Why is he always so quiet?I've never seen him talk to anyone here. It's like he doesn't want anyone to get close. He's really handsome, and in our class test, he got full marks. There's something mysterious about him. I kind of like it.
The whispers reached me even though they weren't meant to.
Two girls sat a few seats away, pretending to talk about something else. I kept my eyes down. I always did. It had been a long time since I'd had a proper conversation with anyone. Words didn't come easily to me, and when they did, I was always afraid they'd come out wrong. Afraid of being laughed at. Afraid of standing out.
It was the third week of my freshman year at Springdale High, a school perched on a hill in the quiet town of Ridgefield. I sat in the back-left seat near the entrance, my left hand propping up my jaw as I waited for the bell to end lunch break.
Then the hallway exploded with noise.
Gasps. Shouts. Laughter.
I turned toward the sound and saw someone on the floor, legs spread out, hands braced behind him. I recognized him immediately.
Ethan Blake.
I hadn't known his name until attendance last week, but I'd noticed him long before that. He was well-built, tall, the kind of person people noticed without trying to. What drew my attention wasn't his body, though—it was the way he kept to himself in class. Like me.
Except Ethan wasn't alone.
He barely spoke in our classroom, but outside it, people knew him. I'd seen students from other classes greet him, fall into step beside him, listen when he talked. It wasn't forced. It just… happened. Even sitting quietly, it felt like his presence bent the room a little.
He wasn't a fighter. Not that I knew of.But everyone knew who he was.
Now he was on the floor, surrounded by three upperclassmen.
I didn't know what started it. I didn't want to know. I just hoped it would end.
Ethan's breathing was heavy, uneven. He'd been running. One of the seniors stomped on his foot, grabbed his collar, and slapped him hard across the face.
The sound echoed down the hallway.
People flinched. Some laughed nervously. No one moved.
My chest tightened.
This wasn't my problem.I should stay where I was.
If I stayed quiet, this would pass. It always did. Getting involved meant eyes. Whispers. Trouble. I thought about my notebooks, my grades, the quiet routine I was trying so hard to protect.
Another slap landed.
My head buzzed. The hallway felt too loud, too close. I could feel that familiar pressure building—the kind that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.
Don't.
I knew that stepping forward would ruin everything.
And yet—
I was already moving.
My heart was racing by the time I spoke. My voice didn't sound like my own.
"This is enough," I said. "Watching this is… painful. Please. Just stop."
The senior stared at me like I'd insulted him.
"How dare you interrupt," he said, his tone flat, "while your seniors are teaching you freshmen a lesson?"
Pain exploded in my stomach before I could react.
I staggered back, air forced out of my lungs. I couldn't believe he'd actually hit me. He stepped closer, and panic took over.
I didn't think.
My leg came up on instinct—messy, unbalanced. Something drilled into me years ago in a self-defense class I barely remembered.
The impact was ugly.
He doubled over, gagging, dropping to his knees before vomiting onto the floor.
I stood frozen.
What did I just do?
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for whatever came next.
"Hey!"
A teacher's voice cut through the hallway. Footsteps rushed in. The moment shattered.
I'd never been in a fight before.And now I was starting high school with one—against third-years.
The principal's office was silent except for his voice.
Ethan and I stood side by side. The seniors were there too, watching with bored interest. I kept my eyes down. I felt sick.
When the principal announced a one-week suspension, my head went blank.
A week.
I looked around, hoping someone would argue. No one did. Not even Ethan. He stared at the floor like he'd expected this.
That scared me more than the punishment.
Until today, I'd been invisible. Now I was a problem.
Outside, I sat on the school steps, my head in my hands. This year was already ruined. Studying quietly like I'd planned felt impossible now.
Transferring crossed my mind for the first time—and didn't leave.
"Your name's Daniel, right?"
I looked up. Ethan was smiling, like none of this bothered him.
"Yeah," I muttered.
"You really don't talk much," he said lightly. "Thanks for stepping in. But I could've taken a few more hits before a teacher showed up."
I hesitated. "If it had been anyone else… I wouldn't have done it. I thought they'd stop on their own."
"They won't," he said. "And those third-years? They'll come after you when they get the chance."
"I'm transferring schools anyway," I said.
Ethan blinked once.
"Eh?"
For a second, he didn't say anything. The smile on his face faded just a little—not shock, not disbelief, just something thoughtful.
He looked away, exhaling quietly through his nose."…Yeah. I guess that makes sense," he said after a pause. "After today."
The silence stretched. I thought that was the end of it.
"Then I should transfer with you"
I blinked. "What?"
"You won't know anyone there," he said, like it was obvious. "So I'll be your first friend. I'm Ethan Blake."
I didn't understand him. But I nodded.
"I was curious about you," I admitted. "Everyone knows you. I didn't expect to see you on the floor."
Ethan smiled, amused by something I couldn't see. "Where to?"
"Crestwood High," I said after a moment.
Brookhaven was a bigger city—louder, busier, easier to disappear in. Crestwood had a reputation for its academics, for students who kept their heads down and focused on results. At least, that's what people said. Compared to Ridgefield, it felt distant enough. Far enough that whatever had started here wouldn't follow.
He smirked. "Makes sense."
The final bell rang soon after.
As I left Springdale High, the air felt cooler. The future still scared me—but for the first time, it didn't feel empty.
Crestwood wasn't just another school.
It was a way out.
And maybe—a beginning.