Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 2

The alarm sliced the dark. I rolled belly-down, smacked the button silent before the second bleat could land. Stretched until my spine popped, then swung my legs over the side. Shower water ran lukewarm, soap smelled like nothing. Hair towel-dried, left to air. Closet gave me cutoff shorts, plain tee, the black Converse with fraying laces. Downstairs the kitchen was already alive with the clink of forks and coffee steam.

"Morning" I said, sliding into the chair.

"Morning" Dad didn't look up from his phone.

"First day at the new place. You ready?" He finally glanced over, expectant.

I pulled the corners of my mouth up just enough. "Yeah"

He nodded like I'd passed inspection. Mom set a stack of pancakes in front of me, still steaming, syrup already pooled in the middle.

"She's more excited than you are" Mom said, brushing hair off my forehead like I was still ten.

"Thanks" I cut into them, ate methodically. The sweetness sat heavy.

Bag over one shoulder, bike unlocked from the porch rack. Pedals turned smooth on the downhill stretch toward school. Wind smelled like cut grass and diesel.

The building loomed the same dull brick as every other public high school. Inside, noise hit first laughter, locker doors banging shut, overlapping conversations that already had history. I kept my gaze floor-level, found the office. The woman behind the counter didn't stop typing when I cleared my throat.

"Yes?"

"I'm new. Registered Monday"
Name. Schedule. Locker code slapped onto the counter like I was late to my own arrival.

"Classes start in five"

I mumbled thanks, slipped out, glanced at the printout. Four periods. English, math, history, biology. Lunch slotted between third and fourth like an afterthought. Fine. Fewer hours to survive.

English room smelled of whiteboard markers and someone's vanilla vape. I found the teacher, handed over the schedule.

"Anna. New. Welcome." He scanned the page. "Empty seat next to Billie. Billie, hand."
Across the room a hand lifted, lazy. Black hair, neon-green roots catching the fluorescent light like warning tape. Chains layered at her throat, skull rings stacked on every finger.

Eyes the color of cracked ice under sun. Full mouth that looked like it knew exactly how to cut. I walked over, set my bag down, pulled out notebook and pen. Kept my movements small.

A tap on my shoulder maybe ten minutes in. I turned. Close enough now I could smell perfume and something faintly sweet vanilla, maybe, or lip balm.

"You got extra pen?"

I reached into my bag, handed her one without comment. She took it, immediately set the cap between her teeth and started chewing. I frowned reflex before I could stop it.

She caught the look. "What"

"Nothing"

"Don't fucking look at me like that again"
Whispered, but the edge was steel.

I faced forward, jaw tight. Lesson droned on.

Nice school, Dad.

Cafeteria smelled better than the last one—fresher oil, actual fruit. I took a tray: burger, apple, bottled water. Found a corner table alone, ate with my back to the wall. Watched groups orbit each other like they'd been doing it since kindergarten. The burger was decent. Apple crisp. Small wins.

Biology last. I hated it on principle dissection trays, formaldehyde stink, the casual cruelty of slicing open something that used to breathe. Slid into the seat farthest back, nearest the window. Sunlight felt like reprieve.

Teacher mid-sentence—"Open your books to page—"

Door banged against the wall. Everyone turned their head to the door except her.

"Billie. You are late again"

"Sorry, Mrs. Judith. Won't happen again." Voice honey-sweet, eyes innocent. The teacher sighed, waved her in.

Billie crossed the room like she owned the square footage, dropped into her seat two rows ahead. Didn't look my way. Good.

Bell rang. I packed fast, headed for the door. Shoulder caught mine—hard. Books hit the floor, I followed half a second later, palm stinging against tile.

"Watch where you're going"

Familiar voice. I looked up. Billie, staring at me, those blue eyes flat and unreadable. No smirk, no apology, just cold assessment. Then she stepped over my scattered notebook and kept walking.
I stayed on the ground a beat longer than necessary, let my breathing level. Collected pages, stood, dusted my palms on my shorts. Headed to my locker, shoved everything inside, clicked it shut.

Fucking asshole

Outside the front doors the afternoon light had gone gold. Bike chain rattled as I unlocked it.
Home was quiet. Door shut behind me with a soft click.

"Mom? Dad? I'm back"

Nothing.

Bag hit the couch. Kitchen still smelled faintly of pancakes from this morning. Fridge light buzzed when I opened it—yogurt, leftovers, half a carton of milk. I didn't bother heating anything. Ate standing at the counter, staring at the empty chairs.

They'd be gone another week, maybe two. Business. Always business.

I rinsed the spoon, flicked off the lights, climbed the stairs. Bedroom door closed. Curtains drawn.
The house settled around me like it was exhaling.
Just me and the quiet now.

And somewhere across town, probably, a girl with green-streaked hair chewing on my pen like it belonged to her.