It was a Monday morning, and students had returned to school after a long weekend. The courtyard buzzed with energy—backpacks swung, voices carried, and the scent of fresh bagels wafted from the cafeteria windows. Laughter mingled with the occasional shout, the atmosphere alive with post-weekend gossip and mild dread for first period.
By the tree pit near the main entrance, Adam and his group lounged like royalty on thrones of cracked brick and campus privilege. Their iced coffees gleamed with condensation, phones in hand, designer sneakers propped lazily against the low wall. They didn't need to move—they were the gravitational center. Students glanced over, whispered, then quickly looked away.
Adam sat in the center, his athletic frame relaxed, one leg draped over the other. His letterman jacket hung loosely around his shoulders, more a symbol than a garment. He tapped at his phone, barely listening to the conversation, but aware of everything.
Next to him, Jessica leaned in close, her blonde curls perfect, her laugh louder than necessary. She was glued to her phone, taking selfies from her best angles, occasionally whispering complaints about her grades or bragging about how her mom got them changed over the weekend.
Oliver stood just behind Adam, sipping cold brew like it was fine wine. He wore his smugness like cologne—subtle, but strong enough to leave a mark. His gaze flicked between people passing by and his own reflection in the dark glass of his phone.
Maya scrolled silently through her feed, every inch of her appearance carefully curated. She didn't speak unless she wanted to, but when she did, people listened. She had that kind of gravity.
Jeremy bounced from one foot to the other, already on his third joke of the morning. His laugh was contagious, even when it came at someone else's expense. Especially then.
Christen leaned against the wall, sketchbook in hand, earbuds in. She wasn't fully in the moment, but she was always present, connected to Jessica by invisible thread and long history.
And Harper—always poised, always flawless—stood like a model mid-photoshoot, tapping through a list of boutique emails and TikTok drafts. Her perfectly winged eyeliner was intimidating on its own.
The group was untouchable. Students either hoped to join them or prayed never to cross them.
Then a beat-up gray sedan rolled to the curb like it had no idea where it was.
The group collectively looked up.
Out stepped Liam.
Thin. Nervous. Out of place.
His oversized glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as he adjusted his straps. His backpack was stuffed to the seams, pulling him back slightly with each step. His shirt was wrinkled, his jeans faded.
His mother leaned out the driver's window and kissed his cheek. "Have a good day, sweetheart," she said softly. Her voice carried just enough to be heard. She lingered longer than most parents would, watching to make sure he made it inside.
Jeremy snorted. "Target acquired," he muttered, elbowing Maya.
"Look who's here," Harper chimed in, eyes sparkling. "Still rocking the discount aisle."
Jessica rolled her eyes. "Here comes the mama's boy. What's the bet—still wearing diapers under those jeans?"
Liam didn't look up. He clutched his backpack tighter and walked faster, but it was already too late. The group peeled off the wall like a pack sensing blood.
They didn't rush. They didn't have to.
Liam's shoulders tensed as the shadows closed in around him.
Oliver grinned. "Hey, Liam. New look? That 'disheveled academic orphan' thing really working for you."
"Don't worry, man," Jeremy added, walking backward in front of him. "We'll help you fit in. Step one: lose the glasses. Step two: your face."
Maya smirked without speaking, crossing her arms.
Liam said nothing. He didn't flinch. He'd been through this before. Every morning, the same routine. A cycle of casual cruelty.
But this time, Adam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the camera app.
Jessica leaned in. "Ohhh, get a good angle. We need a new meme for the group chat."
Liam's hand tightened around his backpack strap, knuckles white.
Then—
"That's enough."
The voice cut through the courtyard like a crack of thunder. Every head turned.
At the front doors stood a man—tall, lean, with a calm intensity that made even Jessica pause. The early sun cast long shadows behind him, making his presence even more commanding.
Mr. Peterson.
New literature teacher. Barely a month into the job.
He stepped forward slowly, hands in his pockets, his sharp eyes fixed on Adam.
"I said inside. Now."
The group hesitated.
Jessica raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Excuse me?"
Mr. Peterson didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to.
For the first time in a long while, no one moved.
Then, Adam slid his phone back into his jacket and offered a half-hearted smile. "No problem, sir. Just welcoming the new kid."
Mr. Peterson's stare didn't falter. "You want to talk about school spirit? My door's always open."
One by one, the group began to move, peeling away from Liam and drifting toward the entrance like fog pulled by an unseen wind. No one dared make another joke.
Liam remained frozen. Mr. Peterson met his eyes briefly—no pity there, just recognition. And something quieter.
Then he nodded once, almost imperceptibly.
Liam walked inside, breath shallow but steady.
And somewhere, deep beneath the polished tile of the school's surface, a shift had started.
A crack in the crown.
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