WebNovels

Chapter 9 - fire in the hallway

The morning started like any other — too early, too loud, too many eyes.

Jayden moved through the halls like smoke, silent but heavy.

He'd been doing better, mostly. Keeping his head down. Staying out of trouble. But school had a way of testing him — of finding the cracks he tried to patch over.

It was third period when it started.

He was walking toward class, earbuds in, sketchbook tucked under his arm, when someone shouldered him hard enough to knock it loose.

A few pages scattered across the linoleum floor — faces, sketches, pieces of himself he didn't show anyone.

"Watch where you're going, freak," a voice said.

Jayden looked up.

Marcus.

Tall, smirking, the kind of kid who had never been told no.

Jayden bent to pick up his papers, trying to stay calm.

But Marcus kicked one page down the hall — the one of Tasha sitting on the swing.

Jayden froze.

"Yo, who's this?" Marcus said, laughing as he picked it up. "You spying on girls now? That's creepy as hell, bro."

Something inside Jayden twisted — fast, sharp.

The hallway noise dimmed. He could hear his own heartbeat, heavy in his ears.

He took a step forward.

"Give it back."

Marcus grinned. "Or what?"

Jayden's hands clenched. His mind flashed — guards shouting, walls closing in, Malik's voice saying don't let them write your story for you.

He tried to breathe.

But then Marcus crumpled the page in his hand, and something snapped.

Jayden lunged.

The next few seconds blurred — shouts, hands grabbing, a thud as Marcus hit the lockers. Jayden's fist connected once, twice, before someone yanked him back.

He could taste blood — his or Marcus's, he didn't know.

The principal's voice echoed from somewhere down the hall. "Break it up! Break it up!"

Jayden stumbled, chest heaving, adrenaline burning through him.

Marcus was on the floor, clutching his face, eyes wide with shock more than pain.

And all Jayden could think was, Not again.

---

Aftermath

They called Ms. Delaney.

She showed up at the school office, her jaw tight, her voice calm in that way adults used when they were holding back disappointment.

"Jayden," she said quietly, "what happened?"

He sat there, hands trembling in his lap. "He took my stuff. He—"

"I know," she said. "But you hit him."

Jayden looked away. "He deserved it."

"Maybe," she sighed. "But now you're the one in trouble again."

Suspension — three days.

One more incident and they'd move him to another placement.

He nodded, hearing the words but not really feeling them.

When they got back to the group home, Ms. Delaney stopped him before he went upstairs.

"You were doing good, Jayden," she said softly. "Really good. Don't throw that away."

He didn't answer. Just went to his room and shut the door.

---

The Visit

That evening, a knock came at his window.

He turned — and there she was.

Tasha.

He opened it halfway, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard what happened," she said. "You okay?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

She frowned. "Yeah, it does."

For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt heavy — like the quiet after thunder.

Finally, she said, "You don't have to explain. I get it."

"No, you don't."

"Try me."

Jayden hesitated. His throat felt tight. "Every time I start doing good, something happens. Somebody pushes. And I… I can't stop it. It's like my head just—"

He stopped. Words tangled in frustration.

Tasha's eyes softened. "You've been fighting too long, Jayden. You don't even know what to do when you're not."

He didn't respond, but her words landed somewhere deep.

After a while, she reached through the window frame and held out a folded paper.

"I fixed it," she said.

It was the drawing — uncrumpled, taped, a little rough but still whole.

Jayden stared at it. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she said, smiling just a little. "Don't let that jerk ruin something you made."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "Thanks."

"Get some sleep, okay?" she said softly.

Then she climbed back down, disappearing into the dark.

Jayden watched her go, heart thudding in that slow, uncertain rhythm that only came when something mattered.

He looked at the drawing again, running his fingers over the creases.

It wasn't perfect.

Neither was he.

But it was still there.

Just like her.

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