By recess, the air had changed.
It wasn't loud—but it didn't have to be. The tension seeped into the hallways like humidity before a storm. Whispers flowed through locker doors, cafeteria lines, and crowded stairwells—soft but unmistakable, like a warning carried on wind.
"Adam's planning something."
"He's gonna teach Liam a lesson."
"Gym class. Today."
The rumors weren't shouted—they never were. They traveled in fragments, passed between students with narrowed eyes and half-lowered voices. Smirks from Adam's group, glances from bystanders. Everyone knew. No one stopped it.
Liam heard it too. Not directly—no one ever warned him outright. But he caught it in the way people shifted when he entered a room. In the sudden silence. In the way some looked at him and then quickly looked away.
Even Mr. Peterson noticed.
He passed a group of seniors near the vending machines. Their voices dropped too fast, their backs too straight. He didn't say a word, but his jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed just slightly behind the glasses. He filed it away.
In the library, Liam sat at the back table, surrounded by open textbooks and a half-finished sandwich he wasn't hungry for. Chemistry notes lay untouched beneath his fingertips. The words swam on the page. None of it stuck.
His stomach was a tight knot.
Across from him sat the only people who didn't treat him like a virus—Ryan, Theo, and Anika. The Study Group. His people. Their loyalty wasn't loud, but it was real.
Ryan leaned forward, voice low. "I think you should tell a teacher. Mr. Peterson, at least. He'd take it seriously."
Liam didn't look up. "It'll just make it worse. Adam'll spin it like I'm trying to get him expelled or something."
"He should be expelled," Anika snapped, arms crossed. "But he never will be. His dad's practically royalty around here."
Theo nodded grimly. "Still… maybe we could go with you. Be there when it happens."
"To gym?" Anika raised a brow. "We don't even have that period. What do you expect us to do—kick down the boys' locker room door?"
"We meet him after," Theo said. "No one walks alone."
Liam stared at the table. "It's fine. I'll deal."
"No, it's not fine," Ryan said, voice firmer than usual. "You're not the only one they pick on. But after what happened with Mr. Peterson? You humiliated them, Liam. Now they're laser-focused."
There was a beat of silence.
Anika leaned in, her voice calm and controlled. "So what? We let them teach you a 'lesson'? Pretend we don't know what's about to happen?"
No one answered. They all understood what this was—more than bullying. It was a warning. A punishment for defiance. The system Adam spoke of wasn't just about popularity. It was power. Control. Fear.
The library bell rang, and the tension returned in full.
Gym was next.
Liam's fingers trembled as he packed up his books.
The locker room reeked of mildew, sweat, and tension. Metal lockers slammed shut. Towels whipped through the air. Boys shouted across the room as if it were a battlefield.
Liam changed quickly, eyes on the floor. His body felt too slow, too fragile. He could feel it—before it happened. The shift in energy. The silence behind him.
Then—
SLAM.
A hard shove sent him crashing into the lockers. The metal sang with impact. His shoulder throbbed.
Everything went still.
Adam stood behind him—cool, relaxed, like nothing had happened. His expression was calm, his body language measured. The kind of predator that didn't need to snarl to scare.
Oliver leaned against the lockers nearby, arms crossed, smiling like this was sport. Jeremy sat on the bench, his hoodie up, tapping the toe of his sneaker like he was bored.
"You think that new teacher's gonna protect you?" Adam said, voice steady. "Think you're untouchable now?"
Liam said nothing. His jaw clenched. His palms burned from catching himself on the locker.
"This school has a system," Adam continued. "People like you—quiet, nothing-special nobodies—you don't get to disrupt it just 'cause some ex-soldier's got a soft spot."
Jeremy snorted. "Maybe Liam's trying to get extra credit for surviving."
Muted laughter followed—from the loyal few in the back, always ready to echo Adam's mood.
Liam's eyes darted toward the exit. No coach in sight. No Mr. Peterson. Just row after row of lockers and a crowd ready to watch.
"You don't belong here," Adam said, stepping closer. "People like you? You're background noise. You exist to make the rest of us look good."
Liam didn't flinch—but barely. Every nerve in his body screamed to move, to fight, to run. He didn't do any of it.
Then—a whistle.
Sharp. Harsh. It echoed off the walls like a warning shot.
The gym coach barked from the doorway, "Let's move, boys! Warm-up laps—now!"
The spell broke.
Adam leaned in, voice a near-whisper. "This isn't over."
Then he turned and walked out as if nothing had happened.
Liam stood there, breathing hard, chest tight.
He didn't wipe his face. Didn't speak. He just moved—slowly—toward the gym like a soldier dragging himself back to the front lines.
Outside, behind the gym's exit doors, Theo, Anika, and Ryan waited in silence. The concrete was cold beneath their sneakers. Every time the doors opened, they tensed.
Finally, Liam emerged—sweaty, shaken, his hair damp and face pale.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
Ryan fell into step beside him. "We're walking you home," he said, quietly.
No argument.
Anika and Theo flanked him like guards.
The four of them moved together through the crowd of students flooding out of the building, invisible no longer—but untouchable, for now. Not because they were strong. Not because they were feared.
But because they were together.
And sometimes, that was enough.