The classroom was stifling, the air thick with the smell of chalk dust and stale teenage sweat. The teacher's voice droned on about some historical event no one cared about—except for maybe the nerds in the front row, hanging on every word. Lumumba sat slouched in the back, his head leaning against the cool surface of the desk, eyes barely open. He watched the clock tick, each second dragging like molasses. Time moved slower in here, like the world outside was leaving him behind while he suffocated in this box.

The weight of eyes on him wasn't anything new. He could feel it. Always could. It was that kind of attention, the one that came with whispered insults and sneers behind your back. Except, in his case, they rarely bothered keeping it behind his back anymore.

"Psst...hey, Lumumba," came the voice from two rows over. He didn't bother looking up; he knew who it was.

Michael, the self-appointed king of this microcosm. Blond hair slicked back, blue eyes brimming with the confidence only the perpetually unchallenged could have. The kind of guy who never got called out, who everyone feared just enough to give him free rein to make someone's life hell. Usually Lumumba's.

"Yo, Lumumba, you ignoring me, man?" Michael's voice grew louder, no longer bothering with a whisper.

Lumumba sighed but kept his gaze fixed on the clock. Just another hour and he'd be out of here. Away from them. Away from everything.

A dull thunk landed on his desk. He glanced down. A crumpled paper ball, dirty with God-knew-what, lay there, mocking him. Another snicker from across the room.

"C'mon, Lumumba. It's rude to ignore people when they're talking to you," Michael called out, louder this time, drawing the attention of half the class. Some smirked, some looked uncomfortable, but none of them would step in. They never did.

Lumumba finally sat up, locking eyes with Michael, who sat grinning, his arms lazily draped over the back of his chair like he owned the room.

"What do you want?" Lumumba asked, his voice low, tired. He wasn't in the mood for this. Not today.

Michael raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Wow, he speaks! I thought you only grunted like some jungle animal. Must be my lucky day."

The laughter that followed was instant, though not unanimous. A few of the kids looked away, pretending not to hear, but most of them chuckled along, as if it were a reflex. That was how it always went. They didn't even need to think about it.

Lumumba clenched his fists under the desk. He wasn't new to this game. It had been the same since he started attending this school a year ago. The lone black kid in a sea of pale faces. The outsider. The one they could target without anyone questioning why. He could report it. He had, once. Nothing came of it. The teacher had waved him off with a halfhearted warning to "be more understanding of other cultures." That was a joke, right? Understanding? Of them?

So, he stopped caring. Stopped hoping for intervention.

"C'mon, Lumumba. What's the matter? Too good to join in on the fun?" Michael leaned forward, grinning wider now. "Or are you saving up for a safari back home?"

The jab hit harder than Lumumba wanted to admit. He could take the insults, the mockery of his name, his skin. But the casual way they turned his heritage into a punchline, reducing it to nothing, twisted a knife in him. Still, he didn't give Michael the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, he straightened in his chair and met Michael's gaze, his expression blank.

"You're boring me, man," Lumumba said, voice flat. "Is that all you've got? You've been making the same joke for a year now. Maybe it's time to write some new material."

That got a few surprised looks. Even Michael blinked, taken aback for a moment. Then the smirk returned, sharper, more vicious.

"Oh, I got plenty more, Lumumba. I just like to keep it simple for your people." Michael leaned back, his grin spreading. "You know, like back in the good old days."

The room went quiet. Too quiet. Even the kids who normally laughed at everything Michael said were silent now, glancing at each other nervously. That crossed a line, even for them.

Lumumba's vision blurred at the edges. His fists tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. He felt the anger, the humiliation, bubbling up, threatening to spill over. But he knew better than to lash out. That's what they wanted. That's what would make this day perfect for them.

So instead, he stood up. Slowly, deliberately. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed it back, the sound cutting through the uncomfortable silence. He could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on him, but he didn't care.

"Where you going, Lumumba?" Michael's voice was teasing, but there was a hint of something else now. Hesitation, maybe? "Class isn't over."

Lumumba slung his backpack over his shoulder without responding. He walked toward the door, feeling every step like a release of pressure from a valve about to burst. One foot in front of the other, just keep walking. Get out. Don't look back.

"Hey! I wasn't finished talking to you!" Michael's voice was louder now, almost desperate. He didn't like being ignored. Especially not in front of his audience.

