Kevin adjusted the strap of his backpack as he walked down the cracked sidewalk toward Jackson Ridge High. The sun had barely cleared the rooftops, painting the suburban streets in pale gold. He could hear the faint hum of cars and the low chatter of students walking in the same direction, earbuds tucked in, voices half-lost in their own worlds. It was the first day of the semester, and the usual mix of nervous energy and careless laughter clung to the air like a static charge.
The school loomed ahead, its brick facade familiar and oppressive all at once. Multiple wings extended like arms reaching out, narrow hallways crisscrossing inside, and an array of lockers lining the hallways, each a personal fortress of notes, books, and secrets. Kevin had memorized every corner of this place over the last two years, and yet it never failed to feel a little too big, a little too alive at most times.
As he approached the entrance, he noticed clusters of students gathered in the courtyard, some laughing, some shouting. A couple leaned against a railing, tangled together in a kiss that seemed oblivious to anyone else, while another pair held hands tightly, their nervous giggles echoing against the brick walls. Kevin shook his head faintly and adjusted his backpack again, as if to physically shake off the usual chaos. He didn't need to care about any of it — he had other things on his mind. The semester had started, and for him, that meant focus, preparation, and keeping one step ahead.
He stepped through the main doors, the familiar clang of the metal frame greeting him. Students bustled past, rushing toward lockers, classrooms, and each other. Kevin moved toward his locker with a sense of practiced rhythm, his boots squeaking faintly against the polished floors. When he reached it, he slid the combination, clicked the lock open, and swung the door wide. Books, notebooks, and a few personal items greeted him. He set down his bag and began organizing what he would need for the day: his planner, a few pens, a water bottle, and the small pocketknife he liked to keep tucked away — not because he expected trouble, but because preparedness was habit.
He had just started putting the last notebook into the locker when a soft voice called his name.
"Kevin."
He turned, and there she was — Iris. She leaned against the locker across from his, dark hair falling perfectly around her shoulders, eyes glinting with mischief and warmth at the same time. Her presence seemed to draw the noise of the hallway into a kind of background blur, sharpening everything about her in his mind.
"Hey," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Without hesitation, she stepped closer, closing the gap. Their eyes met for a long, suspended second, and then she reached up. Their lips met in a kiss that felt unusually heavy for a high school hallway — slow, deep, and charged with the kind of intensity that left Kevin momentarily unsteady. When they pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"You ready for the first day?" she asked, teasing, but with a softness in her tone that made it sound like she genuinely cared.
Kevin smirked. "I always am. You?"
"Mostly. I just hope this semester isn't as awful as the last one."
"Let's survive it together," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
They walked down the hallway together, navigating between groups of chatting students, the air filled with the mundane sounds of lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, and voices overlapping. It was comforting in a way — normal, expected and safe. For now.
As they passed a corner, Kevin's attention flicked involuntarily to the other side of the hall. A boy, hunched slightly, was pressed against a row of lockers, facing three older students wearing jackets of red and white, each emblazoned with an cartoonish elephant on the back. The trio circled him like predators, laughing, shoving him with enough force to rattle the metal. The boy's hands trembled, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of the intimidation.
"Hey, move it, loser," one of them sneered, shoving him again. "You're in the way."
Kevin's jaw tightened. He didn't like bullies — not just because of the cruelty, but because he understood fear all too well. He watched, analyzing, noting their movements, the subtle signs of power and weakness. The boy didn't retaliate, just absorbed the punches, trying to make himself small.
Iris tugged his arm, drawing him out of his gaze. "Come on, Kevin, class starts soon."
Kevin shook his head briefly, unwilling to let go of what he saw, but he followed her anyway. They turned a corner, moving toward the classroom wing, leaving the chaos of the hallway behind them. The din of laughter, shouts, and locker slams faded slightly as they entered the quieter corridors leading to their homeroom.
Students milled about the entrance of the classroom, chatting, laughing, some already seated, some still lingering in small clusters. Kevin and Iris slid into a pair of seats near the middle of the room, the familiar scent of chalk dust and industrial cleaner mixing with the faint metallic tang from the nearby lockers. He unpacked his bag, neatly placing his notebook and pen on the desk, his eyes flicking to the door, keeping a casual awareness of his surroundings.
The teacher, a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair tied back in a bun, began taking attendance, calling out names in a monotone voice that somehow carried the weight of authority and boredom at the same time. Kevin nodded politely as she passed him, then let his attention wander briefly to the back of the room.
That's when he saw the boy again — the one who had been cornered in the hallway. He was stumbling slightly as he stepped toward the desk, rubbing at his hands like something was off. His face twisted in confusion, panic flickering across his features.
"I… I can't… feel my hands," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to slice through the low hum of the classroom.
All at once, the air in the room felt heavier. Kevin noticed the boy's hands trembling violently, the faint flush creeping into his face. There was a rigidity in his shoulders now, a sudden stiffness that made him look unnatural, like he was caught in some invisible coil of tension.
The teacher frowned, leaning forward slightly. "What's wrong?"
But before she could reach him, the boy's head twitched, eyes widening unnaturally, veins in the whites of his eyes straining red. A sudden, jerky movement made everyone freeze — the very beginning of chaos that none of them could yet comprehend.
The teacher stood up, trying to keep calm, but you could see the panic leaking through. "Eli, sit down. Tell me what happened."
Eli shook his head. The movement was shaky, almost twitchy. "It's getting worse. My hands—" He held them up.
They were trembling so violently it looked like he was vibrating.
Someone gasped when they noticed the veins around his eyes—thin red lines spiderwebbing outward, like they were about to burst. Eli blinked slowly, and when his eyes opened again, he didn't look scared anymore. Just empty.
"Call the nurse," the teacher said. "Now."
But before anyone could move, Eli's back arched like someone had yanked him by an invisible hook. He let out a sound—half choke, half growl—and his knees buckled. Tools clattered to the floor as he knocked over a metal cart.
Then he snapped his head toward the students.
Every vessel in his eyes had burst. The whites were a raw, furious red.
"Everyone out," the teacher ordered, voice cracking. "Go—now!"
They didn't need telling twice. Chairs scraped, metal hit concrete, someone dropped their backpack. Kevin bolted toward the door, heart punching through his ribs, but he still heard the moment it all crossed the line.
The moment Eli stopped being a student.
A desk crashed against the floor, followed by the teacher screaming, "Stay back!"
I turned, just once. Just enough to see Eli lunging—fast, too fast for someone who was shaking minutes ago. His movements were jerky, tense, like every muscle was firing at once. The teacher tried to block him, but Eli didn't even flinch when his shoulder slammed into the desk's edge.
He didn't feel a thing.
And when his head lifted, bloodshot eyes locking onto Kevin, he had understood the real problem.