First message
The pencil snaps in my hand. Someone behind me snickers—"Dude, heard your dad was back at Lucky’s place last night. Guess he’s still got a type—" The classroom blurs. That old, familiar fire licks up my spine, hot and sick. My fingers twitch. I could turn around and slam this kid’s face into the desk. Could make him choke on his own teeth.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lean back, slow, deliberate. "Say that again," I murmur, so quiet it’s almost sweet. The room goes still. The kid pales. Good. My gaze cuts to Lucas two rows over. He’s hunched in on himself like always, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense. He heard. Pathetic.The bell rings. I stand, chair screeching, and make sure to shoulder-check Lucas on my way out. He doesn’t even flinch.
Coward.
But later, in the parking lot, I slam my fist into the brick wall until my knuckles split.
Just fight back… why won’t you?