Chapter 3

Norman

My favorite place in the entire school is a small spot tucked away behind the schoolyard. It’s a quiet area shaded by a large tree—I don’t even know what kind of tree it is, but it always fills me with a sense of calm and refreshment whenever I’m there.

Actually, I love this spot even more because no one else ever comes here. But the real reason it’s so special to me is the cat—a petite, orange-colored cat with white spots scattered across her tiny frame. I found her during my first year here. She’s the cutest little thing, and when I started feeding her, she quickly became my friend.

I sat on a rock near the tree, opened my lunchbox, and began eating the sandwich I had made for myself earlier that morning. As I ate, I took in the peaceful beauty of nature. When I finished, I packed up my lunchbox. Just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunchtime. I got up and began walking briskly toward my class.

As I approached the classroom door, a large figure stepped in front of me, blocking my way. It was Jackson—the school bully. He was tall and broad, with mostly black hair streaked with blonde. Jackson had made my life miserable for as long as I could remember. He treated me like garbage, hitting me whenever he felt like it. To him, I was the perfect target—an easy one. And to make it worse, he seemed to revel in my fear. Maybe he was crazy—or no, scratch that—he was definitely crazy.

Most of the bullying I endured was because of how I looked. Some people called me fat, others called me ugly. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about their opinions, but that didn’t stop them from tormenting me. When they weren’t attacking my appearance, they found other things to mock—my clothes, the things I owned, or didn’t own. They loved to call me poor because I never ate in the canteen or went on school trips, which I couldn’t afford.

Flanking Jackson, as always, were his two devoted lackeys: Ethan and Peter. They trailed after him like lost puppies, hanging onto his every word. Sometimes, I wondered if they even had lives of their own outside of following him around.

Jackson grabbed me by the neck and shoved me slightly, making it clear he was in one of his bullying moods.

“What do you want now, Jackson?” I asked, my voice laced with irritation.

“Nothing much, fatty. Just wanted to say hello. We missed you,” he sneered, his smirk making my skin crawl.

I tried to pull away from his grip, but he was far stronger than me. Realizing I couldn’t escape, I resigned myself to what was coming next. I braced myself for the inevitable punches.

Just as I was on the verge of giving up, I heard a voice cutting through the tension, commanding Jackson to stop. For a brief moment, hope flickered inside me. It felt like an angel had descended to save me from this hell.

But when I looked up, my hope quickly turned to frustration. Standing there wasn’t an angel—it was the last person I wanted to see.

That son of a bitch, Nico.

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