Fates Entwined

Untitled Part 5

The bell finally rang, and I moved quickly, gathering my things and heading for the door before anyone could stop me.

In the hallway, the noise hit me like a wave. Students surged in every direction, some chatting animatedly, others weaving through the crowd with single-minded purpose. I tucked my notebook closer to my chest and pressed forward, scanning my schedule for the next destination.

Gym. Great.

I followed the signs toward the gymnasium, the polished floors and faint smell of sweat growing more pronounced with each step. The thought of changing in a locker room with a bunch of strangers made my stomach churn, but skipping wasn't an option. I couldn't afford any trouble this early on.

When I entered the locker room, the noise was deafening. Conversations overlapped, laughter echoing off the metal lockers. I found an empty corner and changed quickly, keeping my head down the entire time.

By the time I entered the gym, most of the other students were already lined up on the bleachers. The coach—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a booming voice—stood at the front of the group, clipboard in hand.

"All right, listen up!" he called. "We're starting the year with a fitness assessment. Push-ups, sit-ups, and a short run around the track. Let's see what you're made of!"

Groans rippled through the group, but I kept silent, slipping toward the back of the line.

The assessments started, and I moved through them mechanically, counting off push-ups and sit-ups with minimal effort. When it came time for the run, I joined the others on the track, keeping my pace steady but unremarkable.

I wasn't the slowest, but I wasn't the fastest either. Just another face in the crowd. Exactly how I wanted it.

As we finished, I lingered near the edges of the group, catching my breath. A few students were talking nearby, their laughter loud and carefree.

"Hey, new kid!" one of them called out, their voice cutting through the din.

I didn't turn, pretending not to hear as I adjusted the strap of my backpack.

"Yo, I'm talking to you!"

This time, the voice was closer, and I felt a hand clap onto my shoulder. I stiffened, turning slowly to face the boy who had spoken. He was tall, with a cocky grin and a swagger that suggested he wasn't used to being ignored.

"You got a name?" he asked, his friends snickering behind him.

"Charlie," I said flatly, meeting his gaze for only a second before looking away.

"Well, Charlie," he said, drawing out my name like it was a joke, "welcome to gym class. Hope you're ready for some real fun."

I didn't respond, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag.

The coach's whistle blew, and the boy's attention shifted. "You're off the hook. For now," he said with a grin, before jogging back to join his group.

I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding and slipped out of the gym as soon as the class ended.

Back in the hallway, I found another quiet corner, leaning against the wall and letting the noise wash over me. This was fine. Everything was fine. Just a few more hours, and the day would be over.

The hallway felt like it was moving around me—students rushing past, voices blending into an indistinct hum. I leaned against the cool brick wall, letting my bag dangle from my shoulder as I tried to steady my breathing. My legs still burned faintly from the run, but it wasn't just the physical exhaustion weighing on me.

I hadn't missed the way that kid smirked, like I was some new toy to mess with. That cocky, invasive attitude, the way he and his friends laughed—it was all so familiar. Too familiar. It brought back memories I didn't want, memories of foster homes where kids like that ruled the halls, making it their mission to pick apart anyone who didn't fit into their little world.

No. Not again.

I straightened, brushing the strap of my bag higher onto my shoulder and shaking off the tension. If I let them see that they got to me, it'd only get worse. I'd survived worse before, and I wasn't about to let some smug teenager get under my skin now.

I glanced at my schedule again. History, Room 214. At least it wasn't gym. I pushed off the wall and started walking, keeping my head low and weaving through the crowd.

The noise in the hallway felt sharper now, every laugh or shout prickling against my nerves. I passed by groups of students leaning against lockers, tossing things to one another, or chatting animatedly in circles. None of it felt real to me—it was like I was watching it all through glass.

When I reached the stairs, I took them two at a time, eager to put some distance between myself and the chaos below. On the second floor, the crowd was thinner, and I finally felt like I could breathe.