"Let's go. I'm taking you to school today. Oh… yeah. Uhhh, kid, no lunch money for you."
I froze.
Then, like I always do, I pulled the mask back on—no expression, nothing. The only sign I was even listening was the sound of my footsteps behind him.
Why hasn't he hit me yet?
A weird thought for someone my age. But I'd grown used to it. Morning beatings were routine. A part of me felt… off without the sting, the pulse, the pain forcing me awake.
The ride to school was heavy. Quiet. Different. No usual monologue of insults and "life lessons" thrown at the air. Just him, trapped in his car, yelling at the mannequin I was supposed to be.
"Men don't show fear."
"Drawing hair on your chest… gets you a girlfriend."
"If you fight, twist his dick."
Today was too quiet. Way too quiet…..
Then, at the drop-off… something impossible.
He grabbed my face. Forced me to look at him.
And I saw it.
My father crying.
Tears like a tidal wave. Silence. Red, piercing eyes.
Then… words. Words I'd probably never hear again:
"Have a good first day of school."
My wall… shattered.
Tears—hot, unrelenting—raced down. I yanked my backpack, bolted from the car. Almost ran into the school.
"He didn't see it… right?"
"He didn't see me cry… right?"
"The last time… he made me pay for it."
Steeling my mind. I blocked out every emotion and focused on the next battle.
School.
As a boy standing 5'1" in middle school, you can probably imagine how much I hate it. Funny enough, my dad is massive—6'4"—and my mom? 5'9". Or, as she likes to say, 5'9" with 6'9" energy.
My family grows slow. Like a slow cooker cutting on and off.
My parents used to say something about turning 14 and being in a lot of pain.
I pulled out my prepaid chip phone and checked my first-period classroom: Miss Hopkins.
I always get dropped off an hour early. Time to make lunch money… or study.
Remember, I'm bullied—not extorted. The last person who tried? Choked out in a stall. Nobody ever found out who did it. Nobody ever touched my stuff again.
Today, though, I wouldn't be making money.
I'd saved up all last year. My piggy bank was stacked.
Guess I'll just sleep in class.
Walking through the halls, I found classroom 1-17.
Here we go, I thought.
Walking in, I noticed her. Short, cheerful, clearly overthinking every minute of her day.
Miss Hopkins: middle-aged, emerald eyes, the "well-off but not dumb" type. You could tell she cared about every student—even the loud ones.
Surprisingly, someone else was here. I couldn't really make out her features. Bed head covered her face. She looked completely passed out. Coincidentally, she was in seat 25. I was in 24.
"Oh goooood morning! You must be Liam. Your last homeroom teacher already informed me of your situation."
She waved me closer.
"Can you do me a favor, please? Can you wake them up? They asked me to do it 45 minutes before class started, but ohhhh !!!! I'm busy working out technical issues on my computer."
Already? I literally just walked in…
I nodded.
I could tell she meant every word. First day, meeting her—it was… weird.
Slowly walking over to my seat, I ran through every possible scenario.
First-day protocol: categorize everyone in the room. Three types:
Bullies.
Avoid.
Super avoid.
This one? Definitely super avoid. I'd be out of my element, so cautious observation was key.
Sitting down, I exhaled, reached into my bag, and scribbled a quick note:
"Hey, Miss Hopkins told me to wake you up."
Leaning over, I nudged the sleeping wall of hair.
Nothing.
I nudged again.
Then, lightning fast, her head snapped up, facing the ceiling. Slowly, she turned toward me.
I already had the note ready, avoiding her gaze.
Super avoid. Definitely super avoid.
That reaction was —like a scene straight out of a horror movie.
With a speed I wasn't ready for, she snatched the note from my hand, still half-asleep.
"Miss Hop… wake up," she muttered to herself. Something finally clicked.
"Ohhhhh, thank you."
Nonchalant. Calm.
For the third time today, I was surprised.
Turquoise eyes.
A charming smile.
A complete 180 from the horror earlier.
"Uhh… you just gonna keep staring at me?"
I slammed my head down, trying to hide my embarrassed face.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Be nice. Liam can't speak—he's mute," Miss Hopkins called across the room.
I lifted my head, quickly nodded.
"Oh, that explains the note. Well, nice to meet you—I'm Emma."
I nodded again, leaning forward, trying to process the last two minutes. Trying to calm down.
I zoned out until class started, completely forgetting to assess my peers.
I couldn't help it.
Better this than listening to Emma scribble on her notebook like a madman.
Wait… when did she stop?
On cue, she passed me a note. I reluctantly accepted it.
Dear Liam,
I just moved here. Let's be friends.
Beneath her carefree writing was a doodle. A little figure waving, smiling.
At that moment, his words echoed back to me — Shank's voice, rough and patient, like gravel grinding against iron.
He wanted me to have a better social life. To stop drifting through the world like a ghost haunting empty halls.
That man… he's the only real role model I've ever had.
Maybe that's why I listen when he talks — not because I believe him, but because he's all I've got.
I smirked without realizing it.
Passing the note back, I nodded. Yes.
"Ooooo, doofus has a girlfriend now."
Great. Just great. I really should've surveyed my surroundings like I normally do.
Off to a fantastic start.
This day is already nothing like I planned.
Why is Dillon in my homeroom?
Last time he was in my class… my desk was always covered in dried-up glue shavings.
I'll need to be careful. Careful not to antagonize him.
Also… when did he get taller?
He's about 5'10" now.
I don't think I can win the fights anymore.
He's probably out for revenge—me embarrassing him last year.
Losing a fight while armed… definitely sad.
"Alright class, my name is Miss Hopkins. Welcome to your first day of middle school. Orientation will be at 9 PM today."
After her introduction and a rundown of the syllabus, she had everyone introduce themselves.
I noted the important names for later—planning purposes.
Finally, it was my turn. I stood, facing Miss Hopkins.
"This is Liam, guys. He's mute."
"We know who he is—he's Mike Wazowski!"
The class erupted in laughter.
Yep. He's Definitely getting payback this year.