Foreigner

Chapter 2

As soon as my alarm goes off, I know today's going to be a disaster. It's a Monday, after all. Every Monday's a trainwreck, and the few hours of sleep I got last night aren't helping.

I climb down from the top bunk, expecting to see my roommate's cold stare waiting for me, but his bed is already empty and neatly made. The bathroom door's open, and there's no sign of him anywhere. Apparently, he's one of those early risers. Can't say I understand that kind of person.

After splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth, I rummage through my side of the closet and pull on a pair of dark, ripped jeans, a T-shirt, and a gray pullover. Sneakers, backpack, hoodie up, and earbuds in. I hit play on my music and crank up the volume as I step out into the hallway.

Instant regret.

The place is swarming with guys my age, most of them lounging in their open doorways, already watching for the "new kid." I lock my door and try to slip through the crowd, but within seconds, I've got people shoving me from all sides. If I walk too close, I get elbowed; if I try to keep my distance, someone yells, "Hey, pussy!" It's a lose-lose situation.

I make it to the main staircase and head down to the first floor, keeping my head down as I pass the info board with all the teachers' names and classrooms. Schedule in hand, I step through the glass doors leading to the schoolhouse side of the building. My first stop: homeroom, junior year, Class B. Room 212.

The second I walk in, the whole class goes silent, heads turning like I'm some kind of exotic animal on display. Murmurs ripple through the room, and then, inevitably, the shouting starts.

"Hey, Newbie!" someone calls, followed by a chorus of obscene remarks. I grit my teeth and try to push my way toward the back of the room, but a giant redhead with an ugly smirk blocks my path, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Hey, Newby," he sneers, stepping closer. "Let me give you a warm welcome..."

I clench my fists, bracing myself for a fight. But before he can throw a punch, the entire class falls silent again, and the redhead's face goes pale. He backs off, dropping into his seat by the window, his eyes flicking nervously over my shoulder.

I turn, half-expecting to see a teacher, but it's not. It's my roommate, standing in the doorway with that same icy, dead-eyed stare. His gaze sweeps across the room, landing on me for a beat before he heads to the back, students practically tripping over themselves to get out of his way.

Apparently, the rest of the class is terrified of him. They watch him out of the corners of their eyes, taking their seats like he's some kind of bomb that could go off at any moment. But he doesn't seem to notice. He just slouches down at his desk, resting his head on his forearms, barely acknowledging the teacher when he walks in.

I grab an empty seat in front of him, realizing too late that I've just invaded the invisible two-meter bubble everyone else is giving him. Great.

What did this guy do to be so feared? I remember the principal saying he was "quite the character," but honestly, he seems more like a black hole—cold, emotionless, and impossible to read.

Our homeroom teacher, who's also our math teacher, introduces me with a casual "new student" remark, not even bothering to use my name, then launches into the school rules, reading them off like a drill sergeant. There's nothing too surprising, just the usual don't-step-out-of-line speech.

At least there's no rule against running in the halls.

¤ ¤ ¤

Breakfast time. I'm making my way down the hall to the cafeteria when I hear a familiar shout behind me.