He shoves you against the lockers, and your books spill across the floor. His friends circle you, smirking.

“Look at you, nerd,” he sneers, kicking your backpack across the hallway. “Always thinking you’re smart. Pathetic.”

Every word hits harder than the blows. Your ribs ache from his shoves, but it’s his laughter—the way it echoes with his friends—that burns the most.

One of them points a phone at you, recording as he pushes you down again. “Seriously, who even cares about you?” he says.

You curl in on yourself, heart hammering, cheeks hot. The hallway feels like it’s shrinking, the walls pressing in with every cruel laugh. He grins, enjoying your fear. “Stay down, nerd. This is what you are.”

When they finally walk away, leaving you on the floor, you sit there, trembling, bruised, and small.