The corridor smelled like leftover pizza and old gym socks. It was crowded in that way mornings are when everyone is trying to squeeze five minutes of friendship into a passing period. I was walking to class with my books hugged to my chest, thinking about the algebra worksheet I had stayed up for last night, when someone clipped my shoulder.
My papers fanned out across the tiles. A geometry book landed face down and pens rolled like tiny soldiers. For a second everything slowed down. I bent to gather my things and felt the heat of too many eyes on me.
Tyler laughed, an easy sound that wanted everyone to join in. Jackson flicked one of my pens across the floor like it was a toy. Their laughter tasted sharp. Cameron stepped back into his circle and made a joke I did not hear straight, a voice that wanted to erase me with a punchline. Someone snorted. Someone else whistled.
I kept my hands moving. Picking up books felt like picking up parts of myself I had left scattered on the ground. I did not look up at Cameron. I did not say anything. Saying nothing felt safer and mean in the same breath.
Mr Chen came around the corner with a stack of photocopies. He is the kind of teacher who walks like he is always solving a problem. He crouched down without making a big scene and helped me pick up a stray workbook. His voice was small and calm.
"You have a good method for these," he said, flipping through my notes. "You did the substitution on question seven. That will save you time. Nice work."
His praise was like a light turned on in a closed room. I felt my face go warm in a way that was not from shame. It was from recognition. People around us had started to move on. Tyler and Jackson shrugged and drifted away when nobody laughed anymore.
Cameron watched. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened like someone winding up a fist like popeye. This school runs on little competitions that no one admitted were competitions. Being smart can be counted as cheating if the scoreboard is popularity. I felt the thin thread of jealousy pull at the air between us. For a moment his eyes met mine. He looked annoyed more than anything. There was a kind of hunger there I had learned to read as danger. You know what, at this point ill just call him popeye
Mr Chen straightened up and said something to Cameron about the classroom being ready. Cameron scoffed and walked off. Mr Chen gave me a small nod and walked away too, clipping the photocopies under his arm. His look stayed with me in a quiet way. It was like finding a door you did not know was there and not being sure whether to open it.
By lunch I was back in the library, fingers tapping a rhythm on my binder as if to keep time with my heartbeat. I had the algebra problem solved in my head before I even looked at it. For a second I pictured walking up to Cameron and saying everything I thought of him, saying the words that would make him smaller the way he wanted to make me. The thought was loud and dangerous. I pushed it away.
After school the house was warm and noisy. Ahmed exploded through the front door with a story about a kid who had smacked his elbow on a desk in class. He told it like it was the best thing he had ever seen. Soraya followed him, hands full of ribbon, complaining about some girls in Year 5 who had said her hair looked strange. She stomped her foot and I could see her trying to be brave in the way little kids try to be.
Mum and Dad were knee deep in homework sessions with them. Mum was explaining a multiplication trick to Soraya while Dad corrected Ahmed's spelling. Their attention was a blanket thrown over the younger ones and it fit them in a way that made the edges rub against me.
I sat in the backyard on the concrete step with my laptop balanced on my knees. The summer air smelled like cut grass and the barbecue next door. I opened a fresh file and started to type. Coding is a different kind of quiet for me. It is a place where problems have answers and the answers do not depend on who you are. I wrote a tiny program that would sort my music files by artist and year. It was not complicated but it worked, and it settled something in my chest that words could not.
When I came inside for dinner I listened to Ahmed talk about a teacher who had given him a sticker and to Soraya's long list of playground grievances. I answered with small things. I helped with the plates. Mum asked how my day went and the answer that came out was the same as yesterday.
"Good," I said. It was a small shield.
That night I opened my diary and wrote without thinking the way I do sometimes, letting the words pour out before they get measured.
Diary Day 2
Cameron bumped me in the corridor and my books fell everywhere. Tyler laughed. Jackson picked up one of my pens and pretended it was a sword. Mr Chen helped me and said something nice about my algebra work. I felt strange when he praised me. Cameron looked jealous which makes me nervous. At home Ahmed would not stop talking about his day and Soraya is upset because some girls were mean to her. Mum and Dad were busy with them so I coded a little in the backyard alone. It helped.
I closed the diary and thought about Mr Chen's words. It is strange how one person's notice can make you feel seen and also make you a target at the same time. I do not know which is worse. For now I will keep the code and the algebra and the quiet. I will try to be small enough to not be hit and big enough to not be erased. Tomorrow is another day.