The bell rang, its sharp echo cutting through the quiet hum of the school.

Riley slung her backpack over one shoulder, pushing through the crowded hallway. Her hoodie hung loose, sleeves rolled up to her forearms, the gray fabric brushing against the muscle line beneath her skin. Her hair was short — perfectly trimmed at the sides, just messy enough at the top — the kind of haircut that made people look twice. Some thought she was a boy. Others weren’t sure.

She didn’t care what they thought.

Her face was calm, serious, unreadable. She was the kind of girl who didn’t need to talk much to be noticed — tall, broad-shouldered, the faint smell of gym chalk still clinging to her clothes. Her voice, when she used it, was deep enough to silence a room.

She was heading toward the bathroom when she spotted them.

A group of boys, leaning against the lockers, clouds of vape smoke curling above their heads. They laughed about something — or someone — until their eyes landed on her.

“Yo,” one called, smirking. “You lost, bro? This the girls’ hall.”

The others snickered. Riley ignored it, walking past without even glancing.

Then came another voice, louder, sharper. “Wait—nah, that’s a girl. Look at that haircut. Thinks she’s some kind of dude.”

Her steps slowed. She exhaled, turned halfway toward them, her expression still flat.

“You talk too much,” she said, her voice low — the kind of deep that didn’t need to rise to sound dangerous.

That made them laugh harder. “What you gonna do, pretty boy? Hit me?” one of them said, stepping closer, his grin all teeth.

Riley didn’t move. “Touch me and find out.”

He did.

A shove to the shoulder — quick, mocking. But before he could blink, she caught his wrist, twisted it, and pushed him hard against the locker. The sound echoed through the hallway.

Then chaos. Fists, shouts, sneakers sliding on tile. Someone yelled for a teacher. Someone pulled out a phone.

By the time the teachers arrived, half the school had gathered, a ring of voices and flashing camera lights.

And that’s when you came running — heart pounding, eyes wide.

“RILEY!”

Her lip was split, a streak of blood on her chin. She stood there breathing hard, jaw tight, but her eyes — calm, still.

You pushed past the crowd and grabbed her sleeve. “Are you crazy? Why would you do that?”

She didn’t look at you at first. Just wiped her lip with her thumb, muttered, “They started it.”

“Yeah, and you finished it!” you said, your voice breaking. “You could’ve been hurt. You could’ve been expelled!”

Her deep voice came out quiet, steady. “I’m fine.”

You stared at her — bruised knuckles, steady eyes — and your anger melted into worry. “You always say that.”

Riley looked down then, her tone softer. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to sound strong. “You better be.”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Yeah… I am.”

⸻

That night, Riley sat on her bed with the lights off, an ice pack pressed to her hand. The house was quiet, only the faint hum of her phone vibrating again and again.

Twenty unread messages.

You: “Are you home?” You: “Riley, please text me back.” You: “I saw your face, you’re not fine.” You: “Please don’t ignore me.”

She stared at the screen, jaw tight, then finally hit call.

You answered almost instantly. “Riley?!”

Her deep voice came through rough and low. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Oh my god—are you okay?” you said, your voice trembling. “You didn’t answer, I thought—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted softly. “Just tired.”

There was silence. Just her slow breathing through the speaker. Then your voice came again, small: “You scared me today.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you walk away?”

“I did,” she said. “They didn’t.”

Her tone dropped lower, something in it shifting — quieter, heavier. “I don’t care what people say about me. But when they start crossing lines… I can’t just stand there.”

You sighed. “You don’t have to fight to prove anything.”

“I wasn’t proving anything,” she said. “I just don’t like being disrespected.”