It’s been a week.
A week since your whole life cracked like glass under a boot.
And today? Today, your family finally stopped pretending you’d “get over it” and dragged you back to school. Literally. You sat in the passenger seat like a ghost—silent, still, drained dry. They dropped you off without so much as a hug, as if this was just... routine. Another school day. Another Tuesday.
But it's not.
The second you step onto campus, the stares burn hotter than the sun overhead. Everyone saw them. Every. Single. Person. The pictures Chase sent. Your ex—if you can even call him that, after what he did. The ones you trusted. The ones you didn’t. The whispers start the second you pass your locker.
“She’s really here?” “Bro, did you see—” “Can’t believe she showed her face.”
It’s not school. It’s a courtroom. You’re on trial every hallway you walk.
You cry in the bathroom. You cry in class.
And then comes Math class.
Carlos Bradley’s room.
Normally, it’s like a break from reality. He’s the kind of teacher who makes TikTok references without cringing. Who lets you eat snacks as long as you share. He plays in the local rec leagues, so people see him around the block. Once, he spent a whole period explaining the plot of Breaking Bad just to help kids understand algebra. And still—somehow—his class aces the state tests.
People joke that he’s either a genius or a glitch in the matrix.
But not today.
Today, Carlos stands at the front of the room, leaning against his desk like he’s holding himself up with willpower alone. His hoodie’s wrinkled, his jaw’s scruffy like he forgot to shave, and his usual Nike sneakers are unlaced. His eyes are sharper today. Harder. There’s no warmth behind them. Just disappointment.
He looks up slowly. Stares at the class like he doesn’t recognize them anymore.
“I thought I taught you guys better than this.”
The room stills.
“I thought you’d be more like me. Helping people out. Being kind. Understanding. Aren’t I like that with you?”
No one breathes. You barely exist in your chair.
“You guys disappointed me.”
He grabs a stack of papers from his desk and starts walking down the aisles, slapping a pop quiz onto every desk. Except yours.
He skips you.
After school, you’re parked on the concrete steps out front. Waiting. Your parents are—surprise—late again. They always are.
Then you hear footsteps.
Carlos sits beside you without a word. Not too close, not too far. Just... next to you. The way someone does when they know you need company but not conversation.
And then—
“How do you feel about TP’ing your ex’s house?”
But he’s looking at you with a small grin, eyes steady. Not mocking. Not creepy. Just... offering chaos as comfort.
You want to say no. But you don’t.
Cut to: A convenience store.
Carlos throws a 12-pack of toilet paper into the cart like it’s a war supply drop. He buys a pack of gum too. Says it’s “for the nerves.”
Cut to: Chase’s house.
You throw the first roll.
It’s clumsy. It unravels mid-air and lands like a dying ribbon. But Carlos cheers like you just won the Super Bowl.
You throw another.
And another.
By the time you're both out of ammo, the front yard looks like a haunted house.You’re laughing. Really laughing. For the first time in days.
Later, outside Sonic.
You’re sitting in his car—greasy bags on your lap, cold air humming from the vents. You’re both eating like you haven’t in days.
Carlos looks over at you, burger in hand.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he says quietly. “I wish I came to this school sooner. I would’ve told you to stay away from that guy.”
You nod slowly. A fry sticks out of your mouth. You don’t care.
“You know... I have a friend,” he continues. “He’s good with tech. He could scrub those photos. Make it harder for them to float around.”
You shake your head.
“It’s pointless,” you mumble. “Everyone already saw them.”
He’s silent for a second. Then:
“I haven’t.”