Kieran's Point of View
"Hey, hey, did you hear? There's a new girl in our section. She just transferred," Jennie's voice sliced through the lazy hum of conversation like a cold blade. She dropped into her seat like a storm rolling in—no subtlety, no grace, just chaos wrapped in a plaid skirt and drama.
The reactions came fast. And acidic.
"Great. Another new face to ignore. Can't wait for her to drop out by Friday," Bryce muttered, arms crossed, already bored by the idea of her.
"I bet she'll leave this section in a week," Liam added, barely glancing up from his book. "They always do."
"What a mess," Chase groaned, tossing his pen onto the desk. "Why do they keep sending their rejects here?"
I didn't say a word.
I sat alone, where I always did—back corner, left side. My spot. My silence. My rules. The chair creaked slightly as I leaned back, hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on nothing and everything all at once.
I didn't blink. Didn't breathe heavy. Just listened. Watched.
It was always the same—this circus of masks and mirrors. Same voices. Same venom. They fed on weakness like it was oxygen. And now, a new target was walking straight into the lion's den.
The rest of the class spiraled into a quiet riot of eye-rolls and whispered takedowns. The elite didn't like surprises. Especially the uninvited kind.
Jennie turned toward me. I could feel her gaze before she spoke—sharp, curious, and dripping with that same need for chaos she always carried. "You're quiet, Kieran. What's your plan about that girl?"
My eyes didn't move. My voice came out flat, dull like a blade worn down from too many cuts. "She'll leave the section soon."
Jennie raised a brow, leaning in. "And if she doesn't?"
That got my attention. I turned my head slowly to meet her eyes. My voice dropped low. Cold.
"Then I'll make her wish she was never transferred here."
I stood. The chair scraped against the floor with a screech that turned a few heads. Didn't matter. I walked out before I could say something worse. Before I told her how much I hated new beginnings, new faces, new problems.
I didn't stop walking until the hallway noise disappeared behind me.
Up the old staircase, paint chipped and creaking under every step, I made my way to the forgotten part of the building—Section D. No one came here unless they were hiding, skipping, or breaking down.
Perfect.
I pushed open a classroom door—long abandoned, sun cutting through dusty windows, chairs left scattered like ghosts of students past. It had a weird peace to it. A kind of silence even time respected.
I dragged a chair to the corner, turned it backward, rested my arms on it, and dropped my head.
For once, silence wasn't empty. It was calm. Full. Heavy in the right way.
I must've lost track of time because the bell rang like a gunshot. Peace gone. Reality, back.
I stood, pushed the chair back where it came from, and walked out.
I returned to class like nothing happened. No one said anything—they knew better. I dropped into my seat and leaned back against the cold metal frame.
Everyone was pulling out their books like they were about to unlock the universe. Heads down. Highlighters out.
Acting.
Because this is Section D. No one here studies. We already know the answers—or we cheat, steal, or flirt our way into them. This class runs on secrets, status, and survival.
So, we all pretend.
Then Mr. Halden walked in—sleeves rolled, glasses slipping low on his nose, the kind of tired that comes from giving a damn too many times.
"Morning, students," he said, placing his folder down with a soft thud.
Mr. Halden wasn't like the others. He didn't treat us like lost causes. He saw the monsters we were becoming and still believed we could be more. Sometimes I hated him for that. Because caring in this place? It's a weakness.
And then the door creaked open again.
We all looked at the same time.
And there she was.
The new girl. Or maybe… the problem.
She stood in the doorway like she wasn't sure whether to walk in or run. Like she already regretted transferring.
Mr. Halden looked up, smiling warmly. "You must be Jean. Come in."
That's when it started.
The whispers. The judging. The silent war.
Eyes followed her like she was walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and boom—social suicide.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jean's Point of View
The second I stepped through that door, the air changed.
Not dramatic. No gasps. No fainting. But real. Like the oxygen had shifted—colder, heavier.
Dozens of eyes tracked me like I was some kind of glitch in the system.
I felt it. The judgment. The tension. Like I was walking across a tightrope held up by knives. One wrong word and I'd fall.
But I kept moving. Not right. Not wrong. Just… forward. Like I've always done.
Then a voice—calm, steady. The teacher. "You must be Jean. Come in."
I walked in and stood beside him. Not sitting. Not blending in. Just… standing. Like I had a reason to stay where I was.
He turned to the class—all of them staring like I was an alien. Most of them were boys, slouched like kings on thrones. Only one girl, arms crossed, eyes like daggers.
"Section D, this is Ms. Harrington—your new classmate."
Alien. That's what I felt like. Transfer slip in hand, name none of them knew. Perfect.
No claps. No hellos. Just silence that sounded a lot like, "You don't belong."
I kept my face still. Expression neutral. Voice steady.
"Hi. I'm Jean Harrington. Just transferred here. I… look forward to getting to know all of you. "I gave a nod, formal, respectful.
And I stayed standing. Right there. Next to the teacher. Like I wasn't afraid of being seen. Like I wanted them to look.
Mr. Halden turned to the class again, his tone cool but open. "Any questions for Ms. Harrington?"
Silence.
Then came him.
A chair scraped back. A boy stood up, all nonchalance and shadows. Jacket slouched half-off his shoulder, like wearing it properly would cost him something. His gaze? Calculating. His smirk? Trouble.
"So, what made you land in Section D?" he asked. "Bad grades or bad behavior?"
The class snickered. He was baiting me.
I didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
I smiled just slightly. "Neither. I'm here to clean up the trash that got too comfortable."
BOOM.
The class exploded. Chairs creaked. Someone slapped a desk. Whistles. Hollers. Chaos.
The boy's brow ticked upward. He sat. But that look? Still aimed at me. Laser-sharp. Like he was sizing me up for a rematch already.
"Confident for someone who just walked in," he said. "Let's see how long that lasts."
I laced my fingers behind my back, still beside the teacher, still not moving.
"I'd be worried too if I were you," I said. "Loud ones always fall first."
"OHHHHHH!"
Even the teacher blinked at that one.
"You talk like you know us," the boy said, voice cool but colder now.
"I talk like I've dealt with better," I answered. Tired. Disgusted. Done.
The smirks faded. His jaw tightened.
He leaned forward slightly. "Keep that mouth running, and you'll make more enemies than friends."
"Good," I said, dead calm. "Friends slow you down."
"Enough!"
Mr. Halden's voice cracked through the tension like thunder. He stepped forward, face stern, eyes flicking between us like he was trying to contain a wildfire with duct tape. "That's enough, both of you. This is a classroom, not a stage. Mr. Kensington — sit down and stay down. Ms. Harrington — that'll be all."
Kensington. My breath caught.
Kieran Kensington.
Of course. Of all people, it had to be him. That face. That name. That storm.
So this was the boy.
The one I came here for. The one I wasn't supposed to find like this. But fate doesn't ask for permission — it just laughs in your face.
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I just stood there beside the teacher, every nerve suddenly alive and screaming.
Well then, Kieran.
Let the games begin.