"Mr. Lumumba," the teacher's voice rang out finally, the irritation clear. "Where do you think you're going?"

He didn't answer. Didn't stop. He pushed through the door, letting it slam shut behind him. The chatter in the room erupted as soon as he was gone, but he didn't care anymore. He just needed air.

The cold, early spring air hit him like a slap to the face as he stepped outside. The schoolyard was mostly empty, the lunch period still a few minutes away. Lumumba let out a long breath, leaning against the brick wall of the school, trying to force the tension out of his muscles.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling aimlessly through notifications that meant nothing. No messages from home. Not that he expected any. His parents had their own problems, far removed from his. They didn't understand what it was like here. They didn't see the stares, didn't hear the insults, didn't feel the weight of being constantly reminded that he didn't belong. Not here. Not anywhere.

As if on cue, the door behind him creaked open, and Lumumba glanced over his shoulder to see Michael and his two lackeys stepping out. The smug look on Michael's face was gone, replaced by something darker. He was pissed.

"Leaving in the middle of class?" Michael taunted, his voice low. "That's bold. Think you're too good to sit through it, huh?"

Lumumba straightened but didn't respond, already knowing where this was going.

"Or maybe you think you're too good for us?" Michael continued, taking a step closer. His friends followed, flanking him like bodyguards, though Lumumba doubted they'd step in unless Michael gave the signal. "That it? You think you're special?"

Lumumba looked at him, his expression flat. "No. I think I'm tired of this shit."

Michael's eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his breath hot in the cool air. "You don't get to talk to me like that. You don't get to talk to anyone like that."

Lumumba tensed. His hands itched to do something—anything—but he knew if he threw the first punch, he'd lose. Not just the fight. He'd lose more than that. Michael wasn't like him. He had the system behind him, the teachers, the parents. All it would take was one wrong move, and Lumumba would be branded the troublemaker. The violent one.

"I'm warning you, Lumumba," Michael said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "If you walk away again, I'll—"

Lumumba's fist connected with his jaw before he could finish the sentence. The impact sent Michael stumbling backward, shock written all over his face as his hand flew to his mouth.

For a second, everything stopped. The birds in the trees, the distant hum of traffic, the breeze through the trees—it all went silent. Lumumba stood there, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping, fists still clenched, waiting for the inevitable.

Then, chaos erupted.

Michael lunged at him, swinging wildly. Lumumba ducked the first punch but felt the second one connect with his ribs, sending a sharp pain through his side. He staggered back, but only for a second before retaliating, his fist smashing into Michael's gut. The other two, useless as ever, just stood there watching, unsure if they should intervene.

Michael stumbled, coughing, but he wasn't down yet. He came at Lumumba again, this time grabbing his shirt and shoving him against the brick wall.

"Think you're tough now?" Michael spat, his voice full of venom. "You're nothing. You're just—"

"Get off him!" a voice suddenly shouted.

They both froze. Lumumba blinked through the haze of pain and saw a teacher storming toward them, eyes blazing.

Michael immediately let go, stepping back with his hands raised in mock innocence. "He hit me first," he said quickly, playing the victim.

Lumumba didn't even try to defend himself. What was the point? He knew how this would go. He'd been here before.

The teacher's gaze flicked between the two of them before she finally settled on Lumumba. "Principal's office. Now."

He didn't argue. Didn't bother explaining. He just grabbed his bag off the ground and walked, his side aching with every step.

As he left, he could hear Michael laughing behind him, already spinning the story to his friends. Already turning himself into the victim.

In the empty hallway, Lumumba kept his head down, every step echoing in the silence. This was it. This was how it always went. No matter how hard he tried to stay invisible, they always found a way to drag him back into the spotlight, to remind him that he was different. That he didn't belong.

His thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and something darker, something that had been building inside him for a long time. A voice that whispered, Why do you even try? Why pretend like this would ever change?

They would never see him as anything more than the black kid. The outsider. The freak.

The thought hit him hard, like a punch to the gut. And for the first time in a long time, Lumumba didn't have the strength to push it away.

As he reached the principal's office, he stopped, staring at the door for a long moment.

If only I could leave this world. Just...disappear. Start over.

He didn't know then just how close he was to getting that wish.