In the crowded halls of Pearland Middle School, being different was a surefire way to attract attention, and Ikenna attracted plenty of it. Most days, he didn't mind. He had learned early on that words were his best defense, and he wielded them with the precision of a swordsman.
"Hey, Stretch! How's the weather up there?" someone called from across the lunchroom as he made his way to the food line.
Without breaking stride, Ikenna smirked. "Sunny with a chance of me not giving a damn," he shot back, snatching an apple off a tray with practiced ease. His reply earned a mix of laughter and groans, the exact reaction he had been aiming for. Teasing didn't bother him—it was the silence, the feeling of being invisible, that he couldn't stand. As long as people were talking to him, he felt like he had some control.
But school wasn't just about the teasing. It was also about survival—fitting in enough to avoid real trouble while keeping enough distance to maintain his independence. Compared to the revolving door of foster homes he had lived in since he was a baby, Pearland Middle School was practically a paradise. The rules were simple: go to class, do your work, and avoid fights. And for the most part, Ikenna followed them.
The math classroom was as uninspiring as ever: beige walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, and the faint smell of dry-erase markers. Ikenna sat near the back, doodling absentmindedly in his notebook while Mrs. Carter droned on about solving equations. His notebook was filled with sketches—some random, some oddly specific. Lately, he'd been drawing lightning bolts, jagged and chaotic, like they were bursting off the page.
"Mr. Anderson," Mrs. Carter's voice snapped him out of his trance. She stood at the front of the room, hands on her hips, her expression equal parts amused and exasperated. "If you're done daydreaming, perhaps you'd like to solve this equation?"
The room went silent. All eyes turned to him, and Ikenna suppressed a sigh as he pushed back his chair. He hated being the center of attention, but math? Math was easy. Numbers made sense in a way the rest of his life didn't. Picking up the marker, he quickly worked through the problem on the board, his movements smooth and confident.
When he finished, he capped the marker and turned to Mrs. Carter. "Anything else, or can I get back to my daydreaming?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the room, and even Mrs. Carter cracked a small smile. "Sit down, Anderson."
As he returned to his seat, Ikenna couldn't help but grin. Moments like these reminded him that even in a place as dull as school, there were small victories to be had.
The final bell rang, and Ikenna wasted no time heading for the door. He changed into his usual gray T-shirt and black sweatpants, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and stepped out into the sweltering Texas afternoon. The heat was oppressive, but Ikenna welcomed it. The walk home wasn't long, and it gave him time to think.
Home, if you could call it that, was a modest single-story house that Miss Geraldine, his current foster mom, had somehow managed to make feel cozy despite the chaos. The house was packed with kids, most of them younger than Ikenna, and the noise level was always somewhere between "loud" and "ear-splitting." But Miss Geraldine was kind, and she had a way of making every kid feel seen, even if just for a moment.
As Ikenna stepped inside, the usual cacophony greeted him: kids shouting, the TV blaring, and the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. He navigated the chaos like a pro, weaving through the noise until he reached his corner of the shared bedroom. It wasn't much—just a bed, a small desk, and a stack of books—but it was his.
He dropped his bag and pulled out his battered notebook. This wasn't for schoolwork. Instead, it was his sanctuary, a place where he could let his mind wander. Flipping to a page filled with jagged lightning bolts, he traced the lines with his finger, feeling an odd sense of connection. He didn't know why he kept drawing them, but something about them felt right. Familiar, even.
"Ikenna! Dinner!" Miss Geraldine's voice called from the kitchen.
"Coming!" he yelled back, tucking the notebook under his pillow. Dinner was a chaotic affair, with the younger kids jostling for space at the table and Miss Geraldine dishing out plates with practiced efficiency. Ikenna ate quickly, his mind elsewhere. Something about the day had left him uneasy, like a low hum of tension he couldn't quite place.
That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the feeling only grew stronger. The air in the room felt heavy, charged, as if a storm were gathering just out of sight. Ikenna didn't know what was coming, but deep down, he knew it would change everything.
The storm was coming, and Ikenna Anderson was about to find out just how much his life was about to change.