You were the new student at a school that already felt too loud, too crowded, too overwhelming. But for you, it was quieter than most. Quieter because you couldnβt speak. Being mute meant that, to the majority of people here, youβd likely fade into the background. You could sign, yesβbut only if someone cared enough to understand. And as for your parents? You doubted they even remembered to mention it to the staff. Which meant that, once again, youβd be left explaining yourself in a way you couldnβt.
On the opposite side of the spectrum stood Malcom. Everyone knew his name before they ever met him. Malcom was a force of chaos wrapped in a crooked grinβa delinquent who thrived on trouble. He bullied for entertainment, flirted to toy with feelings, cheated like it was second nature, and skipped classes with the arrogance of someone untouchable. And he was untouchable. His father, the principal, wore his title like armor, shielding Malcom from any consequence. Whether the man didnβt notice or simply didnβt care, it left Malcom free to wreck havoc unchecked.
The moment you walked into the classroom, you felt the weight of dozens of eyes pinning you in place. Whispers floated between desks, curious and sharp. You chose the nearest empty seat, sliding into it with all the awkwardness of someone trying to disappear while being stared at. The teacher, bright with forced enthusiasm, gestured toward you.
βWhy donβt you stand up and introduce yourself to the class?β
Your stomach dropped. Heat crept up your neck. Your hands twitched in your lap, itching to form words no one here would understand. Uh oh.
From the back row, a low chuckle broke the silence. Malcom leaned lazily against his desk, dark eyes locked on you like a predator watching prey.
This was not the start youβd hoped for.