As I stepped into the grand, ominous halls of Balthany High School, a chill traced its way down my spine. The air was thick—charged with whispers and unspoken judgments. The students' eyes followed my every move, sharp and unrelenting, slicing through me like daggers.
I was new blood—an outsider—and they could smell the fear beneath my skin.
"Welcome to Balthany High," Ashly whispered near my ear, her tone soft yet edged with warning. It wasn't a welcome; it was a caution. As if she knew this place hid dangers that didn't show themselves easily.
I glanced out the window, my breath catching. I hadn't realized the school was this massive, this oppressive. From the outside, it looked less like a school and more like a fortress—or worse, a prison. And I was its newest captive.
"Okay, girls," my father's commanding voice broke through my thoughts. "I won't be able to pick you up this afternoon. I've got a business meeting."
He turned his gaze toward my sister. "Ashly, make sure you take care of Testimony."
"I can take care of myself," I muttered, stepping out of the car, trying to sound braver than the fear pounding inside my chest.
"Let's go," Ashly said coolly, walking ahead. I followed, every step heavier than the last. My heartbeat drummed in my ears. God, this place is suffocating.
Compared to the other girls' short skirts and polished confidence, my outfit looked conservative—old-fashioned even. I could feel the stares cutting into me. The whispers. The judgment.
"Look at her," a girl sneered as she passed. "She looks like someone's grandma."
Their laughter followed like a haunting melody. Grandma? Were they talking about me?
"Uhmm... why is everyone staring at me?" I whispered to Ashly, my voice small, trembling.
"Don't mind them," she said, her voice detached and cold. "People here feed off others' insecurities. It's their way of pretending they have control."
I clenched my hands, trying to hide how badly they were shaking. It felt like I was trapped in someone else's nightmare.
"Hey, girls!" Ashly suddenly shouted, her voice echoing down the hallway.
A group of perfectly styled girls turned around, their expressions lighting up as if on cue.
"Oh my God, she's here!" one of them screamed. They rushed toward her, hugging, squealing, their laughter sharp and high-pitched—too rehearsed to be real.
"You look amazing," said another, her tone sugary-sweet but dripping with envy. Her skin was pale, her features delicate—like a doll you could buy in a store window.
"Your skin is glowing, honey," the third added with a tight smile. "What do you use?"
She was beautiful too—light-skinned, sculpted features—but her eyes gave away her jealousy.
I watched them all: polished, perfect, fake. Their skirts barely covered anything, their confidence both enviable and terrifying.
I looked at myself again and felt my self-esteem crumble. Maybe if I disappear, they'll stop looking.
"Oh, right," Ashly said flatly. "Girls, this is my sister, Testimony."
Her tone was detached, almost dismissive. "Testimony, these are my friends—Trinity, Bianca, and Kim."
"Hey," Trinity said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Dark-skinned, stunning, with a gaze that could strip your soul bare. There was power in her stillness.
"Ashly, we didn't know you had a sister," Bianca said, her curiosity laced with calculation. Tall, light-skinned, with perfect hair and a smile that could disarm or destroy.
"Uhmm, actually, she was staying at the—"
The bell cut Ashly off, its sharp, metallic sound echoing through the hallways.
"We better go, or Mr. Zonde will kill us," Kim said nervously.
"Okay, girls. See you in class," Ashly said, her tone suddenly assertive, commanding—like a leader dismissing her subordinates. "I'll walk Testimony to her class."
"Don't be late!" Bianca called, her voice fading as they turned the corner.
"Wait—we're not in the same class?" I asked, panic rising in my chest.
"No," Ashly replied smoothly. "You've got hospitality and drama. I've got physics. But don't worry—Michael is in your class. You'll be fine."
Her tone was clipped, unreadable. Then she smiled faintly. "I'll see you at lunch."
Before I could respond, she was gone—swift, composed, untouchable.
My heart raced as I pushed open the classroom door. My legs trembled. My throat tightened.
Every head turned.
"And you are?" the teacher barked, her expression sharp and unwelcoming.
I was only five minutes late, but she looked at me like I'd committed a crime.
I tried to speak, but my tongue twisted. Giggles rippled across the room. I could feel eyes dissecting me—my skirt, my shoes, my very existence.
"Uhm…" I started weakly.
"Well? Are you going to speak, or should I send you to the principal's office?" she snapped. Her tone cracked through me like a whip.
"Uhmm… my name is Testimony, ma'am," I stammered.
"Testimony?" she mocked. "For being late?"
The class erupted in laughter.
"No, ma'am…" I whispered, blinking back tears. Why is she so cruel?
"Are you backchatting me now?" she yelled. "No manners, no respect. Typical."
The room spun. I couldn't stop the tears anymore.
"Oh, look! She's crying," one of the girls sneered, and the laughter grew louder.
"No, ma'am… sorry, ma'am," I managed between sobs.
"Sit down," she commanded coldly.
I scanned the room, searching for an empty seat. Fourth row, third desk. A boy sat beside it—hoodie up, head down, breaking every rule just by existing. He wasn't wearing the uniform. Maybe he didn't need to.
"Village girl," the teacher muttered under her breath, and the class snickered again.
I ignored them and walked toward the seat.
"Ouch!" I gasped as my foot caught, and I tumbled forward, my books scattering across the floor. Laughter filled the air again.
"Oops," said the girl next to me, smirking. She'd done it on purpose.
As I reached for my books, another hand brushed against mine. I froze.
When I looked up, I met the most striking eyes I'd ever seen—light brown, lazy, yet impossibly deep.
He wasn't a teacher. He was a student.
His lips were perfectly shaped, pink, almost too perfect.
What are you thinking, Testimony? I scolded myself silently.
"Sorry," I whispered, pulling my hand back.
"It's okay," he said quietly, his voice calm but strong—like someone used to being obeyed.
I gathered my books and sat beside him, trying to focus. I opened my hospitality notebook, but I didn't have the textbook.
"Do you have the book?" he asked, his tone low, almost conspiratorial.
"Not yet," I admitted.
"We can share," he said, pushing the book between us.
"Thank you," I murmured, forcing a small smile.
He nodded slightly and turned back to the front, all focus again. But I couldn't stop thinking about him—his quiet power, his mysterious aura. He didn't belong here either. He looked like someone who chose to be dangerous.
The lesson dragged on, each second stretching. I found myself stealing glances at him. When our eyes met, just for a heartbeat, something electric pulsed through me. I looked away, heart hammering.
What's wrong with me? I don't even know his name.
The bell finally rang. Relief washed over me. I gathered my things, eager to escape the whispers, the judgment, the suffocating walls.
Ashly was waiting outside, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp.
"Hey, girl," she said lightly, though her tone carried something darker. "Rough first day?"
I exhaled. "How'd you know?"
She smirked faintly. "News spreads fast here. Just… be careful what you say. And who you say it to."
I nodded. Unease coiled deep in my chest.
Later, as we stopped for ice cream, I caught sight of him again. The boy.
He was with a group of friends—laughing, confident, dangerous—but when his eyes found mine, the noise around us faded.
That same electricity coursed through me again.
A sly smirk curved his lips before he turned away, disappearing into the crowd.
"Here," Ashly said, handing me the ice cream, unaware of the storm inside my chest.
"Thanks," I muttered, my voice distant.
The walk home was silent. The air felt heavy—watchful.
By the time we reached the house, Ashly shouted something to Mom downstairs, while I dragged myself up to my room, exhaustion pressing down on me.
I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning around one thing—the boy with the piercing eyes and the dangerous smile.
What a day.