I sat with Ashly and her friends at lunch, pretending to laugh along with their jokes. Their laughter filled the cafeteria, sharp and hollow, but my mind was elsewhere—haunted by the thought of detention.
Mrs. Stave, the ruthless teacher who ruled this school like a dictator, had already sentenced me to an afternoon of misery. Her word was law, and no one dared cross her.
"Testimony? Testimony?"
Ashly's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. The girls around her giggled.
"What's got you so distracted?" she asked, tilting her head, concern flickering behind her confident eyes.
"Maybe she's thinking about that bad boy, Slavvy," Trinity teased, her voice dripping with mockery. "Every girl in school wants him. But he's trouble with a capital T. Word is, he's got ties to the underground mafia. No one messes with him."
"Except me," Ashly said, her eyes glinting with defiance.
"Except you," Bianca smirked, rolling her eyes. "Because you already have a boyfriend."
The girls burst into giggles, their laughter echoing through the cafeteria.
I rolled my eyes, though a small smile betrayed me. Then I saw him.
Slavvy sat across the room with a group of guys who looked like they'd stepped right out of a mafia movie—sharp eyes, silent confidence, danger in every movement. Somehow, I hadn't noticed him all morning—three classes had passed, and not once had I looked his way. But now, he was impossible to ignore.
"Testimony?" Ashly nudged me again.
"Mmm?" I replied absently.
"What are you thinking about so much?"
I hesitated. "Uh… Mrs. Stave gave me detention."
Ashly frowned. "Why?"
"I forgot my book at home. I swear I packed it."
"Mrs. Stave's terrible," Trinity muttered. "That's why I never took hospitality."
"Sorry, hun. She's giving you a hard time," Ashly said gently.
"No, it's fine. I'll be okay," I said, forcing a smile as I stood.
"Where are you going?" Bianca asked.
"Bathroom. Be right back."
I smoothed my skirt and walked toward the cafeteria doors, trying to keep my composure. But before I could make it out, I bumped into someone—hard. A tray crashed to the floor, food splattering everywhere.
"What the heck!!" the girl yelled, and before I could even apologize, a sharp sting exploded across my left cheek. She'd slapped me. Hard.
Gasps spread through the cafeteria. Every head turned.
"I—I'm so sorry!" I whispered, clutching my cheek. My voice shook as I looked up and froze. It was her—the same girl who'd tripped me in class. Her blonde hair spilled down her back like liquid gold, her icy blue eyes filled with disdain. Her skirt was scandalously short, her confidence radiating danger.
Behind her stood a group of girls, silent but intimidating. They didn't need to speak—their power was written all over them. This was no ordinary clique. This was her crew—the hidden royalty of Balthany High's underworld.
"Look who it is," she sneered, every word dripping venom. "The stupid village girl dressed like a grandma. You think you can just waltz in here and steal the spotlight?"
"How dare you slap my sister?!"
Ashly's voice cut through the tension like a blade. Her eyes blazed with fury.
"Well, well," the girl shot back with a smirk, turning to face her. "Look who it is. The girl who had an affair with Mr. Zulu, our substitute teacher, now pretending she's innocent."
Gasps rippled through the crowd again. Ashly's confidence faltered—just for a moment—but I saw it. Confusion stabbed through me. What was she talking about?
"You know me very well, Ashly," the girl continued, stepping closer, her tone low and dangerous.
Absolutely — let's pick up exactly where that last line left off and continue in the same cinematic, dark-mafia tone, keeping every detail intact, refining grammar and rhythm, and deepening emotion without changing your story's events or meaning.
Here's the seamless continuation and completion of that scene — finished, polished, and consistent with the chapter's mood:
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"You know me very well, Ashly," the girl continued, stepping closer, her tone low and dangerous. "So do yourself a favor—keep your little sister out of my way."
She flicked her hair with an effortless arrogance and turned. Her entourage followed her, heels clicking in unison, their laughter trailing behind like smoke after a gunshot.
The cafeteria stayed silent. Every whisper, every stare felt like a dagger pointed straight at me.
Ashly exhaled shakily, then turned to me. "You okay?" she asked, trying to sound calm, but I heard the worry in her voice—the guilt she couldn't hide.
"Yeah… I'll be fine," I murmured, though the word fine felt like a lie.
I turned away before she could say anything else. My face burned, my chest felt heavy, and the humiliation twisted like a knife inside me. I didn't care about the rest of lunch. I just needed to get away.
I found the nearest door—the generator closet—and slipped inside, locking it behind me. The sound of the latch was like a fragile promise of safety.
As soon as I sat down, the tears came. Hot, quiet, unstoppable.
God, why does this keep happening? I try so hard to fit in, to be kind, to start fresh. But it always backfires. Every single time.
My sobs echoed faintly in the small room. The smell of oil and metal filled the air, grounding me just enough to breathe. I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking.
There was no one. No mom to hug me, no friend to fight for me. Just me—and the silence that didn't care.
Time blurred.
The bell rang, signaling the end of school, but I didn't move. Fourth, fifth, sixth period—all gone. I couldn't face them. Not after that scene. Not after everyone saw me get slapped like a helpless fool.
At some point, exhaustion pulled me under.
"Hey, little girl, what are you doing here? School's been over for an hour."
The voice startled me awake. I blinked, vision hazy, my cheek still faintly stinging.
"Uh… what time is it?" I croaked, rubbing my swollen eyes.
"Half past four," said the janitor, standing in the doorway, keys jingling in his hand. "You can't stay here. I'm locking up."
Half past four? My heart dropped. Detention.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my bag. "Was Mrs. Stave still here?" I asked quickly.
"She left. Only one student showed up," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
My stomach twisted. That meant I'd missed detention completely.
"What happens if… if someone skips detention?" I asked hesitantly.
He gave me a look. "Depends. Could be suspension. Could be a meeting with the principal—and your parents."
Parents. The word hit hard. My throat tightened. "Right… thanks," I whispered.
I left before he could say anything else.
The sun was setting, painting the schoolyard in shades of gold and shadow. My footsteps echoed against the concrete, each one heavier than the last. I should've gone straight home—but I didn't. I just walked.
A few minutes later, I stopped at a small shop near the gate. My head throbbed, my heart heavy, so I decided to get something cold—something to forget.
"Can I have a chocolate Magnum?" a voice said behind me. Deep. Smooth. Familiar.
I turned.
Slavvy.
He stood a few feet away, his uniform slightly undone, tie loose, expression unreadable.
"Hey," he said simply, meeting my gaze.
"Hi," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
The shop lady handed him his ice cream. He gave her a crisp two-hundred-rand note and didn't bother to wait for the change. Just like that—cool, careless, untouchable.
"What are you doing here? School ended hours ago," he asked, leaning casually against the counter.
"I… missed my ride home," I lied, avoiding his eyes.
"Hmm," he said, as if he didn't quite believe me. Then, without hesitation, "I can take you home if you want."
For a moment, I couldn't move. His eyes—light brown with flecks of gold—were calm but intense, like he saw right through me. There was something dangerous about him, something magnetic.
But I knew better.
"Thanks," I said quickly, "but I'll walk."
"Suit yourself." He smirked slightly, biting into his ice cream.
I turned and walked away, my heart hammering against my ribs. The street felt quiet, too quiet. I could feel his gaze on my back like a weight.
Against my better judgment, I looked over my shoulder.
He was still there—standing in the fading light, watching me.
I shivered.
Who was this boy really?
And why, despite everything I'd heard about him, did part of me want to know more?