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Before I can say anything else, the bell rings, announcing the start of first period.

“Shit,” Sienna groans, picking up her school bag. “I gotta get to class. Guess I’m stuck cleaning that shit off my locker during lunch.” She looks back at the hateful words one last time. “So much for living the ultimate high school experience. Soak it up while you can, Max. This school always finds a way to break your heart eventually.”

With that, she pushes her way into the crowd and disappears from view.

I find myself staring back at the vile words scrawled across her locker in red.

How can another human being be this cruel? No one deserves to have this kind of hatred thrown at them day after day. Especially not Sienna.

A flash of blonde at the end of the hall pulls my attention away from the locker.

Peyton looks straight at me, a smug little smirk playing on her lips.

My hands ball into fists as rage rolls through me.

One day, you and your friends are going to pay for everything you’ve done. I just hope I’m around to see you get what you deserve.

With that thought, I head toward English class, which unfortunately I share with her.

By the time I step into Mr. Collins’s classroom, Peyton is already in her seat, with fucking Troy sitting beside her.

For half a second, I consider making a scene and calling her out right here in front of everyone. Tell the entire class exactly what kind of hateful bitches she and her friends really are.

But Mr. Collins calling my name snaps me out of my venomous rage.

“Max?”

“Yes, Mr. Collins?” I answer, trying not to look like the banshee currently threatening to claw her way out of me.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Something in his voice immediately puts me on edge. It’s nothing like his usually friendly tone.

“Max, I need you to answer something truthfully,” he asks once I’ve walked over to his desk.

My stomach tightens.

“Okay.”

“Did you help anyone with the latest writing assignment I gave you?”

“Do you mean the story about grief? The one inspired by The Monkey’s Paw?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat, then lowers his voice. “Did you write any part of someone else’s assignment for them?”

“Of course not.”

“You can tell me if you did. I promise I’ll be fair about the consequences if—”

“Mr. Collins, I didn’t. I swear.” I shake my head, completely bewildered. “When would I even have had the time? I’ve been working all week on my story for the contest.” I open my backpack and pull out the final draft of my short story. “See? I finished it last night.”

He takes it from me and begins flicking through the pages. The rigidity in his shoulders slowly eases after reading a few paragraphs.

“This is good,” he says after reading a little more. “This is really good, Max.”

“Thank you,” I reply, though being accused of helping someone cheat has taken some of the shine off the compliment.

Mr. Collins studies my face for a moment before letting out a sigh.