Bound and Shiftless

First Day of School

My alarm had been buzzing for at least ten minutes before I realized I wasn’t even fully asleep. I was trapped in one of those dreams—too vivid, too real, and way too intense to brush off. I woke up tangled in my sheets, soaked in sweat, with my heart hammering like I’d just finished a sprint. My curls were plastered to my forehead, my chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. I didn’t even notice my mom had come into my room until her hand gently touched my shoulder.

“Micah,” she said, trying to rouse me gently.

I shot up, breathless, eyes darting around like the shadow from my dream might still be there.

“It felt so real,” I whispered.

“What felt real?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I lied. “Just a weird dream.”

As she walked out, I caught the scent of bacon wafting in from downstairs. “Is that bacon?” I asked. She smiled. “Your favorite—bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Get ready. You don’t want to be late.” My mom must be feeling guilty because usually I have to fend for myself when it comes to breakfast. She would only make breakfast on weekends and special occasions, such as my birthday. My mom never liked cooking. Breakfast was the most leisurely meal for her to cook. Bacon and eggs were always her go-to, but I didn’t mind because I love bacon. I dragged myself out of bed, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed to the shower. I needed that water to wash the dream off me. But the moment the water hit my skin, it all came rushing back. The forest. The moon. The man standing in the trees was watching me. He hadn’t said a word, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the weight of him—dangerous, magnetic. He chased me through the woods, fast and unrelenting. And when he finally caught me and whispered in my ear, “Wake up, Micah,” it felt like a warning and a promise all at once. Even now, I can still hear his voice. Feel his breath.

I shook it off and focused on scrubbing the sweat off my skin. I didn’t have time to be freaked out by dreams. I had a whole new school to survive. After my shower, I pulled on a pair of light high-waisted jeans, a sage green ribbed tank, and my red zip-up hoodie. Clean white sneakers and a bit of gloss, and I was good to go. I stared at myself in the mirror longer than usual. I looked fine, put together, even. But I didn’t feel fine. Today marked the beginning of something new. A new school. A new town. A new life that I didn’t ask for. Downstairs, I inhaled breakfast, trying to avoid eye contact with my mom or Eric. I texted Stephen quickly before leaving:

“Good morning. I’m looking forward to talking to you tonight.”

I slid my phone into my pocket—just in time for Eric to come down the stairs.

“Micah, phones aren’t allowed at school,” he said, all authoritative.

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Leave it here,” he added, like it wasn’t up for discussion.

I didn’t argue. Not because I agreed, but because I didn’t want to give him satisfaction. Small town, small rules, I told myself. But something about the way he said it didn’t sit right.

Lane gave me a ride to school. Lane’s truck was an old, red, beat-up Ford Ranger. There were scratches along the side, a dent in the rear bumper, and one of the side mirrors was held together with duct tape. Inside, it was surprisingly clean for such an ancient truck. It smelled like pine air freshener, old leather, and faint traces of gasoline. He talked about football and practice, and I tried to feign interest. But all I could think about was everything I’d be missing back home—homecoming, senior prank day, even just walking the halls with Stephen. When we pulled into the school parking lot, my mood worsened. Everyone, and I mean everyone, had their phones out.

“Why couldn’t I bring mine again?” I asked Lane, narrowing my eyes.

He hesitated. “To be honest--- My dad’s probably going through it.”

“What?” My voice sharpened. “Why would he go through my phone?”

Lane winced. “He’s just… overprotective. I think it’s just the cop in him.”

I clenched my jaw. “If Eric is going through my phone, he is crossing a line with me that he can’t come back from. And my mom better not be in on this.” I said this to Lane with such fury and such vitriol that I couldn’t believe that those words even came out of my mouth. I had no idea what came over me, and I immediately apologized to Lane for my outburst. There was no excuse for me to be so irate and to be disrespecting his dad to his face like this. Lane accepted my apology and explained that he understood how upset I must be about everything that has happened lately. He empathized with me and said that he would be just as upset if I had to move in with people he barely knew, and then a stranger started going through my phone and invaded his privacy. At that moment, I knew that Lane was a good guy. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for his dad. His entire attitude since I've arrived has been overbearing. Lying to me and on me is a grievance that I won’t forget easily.

At school, Lane walked me to the office to get my schedule and books. He pointed out my first class, then left me to fend for myself. I tried to stay calm and blend in. I looked normal. I acted normally. I just had to be normal.

By lunch, I’d survived the morning without drama. Barely. We got our trays and headed to his usual table, where he introduced me to Marley, the football captain, and Alex, the cheer captain.

“Micah, I heard you were on the cheer team at your old school?” Marley asked.

“Yeah,” I said cautiously. Not sure where this was going.

With a grin, he added, “Think you can show our team how to cheer? 'Cause they couldn’t hype up a rave.”.

Alex smacked the back of his head. I laughed.

“Well,” I said, smirking at her, “if cheer doesn’t work out, she can join the Power Slap League.”

She laughed back, and the tension broke.

Lane started giving me the lay of the land—rich kids, nerds, misfits, outcasts, and then he mentioned them.

“The ones from the commune,” he said, lowering his voice. “They keep to themselves and never get involved in school activities. They even have their own P.E. class. My dad says they’re in a cult.”

I turned my head slightly to get a better look. I whisper to Lane, “They don’t look like cult members.” I always thought cult members looked the same. There would be something off about them. Not in a loud or obvious way, but in that quiet, unsettling way that made your instincts perk up. They would dress similarly in neutral tones and soft fabrics.

“They don’t. But they’re different. Always together. Always watching.” As if on cue, one of them walked over.

“Hi. I’m Derek,” he said, extending his hand, all casual and confident. I hesitated but reached out anyway, figuring I’d at least try to be polite. But I instantly regretted it. Instead of a simple handshake, his fingers tightened around mine—and before I could react, he yanked me forward, pulling me into his chest in a half-embrace, like we were old friends or something more.

“Mistake,” Echoed through my brain.

I felt my body tense instantly, my instincts flaring like a warning siren. The contact was unfamiliar, too forceful, and unwanted. My free hand snapped up and grabbed his shoulder as I pivoted, planting my feet in a perfect stance. Using his momentum against him, I shifted my weight and brought him over my hip in one fluid motion. The world seemed to pause for half a second as his body lifted off the ground. He slammed onto the cafeteria floor flat on his back, the sound echoing off the walls. He hit the ground with a thud.

Gasps rippled through the tables around us, but I barely noticed. My pulse was steady. My stance is grounded. I looked down at him, blinking like I’d just swatted a fly.

"Don’t touch me," I said coolly, my voice low and even.

He stared up at me in stunned silence, his pride—and probably his spine—bruised. But I didn’t care.

He shouldn’t have touched me. He scrambled up, red-faced and angry. “Look, b***h—”

Before he could finish, he grabbed my arm like he was going to drag me. I yanked him down, jabbed him by the throat, and watched him choke on the breath he couldn’t catch.

That’s when I noticed the assistant principal watching us, mouth slightly open.