Chapter 4
1186 Words
That night, lying in bed, I replayed everything. The humiliation. The confrontation. The way my voice hadn’t shaken when it mattered.
Marvin Woods thought he’d broken me.
Jace Woods thought he was observing.
They were both wrong.
Because tomorrow, I wasn’t just surviving.
I was planning.
And I was done being their target.
Cassey Winfield
I didn’t sleep much that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the freeze-frame of my own face on that classroom screen. My laugh. My humiliation. The way the room had gone silent when I spoke up anyway.
It wasn’t fear keeping me awake.
It was momentum.
Something had shifted. I could feel it in my bones. Like once you step onto a battlefield, you don’t get to pretend you’re just passing through anymore.
By morning, I’d made a decision.
If Marvin Woods wanted a war, then fine. But I wasn’t going to fight it the way he expected. I wasn’t going to scream, cry, or retaliate with cheap stunts.
I was going to be smarter.
The announcement came halfway through first period.
“Attention, students,” the principal’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Due to recent incidents involving inappropriate behavior and misuse of school property, several students will be assigned to mandatory extracurricular service. Names will be posted outside the main office.”
My stomach dropped.
I didn’t need to see the list to know I was on it.
The hallway outside the office was already packed by the time I got there. Whispers bounced off the lockers as I pushed my way forward, heart pounding.
There it was.
My name.
Cassey Winfield.
Right underneath it?
Marvin Woods.
And then—because the universe apparently had jokes..
Jace Woods.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
“What’s wrong, charity case?” Marvin’s voice came from behind me, smug and sharp. “You don’t like group activities?”
I turned slowly. “Funny,” I said flatly. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Jace stood a step back from his brother, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable. When our eyes met, something passed between us. Surprise, maybe. Or resignation.
“This is ridiculous,” Marvin continued. “I didn’t even do anything.”
I laughed once. “That’s your problem, Marvin. You did too much.”
A teacher cleared her throat sharply. “All three of you. Office. Now.”
We sat in stiff plastic chairs across from the vice principal’s desk. Marvin lounged like he was waiting for a photo op. Jace sat quietly, posture straight. I kept my hands folded in my lap to stop them from shaking.
“You’re all here for different reasons,” the vice principal said. “But the outcome is the same. You’ll be participating in a joint school project for the next four weeks.”
Marvin scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” she replied coolly. “You’ll be helping organize the Winter Rally. Decorations, planning, coordination. Together.”
I blinked.
Together?
“You will meet every day after school,” she continued. “Miss Winfield will oversee logistics. Mr. Woods—” she glanced at Marvin “—you’ll handle sports coordination. And Mr. Woods—” she turned to Jace “—you’ll assist with budgeting and approvals.”
I stared at her. “You’re putting me in charge?”
She smiled slightly. “I’ve read the reports. You stood up when it mattered.”
Marvin looked like he might choke.
I shouldn’t have smiled.
But I did.
The first meeting was exactly as awful as I expected.
We sat around a table in the activities room, tension thick enough to cut with scissors. Marvin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.
“This is a waste of my time,” he said. “I’ve got practice.”
“And I’ve got dignity,” I replied. “Yet here we both are.”
Jace snorted. He covered it quickly, but I saw it.
Marvin shot him a look. “Whose side are you on?”
Jace shrugged. “The one that gets this over with.”
I opened my notebook. “Great. Then let’s start. We need sponsors, decorations, schedules—”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Marvin interrupted.
I looked up at him. “You made this public, remember? I’m just finishing it.”
His jaw tightened.
Good.
Over the next week, something strange happened.
People stopped laughing.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. But slowly. Subtly. Whispers turned into curiosity. Curiosity into respect. I was visible now, but not as a joke. As someone who didn’t fold.
Marvin hated it.
Every meeting, he pushed back. Questioned decisions. Tried to undermine me. And every time, I shut him down calmly, professionally.
It drove him crazy.
Jace, on the other hand, surprised me.
He showed up early. Took notes. Fixed problems before they exploded. When Marvin stormed out once, Jace stayed behind and quietly helped me reorganize the schedule.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I know,” he replied.
That was it. No explanation.
It unnerved me how much I noticed him. The way he listened. The way he watched without judging. The way he never spoke unless it mattered.
One afternoon, as we packed up, he paused beside me.
“You’re handling this well,” he said.
I closed my notebook. “I don’t have a choice.”
He hesitated. “You always have a choice.”
I met his gaze. “Not when someone decides you’re entertainment.”
Something dark flickered in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Not at me.
“I didn’t know Marvin would take it that far,” he said quietly.
I exhaled. “You don’t get points for not being him.”
A pause.
“I know,” he said.
The breaking point came on Friday.
The Winter Rally mock-up went live on the school website. My plan. My layout. My name listed as lead coordinator.
By lunch, the comments were pouring in. Positive. Supportive. People volunteering to help.
Marvin slammed his tray down across from me.
“You think you won?” he snapped.
I looked up slowly. “I think I stopped losing.”
He leaned in. “Careful, Cass. You don’t belong in my world.”
I smiled, calm and steady. “Funny. You keep showing up in mine.”
The table went quiet.
Jace watched from a few seats away, eyes sharp.
Marvin stood abruptly and walked off.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling again. But this time, I wasn’t replaying humiliation.
I was replaying control.
Marvin Woods didn’t scare me anymore.
Jace Woods confused me.
And the school?
It was watching.
Tomorrow, the lines would blur even more.
And I had a feeling the hardest part wasn’t standing up to my enemy.
It was figuring out what to do when his shadow didn’t look like one.
- Writer
