One by one, the people "in charge" walked up to the podium — not the ones who earned their positions, just the ones born close enough to grab them.
They introduced themselves like it mattered.
Programs, clubs, sports — the usual list of ways to pretend we had choices.
Then came the principal.
He talked about honor and legacy, as if our mascot being a puddle didn't already make us a joke across the district.
I stopped listening right after he said "good morning."
That's when some kid sprinted across the gym with a flag, screaming like he'd just downed seventeen energy drinks.
"Yep," I thought. "This is gonna be a long day."
My mind drifted.
I wondered if they'd ever bring back the Balloon Blast event — three water balloons per student, guarding your teacher like it was war.
If you didn't want to fight, you could reload for others.
The school spent fifty grand on that event — free food, a DJ, and a prize trip to Seven Flags.
It felt like forever ago.
"Hey, do you wanna join any clubs?"
Emma's voice pulled me back. I'd almost forgotten she was sitting next to me.
Clubs…
The last time I joined one, I got duct-taped into a trash can.
After-school science fair club — my mom's idea.
"I wish I'd done something other than a volcano," I remember muttering.
She'd laughed then, cigarette dangling from her fingers.
"All my friends' sons are joining. Don't embarrass me, or you'll regret it."
My mom wasn't physically abusive, not in the usual way.
She preferred control over chaos — pain served with a smile.
She was the only one allowed to cook, and God help you if you tried.
The last time I did, she pressed a lit cigarette against my hand.
Her parents were old-fashioned, she said — the kind that believed pain built respect.
I never met them, but their ghosts lived in her voice.
"Dad never let me do that," she'd say, hands trembling, eyes far away.
"So I shouldn't either."
That's what made her dangerous — the way she fed you.
Food's supposed to be love, right?
Except when it's burned, blackened, and forced down your throat with that same hollow smile.
And when she was angry — really angry — she didn't need to lift a hand.
She'd just look at my father, and that was enough.
He only ever hit me in the face hard when she was mad.
Like her rage needed a body to bleed through.
His knuckles were her words.
And I was just the space between them.
My first black eye came from him.
The next morning, when the kids ripped my hat off laughing and saw the bruises, the school opened an investigation.
Good times, I thought with a dry laugh.
pulling out my notepad "Let's do cooking. If I remember right, once our dishes are graded, we get to spend the rest of the day in the library. It's during final period."
I scribbled it down and passed the note to Emma.
She smiled. "That's not really a club, but it sounds fun."
At least she likes it, I thought. We can always join a real club later… or make our own. I'm just not ready ...…
"Does anyone have any questions?" the principal droned on.
"Alright, after this short video about our zero-tolerance bullying policy, orientation will be over. Pay attention — we'll be asking some of you questions after."
Finally.
They dimmed the lights just enough for me to look around — to breathe in the quiet before the chaos.
As expected, my problems didn't disappear — they just changed shape.
This year was supposed to be a fresh start.
Instead, it came with the same ghosts wearing new faces.
Most of them had moved away, but three still remained.
Jamie. Thomas. Lucy.
Jamie was exactly what people expected him to be — the golden boy.
Blonde hair, green eyes, and that easy confidence that made everyone orbit him.
Good at everything that didn't require a brain.
The kind of guy teachers adored and students envied.
He laughed with everyone, helped when it mattered, played the perfect role.
But behind that smile, he ran the underworld of the school.
Cigarettes, vapes, stolen test answers — all of it passed through his hands.
His brother had been expelled two years ago for selling weed; rumor says Jamie took over the business before the suspension was even over.
He'd never so much as looked at me —
and I planned to keep it that way.
Thomas, though… was another story.
Unlike Dillon, who had limits, Thomas had none.
He thrived on pain — not his, but everyone else's.
Six students had already switched schools because of him.
And now, I was his current project.
He hadn't broken me yet, though he'd come close.
There were days my ribs ached so badly I couldn't breathe,
and nights I still heard the sound of brass knuckles against bone.
Once, he hit me so hard I coughed blood onto my shoes.
No doubt, by the end of this year, I'd see the inside of an ambulance again.
Then there was Lucy.
She wasn't a fighter, but she was the worst of them all.
The moment she noticed my glance across the room, I knew I'd messed up.
Lucy was the glue that held monsters together.
Not the loudest, not the strongest — just the most dangerous kind of quiet.
Her family owned a law firm and a chain of burger joints,
so she'd grown up learning that power didn't need volume.
Pretty, poised, and lethal.
Every Valentine's Day, her desk was buried under gifts.
She never went without — always had a pencil, a drink, a snack handed to her by someone desperate to stay in her good graces.
We didn't know each other.
We just… looked.
Two peas in a cracked pod, watching from opposite sides of the room.
Some strange, silent understanding passed between us —
almost wholesome, in a way that made me uneasy.
But don't let the calm fool you.
Lucy was judge, jury, and executioner of social life.
If two girls fought, she decided who got ruined.
Who lost friends, who lost status, who vanished.
It didn't sound terrifying until you realized how fast you could disappear in her world.
One whisper, one rumor —
and it was like night and day.
You'd wake up invisible.
"Alright that wraps up everything.
Everyone head back to your home rooms."