"What took you so long?" Mrs. Montero asked the moment Oliver entered the house.
Her voice came from the living room. She did not look angry, just tired. Oliver paused for a second,he was surprised that his mom was at home, then he answered without turning back.
"Nothing."
He started walking upstairs, his bag heavy on his shoulder. His body ached, but his heart felt heavier. He already knew what would happen next. She would ask a few questions, then leave again, just like always.
"Stop."
Her voice was sharp this time.
Oliver sighed quietly but stopped. He did not turn around. He could already feel his chest tightening. He wondered why she cared now. She was never home. Always busy, always tired.
She walked up to him in hurried steps. Before he could move away, her hands reached for his face. She tilted his head slightly, her fingers shaking.
"Who did this to you?" she asked. His face was swollen at some angles, the skin tender. "Was it George?"
Oliver's heart skipped. Hearing that name made his stomach twist. He hated how easily she guessed, and he hated even more that she was right.
He raised his arms and pushed her hands away.
"It's nothing," he said coldly.
The words came out harder than he meant, but he did not take them back. He stepped away from her and continued up the stairs.
As he climbed, his thoughts grew louder. She doesn't really care, he told himself. If she did, she would have noticed earlier. She would have been there.
To him, her worry felt too late, like something done out of habit, not love.
He reached his room and closed the door behind him.
Downstairs, Mrs. Montero stood still. Her hands slowly dropped to her sides. She watched his back disappear, her heart aching. She wanted to call his name, to follow him, to explain—but her feet would not move.
Her face showed only worry and sadness as the house fell quiet again.
The classroom buzzed with activity as usual. Some students were bent over their books, focused and serious, while others clustered in small groups, whispering and giggling. At the center of one of these groups was a blonde girl with delicate features, clearly the leader.
"It's unbelievable," she said, her voice tinged with excitement.
"I heard he's really arrogant. Is that true?" another student asked, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
"Yes, but he can be good-hearted at times," the blonde girl replied proudly. "His house is just a few blocks from mine."
"I don't think he'll be comfortable staying here," a boy added, frowning slightly. "He's from Willows Hill, right?"
"Yeah, that's true," another boy said with a dramatic shake of his head. "But it's a huge loss for Willows Hill! Their best sports student got transferred here. Their biggest rival—what a pity!"
Before anyone could respond, the classroom door burst open. The students scrambled to their seats in an instant, their chatter dying down. Behind the door, an older, heavy-set man walked in, his eyes scanning the room carefully. But it was the teenage boy behind him who stole everyone's attention.
Liam.
He was more impressive than the rumors had suggested. The room seemed to hold its breath as he entered. He was tall, with a strong jawline, and eyes the color of stormy skies—eyes that seemed to see everything, yet invited no fear. His athletic build moved with a relaxed, almost lazy grace, and a friendly smile played at his lips.
"This is Liam Adrien, your new classmate," Mr. Antoine announced, his voice formal but calm. "As you all know, he transferred from Willows Hill High School. Do not bully him or treat him coldly. Make him feel welcome."
The teacher gave a few more instructions before leaving the classroom, and the students tried to follow them, though it was clear their attention was now split—half on Liam, half on themselves.
Liam, however, was easy to get along with. He smiled at a few students, nodded politely, and even joked lightly with a boy sitting near the window. He was nothing like the arrogant figure the rumors had painted. Oliver, meanwhile, didn't take his eyes off the page in front of him. He didn't want to notice Liam. If anything, he was secretly relieved. All this attention would be on the new student, leaving him unnoticed for the next few months—or maybe the rest of the year.
Maybe things will be fine, Oliver thought quietly to himself. As long as I can endure the troubles and pains ahead… After all, this is my final year.
The first week passed slowly. Liam's presence was exciting for everyone, and for the most part, Oliver remained invisible. He enjoyed the quiet, though he suspected the calm wouldn't last.
He didn't have to wait long. One afternoon, while he rested his head on the desk, trying to catch a few minutes of sleep, a knock sounded sharply on his locker. Oliver looked up, and the moment his eyes met the intruder's, he knew trouble had arrived.
Alejandro.
"Hand over some fivers," Alejandro demanded, stretching a hand toward him.
Oliver's chest tightened. He lowered his head and muttered, "Don't have."
Alejandro's patience snapped. He slammed the locker door with a loud bang, attracting the attention of nearby students.
"Bring your bag. Let me see it," Alejandro ordered. Oliver clutched it tightly to his chest, shaking his head.
"Hmph!" Alejandro snorted and yanked the bag from Oliver's arms. He emptied it carelessly onto the desk, scattering books, notebooks, and pens across the floor. Oliver's body trembled, anger and helplessness mixing in his chest. He wanted to grab it all back, to push Alejandro away—but he couldn't.
After rifling through the contents, Alejandro found what he wanted and smirked.
"You said you didn't have any cash," he said, laughing lightly. "It's alright. But… these papers I found? I may need them later."
"Give me back my money," Oliver said, standing, his voice low but firm.
Alejandro laughed loudly at that. George, his companion, joined in, sneering.
"Give it back to him, or he might beat the living daylight out of us," George teased, his grin wide. But suddenly, his expression hardened, and he raised a fist toward Oliver's face.
"Stop!"
The voice was clear and sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. George froze mid-motion. Alejandro's hand hesitated as well, the smirk faltering for the first time.