When Hate Writes Back
Chapter 4 — Sparks and Screens
By the third day, I'd already learned two things about my new school:
Hallways were a battlefield.
My nemesis had a permanent seat in my mental blacklist.
Today's math class was the latest arena. I slid into my desk just as Estelle plopped down beside me, notebook open, ready to take on the day.
"Ready to survive?" she whispered, giving me a conspiratorial wink.
I nodded, though I was barely holding it together. And then he walked in. Of course he did.
From across the room, our eyes met. A challenge. A war.
"Hey," he muttered under his breath when the teacher wasn't looking.
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You actually think you can answer that problem correctly?" His smirk was infuriating. "Guess again."
I scowled. "Watch me."
The next ten minutes were pure chaos. Whispered arguments, subtle jabs, and Estelle trying—and failing—to suppress her laughter beside me.
By the time the bell rang, my head was spinning. My pen pal would have understood. They always did.
Later that night, I opened my laptop and typed furiously:
"Math class was torture. He's insufferable. I can't even think straight without seeing his stupid smirk. I'm counting down the days until this semester ends."
The reply came in seconds, calm and comforting as always:
"Maybe he's not as bad as you think. You only see the surface, Jay. Sometimes the world shows us what we need to grow… even if it comes in annoying packages."
I stared at the words, sighing. Annoying packages. Yeah, okay. If only I knew just how literal that was going to get.