CHAPTER 9
1038 Words
I stared down at my phone, stunned.
4.5k views.
Thousands of likes. Hundreds of comments.
My mom’s tiny restaurant—usually half-empty—was now packed wall to wall with people. The app showed “Tiana’s Home Kitchen” trending as the most-searched restaurant in Brooklyn.
“God… who was that kid and what did she do?” Mom muttered, rushing past me with two trays balanced on her arms. “The moment she stepped out of here, people haven’t stopped coming in. I can’t keep up!”
I just shook my head. Whoever that girl was… she wasn’t normal.
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Later that morning, in front of the school gate, I finally saw her—Michella.
“Hey, Mich!” I called, jogging up to her.
She turned, smiling like sunlight warmed into human form. “Ohhh hey, Jason. How was your weekend?”
I couldn’t help smiling back. She had that effect on people.
“Thanks for helping out with the restaurant,” I said, breathless from excitement alone. “We were able to pay off our debts… and we finally registered my kid sister into the art school she’s always wanted. My parents want to thank you properly—they invited you over.”
She shook her head immediately.
“There’s really no need for that. Your mom is a great cook—that’s why people came. They loved her food, that’s why they kept reposting it. All I did was take a picture and post it. Your mom’s cooking is what kept the customers.”
She tapped my shoulder and walked ahead. I swear the world tilted a little when her fingers brushed me.
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It was lunchtime when everything went sideways.
I was happily eating in the cafeteria when something cold and wet slid down my neck, soaking my shirt.
The whole cafeteria gasped.
I looked up slowly.
And there she was.
Krystal.
Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect cruelty.
A full tray tilted in her hands, dripping the last of the sauce onto me.
She smiled. Smiled like she lived for this.
I stood. “What exactly is the meaning of this madness?”
She laughed—loud, shrill, manic.
Students started recording.
Krystal stepped closer, the heels of her boots clicking like a countdown.
Before I could even back away, she shoved me so hard I hit the floor. Gasps echoed. She raised her tray again—this time to strike.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the pain.
But the hit never came.
A dull c***k sounded in front of me instead.
I opened my eyes.
Jason was standing over me, his back blocking the blow. The tray had cracked against his head. Blood trickled down his temple.
“Hey… are you okay?” he asked softly, swaying.
“I’m fine—but you don’t look the part,” I said, standing.
Then I turned.
My eyes found Krystal—still holding the tray, stunned.
I walked to her slowly, deliberately. The cafeteria parted for me like they suddenly understood who the real threat was.
I bent down, picked up my unfinished food, and without hesitation, dumped it all over her perfect blonde curls.
The cafeteria exploded in screams.
I slammed the tray into her stomach. She choked out a cry, collapsing to her knees.
I crouched to her level, gripping her jaw hard enough to make her eyes water.
“How does it feel,” I asked, voice low and venomous, “to receive the same pain you gave someone else? Next time, I won’t just hit you. I’ll hit you until you pass out.”
I pushed her away and grabbed Jason’s wrist.
“Let’s get you to the nurse’s office.”
We were halfway down the hallway when the school speakers screeched.
A woman cleared her throat.
“Miss Caden. Report to the principal’s office. Now.”
Jason looked worried. “Will you be okay?”
I smirked. “I’ll be more than okay.”
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I knocked lightly and walked in.
Krystal was already there—hair dripping, makeup ruined, trembling like a kicked puppy trying to earn pity.
I didn’t even sit fully before I spoke.
“Is this a sympathy act? Because it’s not working.”
Krystal blinked rapidly. “What do you mean by that?”
“You can’t sit there looking innocent after nearly crushing someone’s skull.”
“Miss Caden,” the principal snapped, “I called you here, so show some respect.”
I slowly turned to her.
“Respect?” I laughed. “If you did your job, we wouldn’t be here. Plenty of students have reported Krystal and her minions’ bullying—but you always let her walk free. Why? Because her father owns this school?”
Her face twisted. “Miss Caden, watch your mouth. I am the principal. And just because you're in the honors class does NOT give you the right to speak like this. You can be removed for abuse of power.”
I leaned forward slightly.
“Oh, you want to talk about abuse of power? Then let’s talk.”
The room froze.
“You encourage people like Krystal. You protect them. You let them tear down weaker students until they break. People like you may not use knives or guns… but you kill with your words. You kill with your neglect. You drive people right to the edge of a cliff, then pretend your hands are clean.”
Her face reddened—anger, or shame, I couldn’t tell.
I stood.
“Here’s advice, ma’am: do your job properly… or you won’t have a job at all. Now if we’re done, I need to clean myself up. Thanks to someone, I look like a walking dumpster.”
I walked out without waiting for permission.
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Back in the office, Krystal trembled, wiping food off her arms.
“She… she doesn’t know who she’s messing with,” she whispered, hatred shaking every word.
The principal didn’t answer at first. She stared at the closed door, jaw tight.
Then… very slowly… she turned to Krystal.
Her voice was ice.
“Get rid of Michella. I don’t care how you do it. Just make sure she’s gone.”
- Writer
