she opened it up for me to see.

The second I glanced at the screen, I was flooded with a barrage of disgusting images and hateful messages.

It turned out Jess had been posting edited pictures of me, painting herself as the victim of some grand bullying conspiracy.

One of her latest messages read:

“I don’t even know what I did to upset her! I just asked if she wanted to grab lunch, and she smashed all my makeup. I’m honestly scared.”

The photo beneath it? A close-up of her tear-streaked face, long lashes glistening with tears, her pink cheeks smudged with mascara. Just peeking into the corner of the shot? Her legs, perfectly positioned to look long and slender.

Most of the group was made up of guys, and they were falling over themselves to defend her. The whole lot of them were calling me every name under the sun, especially attacking my looks.

I asked Alice to add me to the group. Time to go to war.

TouristA: “@SunsetInLA, you’re the kind of bloke who wipes his greasy face with a dingy old towel, scarred with acne, all while eating a six-quid ready meal. You steal someone else’s selfie for your profile pic and then go commenting under every pretty girl’s post, ‘Wanna cry in my Ferrari?’”

TouristA: “@MountainMan, no girls like you, your mates laugh behind your back, and you scrape together £13 in your bank account, buy a takeaway, and use your last quid to pay for a three-day Netflix trial. Screenshot the receipt and post it to Insta: ‘You’ll never understand my pain. You don’t deserve my loyalty.’”

TouristA: “@LongLegsYouCan’tTouch, your love’s like those flyers people hand out in the street. Everybody gets one. Your bank account? About as consistent as your morals—sometimes full, but usually empty.”

TouristA: “@ChooChooMaster, you’ll drink yourself stupid tonight and try to pull anything with a pulse. You fancy yourself a ladies’ man, but mate, look in the mirror—what kind of salad do you think you are?”

The group chat blew up.

SunsetInLA: “Who the hell let this one in? Come out and say your name if you’ve got the guts!”

MountainMan: “Oi! I never buy the three-day trial! I get the full month, you twat!”

TouristA: “@MountainMan, what kind of bin bag do you use, mate? You can stuff a lot in there.”

TouristA: “@SunsetInLA, I don’t hide my name, mate. Your daddy’s here.”

The chat descended into chaos.

Finally, Jess—going by the name SpanishSunset in the group—spoke up: “See, guys? This is exactly what I have to deal with. She’s bullying me like this all day, just like she did earlier.”

SunsetInLA: “Don’t worry, Sunset. I’ve got your back. TouristA, how about we meet face-to-face and see if you still have the balls to insult me?”

TouristA: “@SunsetInLA, if I insult you in person and you don’t get it, shall I carve it on your gravestone?”

ChooChooMaster: “SpanishSunset, don’t cry. She’s just jealous because you’re beautiful. You’re everything she’ll never be, so she lashes out. Proper backup girl.”

TouristA: “@ChooChooMaster, you reckon everyone’s a spare tyre because you think you’re a jack. Ain’t no one calling you, mate.”

Alice was practically on the floor, laughing and giving me a thumbs up.

My fingers were flying across the keyboard at this point, nearly sparking fire from the speed. The group was in absolute shambles. Only a few stragglers managed to spit out some feeble insults, but they were met with more of my jabs.

Finally, the chat quieted down.

Jess, or SpanishSunset, sent a voice message: “Please stop being so mean to everyone. I’ll apologise, okay? Just take it out on me from now on. They’re my sweet boys, I don’t want them hurt.”

What a pure and delicate little flower she was. Not.

TouristA: “@SpanishSunset, is your family in the antiques business? You call everyone ‘darling’?”

TouristA: “@SpanishSunset, you think you’re so desirable, but honestly, you’re cheap and overused.”

TouristA: “@SpanishSunset, with all these backups, your car must be an absolute wreck.”

Suddenly, a notification popped up. TouristA had been booted from the ‘We’re All Mates’ group.

Well, I’ll be damned. They kicked me out when they couldn’t handle the heat.

Did they really think I’d just let it go?

I flipped out of bed like a gymnast and yanked open Jess’s curtain.

She froze, hands still poised over her phone, clearly typing away in the chat. Her entire body went rigid.