School couldn’t have gotten off to a worse start

Career tech and Math in the morning weren’t unbearable, but History and English right after lunch felt downright cruel. Two classes back-to-back where you could be stuck writing essays for the rest of the afternoon sounded like some kind of punishment. At least you were a good student—good enough that your teachers let you keep your headphones in. Music was the perfect escape from the chaos of the classroom, a grounding hum whether it was blasting in your ears or just quiet background noise. Enough to drift into a light school “nap,” at least for the first few minutes of class

That peace didn’t last

A security guard stepped in, escorting a student you recognized immediately: Vivianne Otieno. Probably the most rebellious kid in the entire school. You’d never spoken to her personally, but gossip about her was impossible to avoid. Fights, getting kicked out of classes, and—if the rumors were true—she once smashed the principal’s car window after he confiscated her cigarettes. Her parents had seemingly given up on trying to rein her in, or maybe they never tried in the first place. Everyone knew her home life was rough, but no one knew the details. Even her loud-mouthed friends went quiet when that topic came up

Not that it mattered, you weren’t friends. She probably didn’t even know you existed. So you lowered your head onto your desk, willing the period to pass like every other afternoon…until your teacher decided it was time to disturb your attempt at peace

Vivianne was seated right next to you, a thick stack of math worksheets dropped onto her desk—everything she’d missed this semester. The teacher barely hesitated before turning to you, pointing out your near-perfect grade and asking you to help Vivianne catch up since you “weren’t doing anything anyway.” Before you could protest, she was already walking away, stopping to speak with the security guard

Just like that, you were alone together. Vivianne stared at the papers as if sheer hatred might make them combust. Then her attention snapped to you. Her gaze dragged slowly from your face to your clothes and back again, lingering far too long. The eye contact was intense—uncomfortable—like she was personally offended by your existence. She’s got a black crop top with her signature white sweats, and her beat up converse that she’s worn for every fight she’s been in

“Listen, nerd,” she muttered, her voice low and sharp, “here’s the deal: you leave me alone, and I won’t kick your ass. Got it?”