Chapter Text
August 3rd I could always tell it was the first day without checking a calendar.
The air felt different. It was too bright, too loud, like someone had turned the volume up on everything and forgot how to turn it back down. People walked faster, talked louder, laughed harder. Like they were trying to convince themselves they were excited to be here.
I wasn’t.
The strap of my backpack dug into my shoulder, rubbing the same spot over and over like it had a personal vendetta. I adjusted it, then adjusted it again, even though it didn’t help. My palms were already a little sweaty. Not nervous, exactly. Just… aware.
Of everything. Of how my shoes sounded against the pavement. Of the way people clustered into groups before they even hit the doors. Of how easy it looked for everyone else.
I slowed down just before the entrance, letting a group of girls pass me. They were laughing about something dumb, probably, and one of them tossed her hair like she was in a commercial.
Effortless.
Fake as hell.
I stepped inside.
The hallway hit me all at once.
Lockers slamming. Metal against metal. Voices overlapping, bouncing off the walls. Someone shouting from the other end like they were being murdered instead of just greeting their friend. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying if you paid attention to it too long.
I did. I always did.
My locker was halfway down the hall, left side. I knew exactly how many steps it would take to get there. I knew which tiles were cracked, which lockers had dents in them, which corners to avoid if I didn’t want to get shoved.
I also knew where they would be.
Center left. Near the row that actually mattered.
I didn’t look right away. I didn’t have to. You could feel it, like pressure in the air before a storm.
Tiffany.
I kept walking, eyes forward, pace steady. Not too fast, not too slow. Just… normal. Blend in. Get to the locker. Open it. Don’t look.
“Hey, Pezzimenti!”
There it was.
Her voice cut through everything. Sharp, loud, impossible to ignore. Like nails dragged across glass just to see who flinched.
I stopped.
Not because I wanted to. Because ignoring her always made it worse.
For a second, I thought about just… continuing. Pretending I didn’t hear. But I already knew how that would go. She’d follow. Louder. Meaner. Drag more people into it.
So I turned.
Slowly.
She was exactly where I expected, leaning against her locker like she owned the entire damn building. One shoulder pressed back, arms loose, posture relaxed in a way that wasn’t relaxed at all. One of her friends, Chelsea, was already half laughing like she knew something was coming. Blair stood just behind, watching with that quiet, observant look. Christina hovered nearby, silent, like she didn’t need to speak to be part of it.
Tiffany smiled.
Not a nice one.
Not even close.
It was the kind of smile that meant something bad was about to happen and she was going to enjoy every second of it.
“How’s it feel knowing your grandfather shot mine in the head before he could even come home?”
The words landed heavy. Not loud. Not screamed. Just… dropped.
Chelsea let out a sharp breath.
“Shit… that’s cold.”
Blair tilted her head slightly.
“Guess it runs in her family. Murderous bitch.”
Christina finally spoke, her voice quieter but still clear enough.
“Would explain why she’s such a creep.”
Something in my chest dropped.
I turned back to my locker, fingers fumbling slightly with the combination. I missed a number. Swore under my breath. Tried again.
It opened with a dull metal click.
I stared at the inside like I’d forgotten what I was supposed to do.
Books.
Right.
I grabbed what I needed, shoved the rest in without thinking, and slammed it shut a little harder than necessary.
The sound echoed.
No one cared.
Of course they didn’t.
History was exactly the same as it always was.
Same seats. Same people. Same stupid feeling of being somewhere you didn’t belong.
I took my usual spot near the window, second row from the back. Not close enough to be involved. Not far enough to disappear.
Tiffany sat near the center.
Of course she did.
Chelsea leaned over immediately, whispering something that made Tiffany smirk. Blair flipped through her notebook like she was bored already. Sasha slid into her seat a minute later, glancing around like she was checking who was watching.
Like it mattered.
The teacher started talking. Something about the syllabus, expectations, participation. The usual first-day crap. His voice blurred in and out, words slipping past me without sticking.
I kept my eyes on my notebook.
Not writing.
Just… staring.
Every now and then, I could feel it again. That same crawling awareness from the hallway. Like someone was watching me. Measuring. Judging.
Or maybe I was just imagining it.
I pressed my pen harder against the page, dragging it across the paper in random lines just to feel something solid.
Focus. Just get through the day. That was it. That was the goal.
Not talk too much. Not look too much. Not give anyone a reason.
Simple.
Easy.
Except it wasn’t.
Because every time I thought about the hallway, about what Tiffany said, about the way everyone laughed, about Jeremy just standing there...
Something twisted again.
And underneath that...
Something else.
Quieter.
Sharper.
Next time, it whispered, faint but clear enough to make my grip tighten around the pen.
Don’t just stand there.
My hand stilled.
I stared down at the page.
At the lines I didn’t remember drawing. Crooked. Pressed too hard. Almost like I’d been trying to carve through the paper instead of write on it.
A small breath left my lungs.
Uneven.
That… didn’t feel right.
I closed the notebook slowly, pressing it flat with my palm like that would somehow settle it. Like that would settle me.
It didn't.
Nothing did.
And for the first time that morning, I wasn’t just thinking about Tiffany. Or Jeremy. Or any of them.
I was thinking about myself.
And the quiet, uncomfortable realization sitting heavy in my chest.