Maxwell Turner. Sounds like a name ripped from a sitcom, right? Like some charming kid destined for a TV screen or a Hollywood blockbuster. And honestly, he had the charisma for it. I met him when I started at Sariels High, this fancy-ass school that cost more than Mom could ever dream of affording. Three months' tuition could've paid our rent for a year. I begged her to let me stay home, swore I'd be fine with homeschooling, but she broke down crying, pleading with me to go. I hated seeing her like that—tears cutting tracks through her tired face—so I gave in. Biggest mistake of my life. Or maybe not. If I could go back, would I change it? Would I erase meeting Maxwell Turner? Honestly… I don't think so.
That first day at Sariels High is burned into my brain—the best day of my life, for a while. I was 13, the youngest kid in the place, though I lied on my forms and said 14. Small, scrawny, barely four feet tall, nothing like the blurry memories of my dad's hulking frame. Why the hell was I so different? Mom dropped me off in her beat-up Volvo, its engine wheezing like it was begging to retire. The school loomed like a castle, all polished stone and manicured lawns, screaming money in a way Brooktown never could.
I shuffled into class, introduced myself, my voice cracking under the weight of all those eyes. Unlike my old school, where kids would've torn me apart for being the new guy, these ones seemed… nice. Almost too nice. I took a seat at the back by the window, the glass cool against my arm, the view a blur of green fields. Then I saw her. A girl sitting one desk over, so gorgeous it was like spotting a mermaid in the middle of Malibu. Black hair, glasses, a face that looked like it didn't care about the world. I tried not to stare, but my eyes betrayed me. She caught me gawking, and I snapped my head away, cheeks burning, pretending to study the desk like it held the secrets to the universe.
Then he showed up. The kid they called the Baron. Chubby, face like a cat's litter box, waddling into class late like he owned the place. He zeroed in on the girl, grabbing her wrist with a greasy smirk. She yanked back, hissing, "What the hell are you doing? Let go, you pig!"
His voice wasn't loud, but I was close enough to hear every word. "Why're you struggling, bitch? I heard you do this sort of thing. Don't you want the money?" My stomach twisted. What kind of school was this?
"What the hell is this?" Peter's voice cut through the attic's dusty air, snapping the journal shut.
Mia glared at him, perched on a crate. "Why'd you stop reading?"
"I only agreed to this because I thought it was some creepy horror shit to scare you with," Peter groaned, tossing his hair back. "Not some rom-com novel."
Mia rolled her eyes. "What is it with boys and horror? Can't you read something jolly for once?"
"If you wanna read it, read it yourself." He shoved the journal toward her.
"Oh, come on, please," she said, hitting him with puppy-dog eyes. "I like it when you read."
Peter sighed, muttering, "Fine. I'm getting something out of this, don't know what, but I know I am."
Yes yes just continue reading
Stop pushing me I'll read
-
I had to act fast. Stupidly, I stuck my foot out, tripping the Baron as he dragged her past. He hit the floor hard, the class erupting in laughter that echoed off the walls. He scrambled up, his tiny eyes blazing with malice, and let go of her to grab me by the collar. The teacher shouted, "Drop him!" but the Baron didn't flinch. He hauled me toward the open window, first floor or not, and I knew a fall would mean broken bones at best. My heart pounded, my scrawny frame no match for his bulk.
The teacher yelled again, but one glare from the Baron shut him up. What the hell? Teachers scared of a student? I dangled there, the window's edge digging into my back, the ground below promising pain.
Then a hand grabbed the Baron's arm. A voice, sharp and steady, cut through the chaos. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"