As the family finished breakfast and began clearing the table, Emma glanced at her son, who was lazily slinging his backpack over one shoulder. She hesitated before asking, her voice soft but hopeful.
"Robbie, can you stop by the grocery store on your way home from school? I need a few things," she said, holding out a small list.
Robbie barely spared her a glance as he scowled. "No, Mom. I'm not your delivery boy," he snapped, brushing past her and heading toward the door.
Emma sighed, her shoulders sagging as she watched him leave. Robbie didn't even bother closing the door behind him as he stomped out to the small car Jake had bought him last year.
Liam, standing at the foot of the stairs, watched the scene unfold. He didn't understand why Emma always asked Robbie first, knowing full well he'd refuse. Still, he held his tongue. He had learned long ago that questioning things here only led to trouble.
"Liam," Emma said, turning to him with the same small list and a few crumpled bills in her hand. "Can you pick these up after school?"
He nodded, taking the money without a word. The routine was familiar—Robbie was always asked first, and Liam was always the one who ended up doing it. Still, he didn't mind. It gave him an excuse to spend a little more time away from the house.
"Thanks," Emma murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't look at him as she returned to the sink.
Liam tucked the money into his pocket and grabbed his backpack. He hated school, but not as much as he hated this house. This place would never be home—it was a roof over his head, and that was all.
Outside, Robbie's car engine roared to life. Liam watched as his cousin peeled out of the driveway, his music blaring, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. He knew Robbie wouldn't have offered him a ride even if they were headed to the same place. And honestly, Liam preferred it that way.
He wheeled his bike out from behind the house, the chain creaking as he mounted it. His backpack felt heavy on his shoulders, and the day ahead loomed like a dark cloud.
Another Monday, he thought bitterly. Another day in hell.
Pedaling down the street, he passed rows of identical houses, their peeling paint and overgrown lawns reflecting the dreariness of the neighborhood. His thoughts wandered to school—a place he hated almost as much as the house he lived in. The stares, the whispers, the laughter behind his back—it was a prison of its own.
But at least it wasn't here.
As he reached the main road, he caught a glimpse of Robbie's car up ahead. His cousin had stopped to pick up a group of his friends, their loud voices spilling out of the open windows. One of them shouted something as Liam rode by, but he didn't bother turning around.
He pressed his feet harder against the pedals, putting more distance between himself and the car. The wind stung his face, but he welcomed it. For these few moments, with the rush of air in his ears and the open road ahead, he felt almost free.
One day, Liam thought, his grip tightening on the handlebars. One day, I'll be out of this place for good.
Liam parked his bike in the crowded rack outside the school and locked it securely. The familiar hum of voices, slamming lockers, and squeaking shoes filled the air as students streamed into the building. He pulled his backpack tighter over his shoulder and made his way toward the entrance, his gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet.
"Liam!"
A familiar voice called out, and before Liam could turn, his best friend, Dave, skidded to a stop beside him, panting slightly. Dave was a wiry kid with messy brown hair and a perpetual grin, the kind of person who always seemed to find the humor in the worst situations.
"Hey, man," Liam said, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Dave's energy was infectious, even on a dreary Monday morning.
"Dude, I thought you were gonna ditch me and start the day without me," Dave joked, slapping
Liam's shoulder lightly. "I mean, it is Monday. You'd have every right."
Liam chuckled softly. "If only I could."
"Tell me about it. Mrs. Benson's math class first thing in the morning? Cruel and unusual punishment," Dave groaned, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let's get this over with."
They headed inside together, navigating the bustling hallways toward their classroom. Just as they were about to slip into their seats, the loud crack of something hitting the whiteboard silenced the room.
Mrs. Benson, a stern woman with an unforgiving glare, turned sharply, her eyes narrowing at the offending object—a crumpled piece of paper lying at her feet.
"Who threw that?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip.
No one spoke. The class collectively held their breath, heads ducked as if to avoid her wrath. Liam exchanged a glance with Dave, who raised an eyebrow and mouthed, Not me.
Mrs. Benson scanned the room, her gaze sharp and accusatory. Then, her eyes landed on Liam and Dave.
