Chapter 1

Three days after my fight with Blake Simpson, the school bully, I unexpectedly awakened a superpower that let me hear what all the things around me were saying.

As I stormed out, my sneakers were thinking, 'No, Paisley. Don't step in the water. I'll get filthy. That jerk Blake just cleaned me yesterday.'

Still fuming, I kicked a trash can by the curb. The trash can thought in protest, 'Why me? I didn't do anything wrong.

'Yesterday, Blake tossed a bouquet of wilted roses inside me, muttering that seeing them reminded him of you, and it made him upset.'

I froze.

When I got home, I saw the ugly-cute teddy bear Blake had given me. It was thinking, 'Why isn't Paisley back yet?

'Blake hugged me and cried all night, saying he's terrible at expressing himself and that he'd driven Paisley away. He got snot and tears all over me. I got filthy.'

The teddy bear's complaints hit me like a thunderclap, leaving me rooted to the spot.

I couldn't believe it as I stared at the ugly bear with mismatched eyes, and then gave its belly a cautious poke.

'Stop poking me. My stuffing's gonna come out,' the teddy bear thought. Its voice sounded like a grumpy old man, dripping with disdain. 'That big dummy hugged me all night and kept calling out 'Paisley, my baby'.

'He squeezed me so hard that I nearly suffocated. So don't poke me. Are you two nuts or something?'

I yanked my hand back like I'd been electrocuted, my heart pounding.

Blake? The school bully with a temper whom everyone avoided like the plague, snuggling a plushie and bawling his eyes out?

That was so wild that I couldn't even picture it.

Suddenly, my phone screen lit up with a message from Blake.

Blake: [Where are you?]

Normally, I'd assume he was checking up on me, so his tone was annoying.

But now I could hear his phone case's sharp little voice as it thought, 'Oh my gosh, he finally sent it.

'That big oaf spent half an hour fiddling with his phone, typing and deleting hundreds of words, and in the end, he only sent "where are you?"

'What a chicken. His palms were so sweaty that he got me all soaked.'

I held my phone and rolled my eyes.

I didn't reply.

I wanted to be alone for a bit, to wrap my head around this bizarre reality, and maybe keep listening to see what other secrets that "bully" was hiding.

I tossed my phone onto the couch and turned to pour myself some water.

There were two mugs. Blake insisted on buying these matching mugs for us. His mug was the pink bunny one.

As I grabbed the skull-print one, the mug rumbled in a low, grumpy voice as it was thinking, 'I'm dying of thirst here. Blake hasn't drunk any water in days, just booze.

'Last night, he got hammered and started mumbling to my pink bunny wife, saying stuff like "if Paisley ever dumps me, I'll disappear into the mountains and never see another soul again." Man, what a disgrace.'

I sprayed water everywhere.

Seriously?

Blake, the guy who was always threatening to twist people's heads off, wanted to disappear into the mountains and never see another soul again?

Suddenly, there was a frantic knock at the door, followed by those familiar, heavy footsteps.

Oh crap. My heart skipped a beat.

The doorknob was thinking, 'He's here. That brute is here. He's squeezing me like crazy. I'm about to break. Somebody, help!'

I took a deep breath and walked over to open the door.

Blake was standing there, dressed all in black, his bangs covering his eyes, giving off a vibe that said, "Keep your distance."

He was holding a takeout bag, the plastic digging into his fingers and turning them red.

When he saw me, his eyes flickered away for a second, and then he shoved the takeout into my arms, giving me no chance to refuse.

"Just passing by. Bought too much," he said, his voice was rough, with that signature coldness.

If the takeout box wasn't freaking out, I might've actually believed him.

The takeout box shrilled in a sharp soprano as it was thinking, 'Yeah, right. Passing by? Give me a break. He went three miles out of his way to your favorite shop on the south side and queued up for you.

'He held me to his chest the whole ride, racing home so I'd stay warm while he got burned. Check out his chest, and you will see that red spot.'

My eyes instinctively darted to his chest, and sure enough, there was an unnatural crease on his black T-shirt.

Blake caught me staring at his chest and instantly tugged at his collar, glaring at me with that fierce look. "What are you staring at? Eat it while it's still hot. If it gets cold, it'll be poison."

With that, he spun around and walked off, his back stiff and resolute, like he was marching to his doom.

But his limited-edition sneakers totally betrayed him. They thought, 'Don't go. Talk to her. Man, your legs are trembling. You had a whole apology planned, and now you're running off without saying a word? Coward!'

I watched him bolt, and all that pent-up frustration in my chest vanished.

In its place, I felt this strange, giddy urge to mess with him.

So that was your true colors, Blake. I'd never known you were such a two-faced man.

If you wanted to keep up the act, then game on. I would play right along.

I closed the door, eyeing the steaming food on the table, and grabbed my phone.

On my Moments feed, my fingers flew across the screen as I typed up a new post.

I attached a photo of me sitting across from some guy at the library, who I actually didn't know.

The caption was: [A fresh start.]

Then I hit send.

Less than three seconds later, my phone on the table started vibrating, practically jumping around like a maniac.

My phone thought, 'Oh no. Blake smashed his phone. He's totally lost it. He's literally banging his head against the wall. Paisley, pick up already, or he's gonna tear the whole place down.'