chapter 3

The sound of laughter echoed down the school hallway, sharp and cruel. It had been years since I’d walked those halls, yet the memory felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.

I could still see the linoleum floors, scuffed and dull from decades of restless students. The faded lockers lined the walls, each one painted a peeling blue. My own locker was on the far end of the hallway—a place I used to dread walking toward.

That day had started like any other. I arrived early, hoping to avoid the crowds and the prying eyes that always seemed to find me. I kept my head down as I moved through the hallways, my books clutched tightly to my chest like a shield.

I should have known better.

I turned the corner and saw them—Elliot and his friends. They were lounging against the lockers, their laughter ringing out like an alarm bell. My pulse quickened. I tried to make myself smaller, pressing against the wall as I passed.

But it was too late.

“Hey, loser!” Elliot’s voice cut through the air, freezing me in place.

I didn’t look up. I knew better than to make eye contact. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d let me go.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he called out, his voice laced with mockery.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “I... I need to get to class.”

Elliot stepped in front of me, his towering frame blocking my path. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, a predator toying with his prey.

“Class can wait,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “We were just talking about you.”

His friends laughed, the sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?” Elliot repeated, feigning innocence. “We’re just having some fun, right, guys?”

The group murmured their agreement, their grins widening.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” Elliot said, reaching for my bag.

“No!” I protested, clutching it tighter.

But he was faster, yanking it from my grip with ease. My books and papers spilled onto the floor, scattering like fallen leaves.

“Look at this mess,” he said, his tone mocking. “Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one? How can you be so clumsy?”

His friends erupted into laughter, their voices echoing in my ears.

I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather my things. My cheeks burned with humiliation, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

Elliot picked up one of my notebooks, flipping through it casually. “What’s this? Oh, a math test! Let’s see how the genius did.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, reaching for the notebook.

He held it out of my reach, his smirk growing. “An A-minus? Wow, you’re slipping. Maybe you’re not as smart as everyone thinks.”

The words stung more than I cared to admit. I had spent hours studying for that test, pouring over equations until my head ached. But to him, it was just another weapon to use against me.

“Give it back,” I said, my voice trembling.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Make me.”

My stomach churned. I hated him. Hated the way he made me feel powerless, like I didn’t matter.

But I couldn’t do anything. If I fought back, it would only make things worse.

Elliot finally tossed the notebook onto the floor, his laughter ringing in my ears as I scrambled to pick it up.

“Careful,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to damage that precious GPA.”

His friends laughed again, the sound fading as they walked away.

I stayed on the floor for what felt like an eternity, my hands shaking as I gathered my things. Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

That was the worst part—not the teasing or the pranks, but the way he made me feel so small. Like I didn’t belong. Like I was nothing.

I blinked, the memory dissolving like mist.

The kitchen around me came back into focus, the faint hum of conversation drifting in from the dining room. My hands gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white.

He had been so cruel. So thoughtless. And now he was here, acting like none of it had ever happened. Acting like he was a different person.

But how could I believe that? How could I trust someone who had taken so much from me?

A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

It was Elliot.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

I stared at him, my mind still tangled in the memory of who he used to be.

“No,” I said, my voice cold. “Not now.”

He nodded, stepping back without another word.

As he left, I couldn’t help but wonder—was he really sorry? Or was this just another trick?