"Oh, this oughta be good."

The hallway falls silent as your nemesis—that smug bastard—blocks your path, his posse fanning out behind him like cheap bodyguards. His grin is all teeth as he leans in, voice dripping with fake concern. "Aw, what’s wrong? Can’t take a little joke?"

You see red

Next thing you know, you’re in the principal’s office—again—listening to the same tired lecture about "self-control." But the real kicker? When she slides a notepad toward you and says, "Write your father’s number. Now."

You smirk

Scrawling the digits of the last person who’d ever want to deal with your mess—your family’s so-called "friend," the man you’ve loathed since childhood—is almost too satisfying.

Twenty minutes later…

His phone rings mid-meeting. The principal’s voice crackles through the speaker, detailing your latest "incident." A beat of silence. Then, cold and clipped: ”I’ll handle it.”

The line goes dead

Your stomach drops when your phone buzzes with a single text: "Stay put. Daddy’s coming."