"You two. Out. Now," she ordered, pointing toward the door.
"What?" Dave blurted out, his eyes widening. "We didn't do anything!"
"Don't argue with me," Mrs. Benson snapped. "Out."
Liam sighed, his shoulders sagging as he stood. He could feel the weight of the class's stares as he and Dave trudged to the door.
Once they were in the hallway, Dave threw his hands up in frustration. "Can you believe this? We didn't even do anything! Why does this always happen to us?"
Liam leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because we're easy targets," he muttered.
"Yeah, well, I'd like to thank the genius who decided to frame us for… whatever that was," Dave grumbled, pacing back and forth. "Seriously, paper-throwing? We're not five."
Liam shook his head, a small, bitter laugh escaping him. "Welcome to another day in paradise."
"Paradise, huh?" Dave said with a smirk. "If this is paradise, I'm filing a complaint with management."
Liam couldn't help but chuckle, despite the situation. He leaned against the wall, waiting for whatever punishment Mrs. Benson was cooking up.
False accusations were nothing new—just another part of the grind he was determined to get through.
The bell rang for lunch, and Liam and Dave made their way to the cafeteria. The smell of greasy fries and canned fruit hung heavy in the air as students crowded the food counters, shouting orders and jostling for position.
Liam grabbed a tray and joined the line. He wasn't particularly hungry, but skipping lunch wasn't an option—he needed the energy to get through the rest of the day. Dave, as usual, was already cracking jokes.
"So," Dave began, eyeing the mystery meat on his tray. "Do you think this is chicken, or are we looking at experimental lab-grown protein?"
"Does it matter?" Liam replied dryly, plucking a small apple off the counter and setting it on his tray.
"Not really. Just hoping it doesn't start crawling away mid-bite."
They both laughed softly, grabbing their food and heading for an open table near the back of the cafeteria. It was their usual spot, tucked away from the chaos of the main seating area. But before they could take a bite, trouble arrived.
"Liam!"
Liam's shoulders tensed at the familiar voice. He looked up to see Robbie swaggering toward them, flanked by his usual gang of loud, obnoxious friends.
"Great," Dave muttered under his breath, stiffening in his seat.
Robbie and his crew reached their table, their laughter echoing like nails on a chalkboard. Without so much as a word, Robbie plopped down into the seat across from Liam, while his friends squeezed in on either side.
"Wow, you two sure know how to pick the best seats," Robbie said with a mock smile, snatching a fry off Dave's tray. "Mind if we join you? Oh, wait—you don't get a choice."
Liam sighed, setting down his fork. What do they want now? He thought. He didn't bother looking up, keeping his gaze fixed on his tray.
"Seriously, Robbie?" Dave said, his voice tight. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"
Robbie leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Nah, this is more fun. Besides, I couldn't resist checking in on my dear cousin and his little sidekick. What's it like being the cafeteria's dynamic duo of losers?"
Liam clenched his jaw but didn't respond. He'd learned long ago that giving Robbie a reaction only encouraged him.
"Hey, Liam," one of Robbie's friends piped up. "Did you finally figure out how to pass math class, or are you still failing like last semester?" The table erupted in laughter.
Before Liam could respond, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise.
"Liam Harrington! Dave Reed!"
Everyone at the table turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man striding toward them, his face set in a scowl. It was Coach Benson, the husband of Mrs. Benson, and he looked like he meant business.
Liam's stomach sank. Great. As if this day couldn't get worse.
The cafeteria fell silent as the coach reached their table. He crossed his arms and glared down at Liam and Dave.
"You two—outside. Now," he barked.
"What? Why?" Dave protested, his voice rising. "We didn't do anything!"
Coach Benson's lips curled into a smirk. "Didn't do anything? That's not what I heard. My wife told me all about your little stunt this morning. Disrupting her class? Throwing things? You think you can get away with that?"
Liam opened his mouth to argue, but the coach held up a hand. "Save it. I'm not interested in excuses. You two are going to learn some respect. Meet me at the field. Now."
Robbie and his friends burst into laughter as Liam and Dave reluctantly stood. "Good luck, losers," Robbie called after them, smirking as he bit into another one of Dave's fries.