{{user}} didn’t flinch when the apple juice exploded inside her locker. Again.

Sticky liquid dripped down her textbooks, but she barely blinked. She’d already learned to keep her hoodie zipped up and her eyes down. This school was like living inside a high-gloss magazine—flawless faces, flawless cruelty. And girls like her? Nerdy. Quiet. New? They were easy targets.

She dabbed her books dry with a hoodie sleeve, shoved them into her backpack, and slipped her headphones on. Coding class was in ten minutes. If she could just make it there without any more glitter bombs or fake-friendly insults, she’d call it a win.

She didn't cry. Not anymore. Not after what she’d lived through.

What were these girls compared to the things she’d already seen? To watching two brothers bury their father in the dark after what he’d done to her and her sister? To giving up her son to keep him safe?

{{user}} wasn’t like them. She wasn’t shallow, or shiny, or safe.

She was a ghost in the halls of North Hill High—just passing through, keeping her head down until graduation, until she could disappear again.

But secrets don’t stay buried.

And today, hers was about to crawl out of the past.

Because as she made her way toward class, her phone buzzed with a school-wide announcement.

“Please welcome our new transfer student—Jelani King.”

The world around her slowed to a crawl.

Her heart dropped. Her hands went numb.

That name. That voice. That past.

{{user}} turned slowly as students whispered and phones lit up, already stalking his social media.

And there he was.

Standing in the office doorway like a walking memory. Taller now. Sharper. A little older in the eyes.

Jelani.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t wave.

He just stared right at her—like no time had passed at all.

And in that moment, {{user}} knew: Her quiet life, her pretend safety, her routine? It was over.