Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 03 | This place wasn't going to be any different

THE MORNING PASSED IN a haze, a blur of unfamiliar faces and monotonous voices. James drifted through his first three classes as if underwater, barely present, his mind wandering between the endless drone of teachers introducing themselves and the steady rhythm of his thoughts. The other students were a sea of indifference, their eyes glazed over as they scrawled in notebooks or stared blankly ahead. No one seemed to notice him, and for now, that was a relief.

James didn't mind being invisible. In fact, he preferred it. The less attention, the better. He'd spent years perfecting the art of disappearing, of blending into the background. It was safer that way. But there was something about this school, about Elmwood Heights, that made it harder to fade. Maybe it was the weight of their stares, the unspoken rules that hovered just beneath the surface, or the fact that his camera seemed to draw attention like a beacon. Either way, he felt it—a pull, a tension that crackled in the air, thick and suffocating.

By the time the lunch bell rang, James felt the tightness in his chest returning. The optimism that had flickered in him this morning was already waning, replaced by a growing sense of dread. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way through the crowded hallways, his Polaroid still hanging around his neck like a protective charm. He wasn't hungry, but the cafeteria seemed like the safest place to hide out for now. At least there, he could sit in a corner and observe, let the world pass by without having to engage.

The cafeteria was loud, chaotic, a cacophony of voices and laughter bouncing off the walls. James scanned the room, looking for an empty table, but it seemed like every inch of space was already claimed. Kids sat in cliques, their conversations bubbling over in a way that felt exclusive, impenetrable. He sighed, deciding to take a seat by the windows, where the sunlight streamed in just enough to make the room feel less suffocating.

He hadn't been sitting for more than a minute when he felt the first tap on his shoulder. It wasn't a gentle tap—more of a jab, a pointed finger pressing into his back. James tensed but didn't turn around right away. He knew what was coming. The signs had been there all morning: the lingering stares, the whispered comments just out of earshot, the way people parted around him like he was something strange, something other.

"Hey, freak," a voice sneered behind him. "What's with the camera?"

James turned slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. Three boys stood there, looming over him with that casual arrogance he'd seen so many times before. They were all tall, muscular, with the kind of self-assuredness that came from years of being told they were untouchable. Their leader, a guy with slicked-back hair and a cruel smile, leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the Polaroid.

"Seriously, what's with the camera? You some kind of weirdo who takes pictures of everything?"

James swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn't answer right away, just gripped the strap of his camera tighter, the familiar weight of it a small comfort against the rising tide of anxiety in his chest. He knew better than to engage. Nothing good ever came from talking back.

"Cat got your tongue?" one of the other boys chimed in, his tone mocking. "What, are you too busy taking pictures of people without their permission? That's creepy, man."

They laughed, the sound sharp and cruel, cutting through the din of the cafeteria. James clenched his jaw, trying to will himself invisible, but their attention was already locked on him, and there was no escaping it now. He glanced around, hoping that maybe a teacher would step in, or that the crowd of students would notice what was happening. But no one did. The cafeteria buzzed on as if nothing was wrong, as if this kind of thing happened all the time. Maybe it did.

The leader of the group reached out suddenly, snatching the camera from around James' neck before he could react. Panic surged through him, hot and electric, and he shot to his feet, grabbing for the Polaroid.

"Give it back," James said, his voice low but steady. He tried to keep the fear out of it, but it slipped through the cracks. "It's mine."

"Oh, it's yours?" the boy taunted, holding the camera just out of reach. "I don't think you need it. What are you even taking pictures of, huh? People don't want some freak snapping pictures of them all the time."

The others snickered as the boy turned the camera over in his hands, pretending to inspect it. James' heart pounded in his ears, and he could feel the familiar burn of humiliation creeping up his neck. This was just like before. Just like every other place they'd lived. He wasn't sure why he'd thought Elmwood Heights would be different.

"I said give it back," James repeated, his voice rising a notch despite his attempt to stay calm. He reached for the camera again, but the boy jerked it away, holding it high above his head.

"Look at him," one of the other boys laughed. "He's getting all worked up over his little toy. What a loser."

Tears pricked the back of James' eyes, but he blinked them away, refusing to let them see how much this was affecting him. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. Not again. But the knot of frustration and anger was growing, tightening inside him until it was almost unbearable. He hated this—hated how powerless he felt, how easily they could take something that mattered to him and turn it into a joke.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. A flash of movement.

William Carlisle.

James' breath caught in his throat as he spotted the dirty-blonde jock standing at the far end of the cafeteria, surrounded by his usual entourage. William wasn't paying attention to the scene unfolding in front of him, too busy talking to his friends, his sharp features relaxed in a way that made him look almost approachable. Almost.

For a split second, James considered calling out to him, hoping—absurdly—that William might intervene. But then reality came crashing back down. William was part of this world, part of the system that kept kids like James on the outside. He was the king, the one everyone else deferred to. If anything, William would probably laugh along with them, maybe even join in.

James bit down on his lip, hard enough to taste blood. No one was going to help him. He was alone in this, like always.

"Hey," the leader snapped, waving the camera in front of James' face. "You want this back?"

James nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak.

"Well, you're gonna have to earn it," the boy sneered, tossing the camera to one of his friends. They played keep-away, passing it back and forth as James lunged after it, his heart pounding, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Every time he got close, they yanked it out of reach, laughing harder and harder as his frustration grew.

The knot in his chest tightened, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like it might snap. He could feel the familiar burn of humiliation creeping up his neck, the sting of shame that came with knowing that no matter how hard he tried, they were always going to see him as nothing more than a joke.

But then, just when it seemed like they were going to keep it up forever, the leader's expression shifted. He looked past James, his smile faltering for a brief second before he tossed the camera back at him. It hit James in the chest, and he fumbled to catch it, relief flooding through him as he clutched it tightly to his chest.

"Get lost, freak," the boy muttered, shoving James backward. "Before we change our minds."

James didn't need to be told twice. He turned and walked away as quickly as he could without running, his heart still racing, his fingers trembling around the strap of his camera. He didn't look back, didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

But as he slipped out of the cafeteria and into the quiet hallway, the weight of what had just happened settled over him like a heavy cloak. His hands were still shaking, and the knot in his chest hadn't loosened. If anything, it had only grown tighter, heavier.

He hadn't cried. Not in front of them. But as he leaned against the cold brick wall, the camera still clutched tightly in his hands, he let out a long, shaky breath.

This place wasn't going to be any different.