STRONGER THAN YOU KNEW

CHAPTER 2 : EASY PREY

The bell cracked like a gunshot, slicing through the fragile hush after my humiliating introduction. Mrs. James slipped out. Before I could even stand, a quick tap landed on my back.

I turned. Isabel—right behind me—beamed.

“Want to explore the school? Come on, it’ll be fun!”

My heart still hammered from the snickers. I forced a thin smile. “Okay… let’s go.”

I swept my books into my bag, stood—and crashed straight into a solid chest. Pens scattered, notebook skidded, his textbooks hit the floor.

“I’m sorry—” I choked, shoving my glasses up as I dropped to my knees.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even glance. Just crouched, gathered his books in one smooth motion, and walked away—broad shoulders cutting the crowd like a blade.

I stared after him. Rich. Cold. Too perfect for high school. During my intro, while everyone laughed, he hadn’t. Just leaned back, arms crossed, face blank. Watching. Judging.

“God, who is that?” Isabel hissed, crouching beside me. She clutched her chest dramatically.

“All the guys here are gorgeous, but him? Instant crush material.”

I gave a weak laugh and nudged her. But my stomach twisted. That silence felt heavier than any insult.

We hurried down the stairs—and walked straight into them.

Zena and Dora climbed up as we went down, lollipops rolling between glossy lips, uniforms clinging in ways that screamed power. They looked older, sharper, dangerous.

They stopped. Eyes locked on us.

“Ohhh, look who we have here—the new girls,”

Zena drawled, popping the lollipop out with deliberate slowness.

“Let’s say hi properly,” Dora added, smile too sweet, eyes too sharp.

Zena leaned in, bending at the waist like she was inspecting something curious. “Hi, new girl. I’m Zena.” Her gaze flicked to Isabel first.

“Hi! I’m Isabel,” Isabel chirped.

“You already look like you belong,” Zena said, lips curving. Then she turned to me. “Scholarship kid, right?”

I nodded eagerly, hoping it sounded impressive.

“Yeah.”

“Your name again?” Zena tapped her temple, mock-forgetting.

My throat tightened. I adjusted my glasses, smiling desperately, praying she’d say it right.

“Elena Richard!” Dora crowed, smacking Zena’s arm. “How could you forget that one?”

Zena’s laugh sliced the air. “Right, right. Elena Richard. Unforgettable.”

The mockery stung like a disguised slap. I knew it. But I kept smiling.

“Yes… I’m Elena Richard,” I whispered.

“You’ve heard of us, obviously,” Dora said.

Isabel jumped in. “You’re Dora and Zena—the hottest girls in school!”

Dora’s eyes sparkled. “Smart girl, Isabel.”

I shrank. Invisible. Unimportant.

“Enjoy your stay,” Zena said brightly. She turned to Dora with a quick wink I pretended not to see.

Zena stepped past. Dora followed—and rammed her shoulder into mine.

I lost my footing. Tumbled down two steps. Knee scraped raw. Bag exploded open. Glasses skittered across concrete and cracked with a sickening snap.

Pain flared hot. I scrambled for them—lenses webbed with fractures.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Dora gasped, bending to scoop my things. But her eyes stayed locked on mine—cold, measuring, waiting for tears or anger or anything she could use.

The apology was a performance.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer, testing.

“No… I’m sorry,” I mumbled, grabbing my stuff.

Their smiles bloomed—small, victorious.

They pulled me up like helpful strangers, then sauntered away, hips swaying.

“Elena?” Isabel’s voice was tiny. “You okay?”

I nodded, throat burning. “Let’s go.”

***

Outside, the basketball court thrummed. My eyes found Oscar instantly—fluid, commanding, girls screaming his name like he was a god.

“Basketball!” Isabel squealed. “Come on!”

She dragged me forward by the elbow. I didn’t resist. My stupid heart raced at the sight of him.

We stopped on the edge of the crowd. Isabel cheered. I stared—cracked glasses blurring him into something almost dreamlike.

Then the ball rocketed toward me—too fast, too straight. It slammed into my shoulder like a fist. Pain exploded white-hot.

I staggered, clutching the spot.

The distance was wrong. We were far from the court.

It felt deliberate.

“Yo, Oscar—you nailed the new girl!” someone yelled, laughing.

Oscar jogged over, ball under his arm, that lazy, perfect smile already in place.

My breath caught—fear and foolish hope crashing together.

“Ask if she can still see, bro!” another guy called. Laughter swelled.

Oscar laughed too—easy, careless. He bent for the ball, rose, and looked straight into my eyes.

“You okay?”

I forced the biggest smile I could, pushing my broken glasses up. “Yeah… I’m fine.”

He held my gaze one heartbeat longer—smile never wavering—then turned and jogged back.

Behind me, two girls didn’t bother whispering low.

“New girl’s officially the target now.”

“Ball’s been passed.”

“Exactly. Weak ones always get picked first.”

The words sank in like ice.

I heard them.

I felt them.

But I wasn’t ready to see the truth behind them.

Then the break bell rang again.

The crowd scattered—players heading to change, others drifting inside. I slipped toward my locker, needing spare glasses before the cracked ones gave out completely.

I opened the door.

An envelope lay inside.

My pulse stuttered. How?

I pulled it out, fingers trembling, and tore it open.

Bold black letters stared back:

BE CAREFUL.

I scanned the hallway—empty, no one watching.

Or maybe someone was.

I shoved the envelope back inside, heart thudding. Be careful? In this bright, perfect school?

I almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded.

Almost.

That day, the cracks started spreading—inside me, and in the fragile hope I’d carried into this school.

Then I felt it.

Someone behind me.

My grip tightened around the locker door.

Slowly…

I turned.