Chapter Four : Broken Glasses
757 Words
Kevin Emilio Boyce walked the marble hallways of St Augustine Academy like a ghost—head down, shoulders hunched, oversized goggles pushed high on his nose to keep them from sliding. The morning chatter bounced off lockers, bright and careless, but he barely heard it. All he could think about was surviving another day without drawing attention.
Just keep moving. Just get to class.
He turned the corner toward his locker and stopped dead.
Alice Tanaka was there, leaning against the wall with her usual circle of friends. Sunlight from a high window caught in her long curly hair, making the black strands shine. She tossed her head back at something one of the girls said, dimples flashing, that raspy laugh floating down the hall like smoke.
Kevin’s chest tightened. He knew he should look away. He knew.
He didn’t.
One of her friends—a girl with sharp eyeliner and a knowing grin—caught him first.
“Hey, nerdy-boy,” she called, loud enough for heads to turn. “Still ogling the queen like she’s your personal exhibit?”
Alice’s laughter faded. Her deep black eyes slid toward him, slow and deliberate. The smile vanished, replaced by something cold and razor-edged.
She pushed off the locker and walked straight at him. The hallway seemed to shrink around her.
Kevin’s heart slammed against his ribs. He took one involuntary step back, backpack strap cutting into his shoulder.
“You know what I hate?” Alice said, voice low and hoarse, almost intimate despite the growing audience. “People who think they can watch me like I’m something they’re entitled to. Like I don’t see you every damn day, staring.”
He opened his mouth—no words came. Just a stuttered breath.
Before he could move, her hand shot out. Fingers hooked under the frame of his oversized goggles and yanked them clean off his face.
The world blurred instantly. Colors bled together. Faces became smudges.
“Hey—” Kevin’s voice cracked. “Give them back. Please.”
Alice dangled the goggles from one finger, smirking. Then, with theatrical slowness, she let them drop to the polished floor.
They hit with a clatter.
Her sneaker came down hard.
Crack.
The frames snapped. Lenses shattered under her heel like ice.
Kevin dropped to his knees without thinking, hands scrambling over the shards. Tiny pieces cut into his fingertips, but he barely felt it. The hallway noise rushed in his ears—gasps, laughter, phone cameras clicking.
Alice crouched slightly, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something sweet and expensive.
“Pathetic,” she whispered, just for him. Then louder, for everyone else: “Maybe now you’ll stop staring.”
She straightened and walked away, curls bouncing, friends falling in behind her like nothing had happened.
Kevin stayed on his knees, gathering the broken pieces. The thick lenses were spiderwebbed beyond repair. Blood from a shallow cut on his thumb smeared across one shard. The world stayed soft and unfocused around him—blurred figures laughing, whispering, filming.
Across the hall, Kyle leaned against a locker, arms folded, watching the whole thing with a lazy smirk. He didn’t move to help. Didn’t need to. The message was clear: She’s mine. You’re nothing.
Venon appeared at Kevin’s side, voice low and urgent.
“Man… come on. They’re just glasses. We’ll figure it out.”
Kevin shook his head slowly, still staring at the wreckage in his palms.
“It’s not just the glasses,” he said, voice quiet, almost lost in the noise. “It’s her. It’s how she makes you feel… like you don’t even exist.”
A single tear slipped down his cheek, hot and traitorous. He wiped it away fast with the back of his hand, smearing blood and salt across his acne-scarred skin.
No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.
The crowd thinned. Alice and her friends disappeared around the corner, laughter echoing faintly. The bell rang—late warning for first period. Students scattered.
Kevin stayed kneeling a moment longer, cradling the broken goggles against his chest like something precious that had died.
The humiliation burned deep, deeper than the cuts on his fingers.
But beneath it—quiet, fierce, growing—a new thought took shape.
I will never let anyone have this power over me again.
Not her.
Not anyone.
He stood slowly, slipped the shattered remains into his backpack, and walked toward class.
The world was blurred.
But his resolve was sharper than ever.
- Writer
