THE NEW SCHOOL
The new school smelled of perfume, expensive shoes, and polished marble floors. It was the kind of place where money spoke louder than grades, and lineage mattered more than effort. The walls themselves seemed to whisper the names of old families, their children strutting like little kings and queens.
Angelyn arrived with her mask. Not the hospital kind, but sleek, designer, imported—something that blended into her new world. Here, she wasn't teased for it. Instead, it became a mark of mystery.
"Cool mask."
"She looks different… in a good way."
"Her dad's loaded, right? Maybe she's just eccentric."
For the first time, her mask wasn't shame. It was power.
And with power came attention.
Three girls, dressed immaculately, their laughter sharp as glass, approached her during recess. They weren't kind; Angelyn knew that instantly. But they smiled like predators inviting her into the pack.
"You're quiet, aren't you?"
"I like her vibe."
"She's one of us. Look at her bag, look at her shoes. She belongs."
It wasn't friendship. It was alliance. But to Angelyn—who had eaten lunch alone for years—it was enough.
Together, they became inseparable. They mocked others, played cruel games, whispered rumors. But there was one group they always hunted: the scholars.
The school gave scholarships to the brilliant but poor, parading it like charity. To Angelyn's new friends, however, the scholars were prey.
"They don't belong here," one of the girls sneered.
"They think they're smart? Let's remind them what money can do."
At first, Angelyn only watched. Her mask hid the twitch of her lips, the nervous beat of her heart. She told herself it was fine—it wasn't her. She was just… standing nearby.
But one afternoon, that changed.
The girls cornered a boy in the back of the gym. He was quiet, bookish, thin. His uniform was faded, his shoes worn.
They shoved him.
They slapped the books from his hands.
They laughed as he scrambled to pick them up.
"Say it," one of them demanded.
"Say you're trash."
The boy shook his head. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
That refusal ignited something dark in them. They didn't stop at words. They kicked him. Over and over. He curled into himself, whimpering like a wounded animal.
Angelyn stood there. Frozen.
Her father's eyes flashed in her memory—disgust, guilt, rejection. The laughter of her old classmates rang in her ears—ugly, ugly, ugly.
And then, something inside her snapped.
She stepped forward. Picked up one of the boy's books. Looked down at him, and with a voice calm and cold, said:
"You don't belong here."
Then she dropped the book on his head. The others erupted in laughter, clapping her on the back, calling her one of us.
From that day on, Angelyn wasn't just watching. She was part of it.
And the bullying escalated. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. Each time, the boy grew thinner, paler, more hollow. Until one morning, he didn't come to class.
Rumors swirled. A nervous breakdown. A hospital stay. Something wrong with his brain.
But Angelyn knew.
She remembered the last time she saw him, lying still on the gym floor, barely moving, his eyes glassy.
And for the first time in her life, the mask didn't just cover her face.
It covered the monster she was becoming.
End of Piece Three.
CHAPTER END 🫠