Foreigner

Chapter 14

The cafeteria buzzes with the low hum of whispers and the clinking of silverware. I slouch in my seat, idly poking at my scrambled eggs with a fork while Tommy and Max bicker over whose turn it is to grab milk from the counter. My broken nose throbs faintly, a dull reminder of the week's chaos, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the tension settling in the room like a storm cloud.

Everywhere, students lean in close, their voices barely audible but unmistakably focused on one topic. I don't need to strain to catch snippets of conversation—an unfamiliar name, Julian's name, and something else that makes the back of my neck prickle.

"You don't just humiliate one of their own like that," one boy mutters at a nearby table, his voice hushed but sharp with urgency.

"Vic will come down on Julian like a ton of bricks," another chimes in. "The Seven don't care if he's just a follower. He's their responsibility."

The Seven.

My fork pauses mid-air. I keep my gaze fixed on my plate, pretending not to care, but my ears sharpen to every syllable. The Seven isn't a name I've heard before, but judging by the whispers, they're not just an urban legend.

Across the cafeteria, another group of students speaks in equally hushed tones.

"Things were different back when Alvey was in the Seven," one boy says, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia—or maybe fear. "Nobody would've dared pull something like this if he were still involved."

"Yeah," another agrees. "Alvey had the kind of pull that could shut this whole place down if he wanted."

My stomach tightens, a cocktail of unease and curiosity brewing. Christian—of course it all circles back to him. My enigmatic roommate always seems to be one step ahead of whatever chaos brews at Whittiker, like he has the keys to a kingdom I don't even know exists.

Tommy plops back into his seat, the milk carton thudding onto the table and jolting me from my thoughts. "You're quiet this morning," he says through a mouthful of toast. "Thinking about your big win?"

"Something like that," I say with a casual shrug, masking the knot forming in my chest. I push my plate away and lean in, lowering my voice. "What's the deal with this 'Seven' everyone's whispering about?"

Tommy and Max freeze, exchanging a glance that sets my nerves on edge.

"You don't just ask about the Seven," Max mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's... not how it works."

"How what works?" I press, trying to sound more curious than impatient. "Come on, if they're such a big deal, I need to know. You can't just leave me in the dark."

Tommy sighs, glancing over his shoulder before leaning closer. "The Seven of Whittiker aren't just some clique. They're..." He hesitates, his words faltering. "They're like a council. They control everything—who gets protected, who gets screwed over. Even the teachers don't mess with them."

"And Julian's connected to them?" I ask, frowning.

"Not directly," Max cuts in, his tone sharp. "He's just a follower. But the Seven protect their own, even the lower ranks. Julian being humiliated? That's on their radar now, and trust me, they don't take kindly to someone upsetting the balance."

Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "It's not just that. The Seven have rules. Order. When Alvey was in it..." He trails off, his gaze drifting toward Christian, who sits alone, his back to the room.

"What do you mean, 'when Alvey was in it'?" I ask, my voice dropping lower.

Max snorts softly. "You don't think Alvey just intimidates people for fun, do you? He used to run this place. He was one of them. But something happened, and now he's out. Nobody knows the details."