Ms. Alstone strode into the classroom, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor. A thick stack of papers rested in her arms, her expression unreadable.
"Clear your desks," she commanded. "You're writing a test."
A collective groan rippled through the room, but no one dared protest. I barely reacted, my mind elsewhere. As she moved down the rows, distributing the test papers, she paused at my desk.
For a moment, she just stared. I didn't move, didn't even breathe. Her gaze flickered to the bloodstained bandage on my nose, the remnants of earlier's torment. The pain had dulled, but under her scrutiny, it throbbed anew. She said nothing, just placed the paper in front of me and moved on.
I picked up my pen, honestly the test didn't matter, nothing did, I knew that Noah had already passed it.
After school, I dragged myself home. The moment I stepped through the door, my grandmother gasped. My little sister's eyes widened in horror.
"What happened?" Grandma demanded, rushing toward me.
"It's nothing," I muttered, but my words did nothing to ease their concern. My sister clung to my arm, tears welling in her eyes.
That night, I barely slept.
The next morning, as I was leaving, Grandma grabbed her coat.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
I froze. "No, you don't have to—"
"I insist."
I knew better than to argue. She marched into the school beside me, her presence an unshakable force. When we reached the staff room, Ms. Alstone barely looked surprised, as if she'd been expecting this.
"My grandson is being hurt," Grandma said, her voice firm but trembling.
Ms. Alstone folded her arms. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll handle it."
But the way she "handled" it shattered me. That same afternoon, she stood in front of the class, her expression blank.
"Luck's guardian has come forward with concerns about bullying," she announced. "I haven't witnessed any such behavior. I don't know if it's true or not, but if it is, I suggest whoever's responsible stop."
I stared at her, my stomach twisting. She knew, she had seen it, but because it was Noah, her lover. She wouldn't dare to do anything about it.
I could tell someone about their affair, a teacher maybe, but it wouldn't matter. I had no proof.
It never stopped, it continued, the punches, the kicks. In gym class, they made me their practice dummy, the human soccer net, the human basketball hoop. Day by day, it got worse.
But the whisper, the whispers were the worst. The moment I stepped into the classroom, the whispers abruptly ceased, a clear sign that I had been their topic of conversation.
The class had turned against me. Their silence was heavier than words. Their eyes drilled into my soul, full of judgment and scorn.
Even the boy I had once defended was forced to join in. He scribbled on my textbooks, peed on my school bag.
Before I knew it, it had spread like wildfire. Everywhere I went, I was a target.
Then came the betrayal, the one I never saw coming. Natalie, my last ally, the only one who still smiled at me, pulled me aside one afternoon.
"Meet me at lunch," she whispered.
Hope flickered inside me, maybe she had a plan, maybe things would change.
I hurried to the cafeteria, searching for her.
And then I saw them.
Noah stood beside her, his arm draped around her shoulders. Natalie looked at me, her expression unreadable.
"Hey, Luck," she said, forcing a smile. "I wanted to tell you…Noah and I are dating now."
Noah smirked.
The world crumbled beneath my feet.
Just like that, I had lost her. A friend. Someone I loved dearly. Maybe if I had been honest about my feelings, maybe this wouldn't have happened.
I lied, told myself I didn't care, I didn't need anyone. Just a few more months, and I'd be free of this place.
At home, I buried myself in my web novel, I wanted to give up on it, what was the use of writing it when I had lost the person it was dedicated, but still, it was the only thing that kept me sane.
Reader always managed to turn my upside-down smile back up.
She commented on every chapter, leaving words of encouragement, little jokes that made me smile when nothing else could. She was the one constant in my life, a light in the darkness.
Then, one day, she left a different kind of message.
"What if someone close to you suddenly disappeared? Would you try to find them, or just let them go?"
A strange feeling crawled up my spine. I typed back immediately.
"Are you okay? If something's wrong, talk to me."
But she never replied.
For the first time since she had started commenting, there was silence.
Days passed. Then weeks.
I checked my notifications obsessively, hoping for her return. Without her words, my world felt even emptier.
Then, an email arrived.
No sender. No subject.
Just one word.
"Goodbye."
I responded instantly, the email bounced back.
And just like that, I knew—Reader was gone.
I had once thought being named Luck meant something good, but fate had given me nothing but the opposite.
Every day became a cycle of pain, wake up, endure school, go home, repeat. The walls of the classroom closed in, the lessons felt like they were meant for someone else, someone with dreams, a future.
I once had those too.
But now, I had neither.
One day, I had a feeling I wouldn't be going home.
It wasn't a decision, it was just…there. A cold certainty, sitting in my chest.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the day, usually, I rushed out, eager to escape the suffocating walls of school.
But today, I didn't move.
"Hey, Luck."
Natalie's voice cut through the air.
I turned slowly.
"Come with me," she said.
I shook my head. My voice was cold. "No. I'm fine, thanks."
"There's something important I have to tell you, after this, I won't bother you ever again. I promise."
Something in the way she said it made my feet move.
She led me up the stairs, higher and higher, to a place that was usually locked.
But today…today, it was open.
The rooftop.
Noah was already there, leaning against the railing, his friends gathered around him like vultures.
They laughed.
"He actually followed her," one of them sneered.
I stopped in my tracks, my gaze snapped to Natalie, but she wouldn't look at me.
I knew then, this wasn't a conversation.