People say that high school bullies often end up traumatized. Some quit school while some commits suicide. But what could it be this time around for this young poor lady who just turned 18.
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Lucy's POV
"Amber, wake up! You're gonna be late! Amber! Amber!"
Amber's POV
"Mm… Mom… could you… not shout?" I mumbled softly, blinking the sleep from my eyes. My voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and slow.
I stretched, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and finally sat up. Bella was already open in my lap, pen in hand. The morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, but it didn't reach the thoughts swirling in my head.
Umm… good morning, Bella. I don't really feel like leaving the house today. I wish I could just stay here, hidden, where nobody bothers me. I scribbled quickly, letting the words pour out before they vanished again.
Just as I was about to write another line, the calm of my room shattered.
Lucy's POV
"Amber! It's already 7:30! I'm going to be late for work! You know Mr. Gethard doesn't like it when I'm late!" Lucy's voice boomed down the hallway as she rushed toward Amber's room.
When she opened the door, she stopped short. Amber was still sitting on the bed, tangled in the sheets, pen in hand, lost in her diary.
Amber's POV
I sighed softly, closing Bella gently and tucking her onto the bedside table. My quiet morning had been interrupted, and the weight of reality pressed down on me. She had to leave for work, and I had to face the day too. But just a few more minutes with Bella… I wished she could understand how important this little ritual was.
I slowly swung my legs off the bed and felt the cold floor beneath my feet. I padded to the bathroom, every step feeling heavier than the last. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, my thoughts drifting back to Bella, my closest companion. I wished I could linger just a little longer in the safe world of my diary where Bella always listened, never judged, and held every secret I had.
"Amber, come on! I do not have all morning!" Lucy's voice called again from the hallway.
I tied my hair back in a neat ponytail, though a few strands escaped and fell lazily over my forehead. I pulled on my school uniform carefully, buttoning the blouse and smoothing the pleated skirt until it looked right. My shoes were waiting by the door, and I slipped them on quietly.
Lucy peeked in again, carrying her bag. "You are really taking your time," she said softly, ruffling my hair gently. "I know mornings aren't easy, but you have to get moving."
I nodded quietly. "Mm… I know, Mom," I whispered, careful not to argue.
I carried my plate into the sitting room and sat down across from her. The morning was quiet, sunlight spilling gently through the windows. I ate slowly, savoring the calm before the day began.
Lucy sipped her tea and smiled faintly. "Amber, even if mornings are hard, it helps to eat something first. It gives you energy for school."
I nodded again, chewing quietly. "Mm… I know, Mom," I murmured softly.
She set her cup down and looked at me. "And if you ever want to talk about school, or anything at all, you know you can. I am always here for you."
I felt a small warmth in my chest. "I know, Mom. Thanks," I said quietly.
After finishing breakfast, I set my plate aside. Lucy checked her watch and gave a small sigh. "Time to go. Let's not be late, okay?"
I nodded, and we left the house together. The morning air was cool against my skin as we stepped outside. Lucy walked briskly to her car, and I followed behind, ready to face the day ahead at Crestwood Academy.
The car pulled smoothly into the Crestwood Academy parking lot, rows of neatly lined vehicles reflecting the morning sunlight. I stepped out carefully, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, and looked around. The large brick building loomed in front of me, tall windows gleaming, neat and imposing. From here, the school looked like a picture-perfect institution, orderly and calm, yet I knew that inside, every student had their own story. Some quietly survived, others loudly performed.
Students milled about the entrance, laughing, chatting, and moving in small groups. Some waved at friends, while others clutched their bags nervously, faces tense with the usual morning jitters. I slipped past them quietly, keeping my head down, observing without drawing attention. My eyes followed a group of girls who looked like they belonged to the popular circle, their perfectly styled hair and matching uniforms a sharp contrast to my own plain, simple appearance.
Some boys lingered near the steps, joking and nudging each other lightly. Nobody paid me any attention, which suited me perfectly. I preferred to be invisible, to watch quietly while the world passed by, unnoticed.
The front doors of Crestwood opened automatically as I approached, letting out a soft whoosh. I stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of polished floors and old books. The hallways stretched wide, lined with lockers that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Students moved in clusters, some heading to class, others lingering to talk or check their schedules.
I walked slowly toward my classroom, letting my eyes roam across the walls and bulletin boards, decorated with announcements, club activities, and upcoming events. My footsteps echoed softly, blending with the hum of conversations and shuffling papers. Passing by a group of classmates, I noticed their glances flick toward me, brief and fleeting. I kept my gaze forward, maintaining my quiet rhythm.
As I reached the classroom door, I paused and drew in a slow breath. Sunlight streamed through the windows, patterns dancing on the floor as students moved around me. I felt the familiar pull of anticipation and tension, knowing the day ahead could hold anything. Quiet lessons, awkward encounters, or the sting of someone's sharp words might come my way.
With another deep breath, I stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind me. The room buzzed with murmurs, the rustle of papers, and the scratch of pens. I slid into an empty seat near the back, finding the perfect vantage point to see everything while remaining unseen.
The bell rang, clear and sharp, signaling the start of the day. Another day at Crestwood Academy had begun, and I braced myself for it, quietly watching, quietly learning, quietly surviving.
The classroom door opened, and Mr. Lawrence Shaw, the English teacher, stepped in, placing his bag on the desk and adjusting his glasses. His presence brought a quiet order to the room, and students shifted in their seats, some whispering to each other, others fidgeting as if the start of the lesson was a small trial to endure. I kept my eyes mostly on my notebook, letting my gaze wander around the classroom without drawing attention to myself.
Some of my classmates had already started pairing up for notes, whispering and giggling. I watched them quietly, noting who seemed dominant in their little circles and who simply followed. It was like watching a careful dance, each student trying to stake their claim in the pecking order, and I was on the sidelines, invisible, unseen.
A boy near the front laughed too loudly at something his friend said. The sound cut through the quiet hum of the room, and I flinched ever so slightly. Nobody noticed. That was good. That was exactly how I wanted it.
Mr. Shaw cleared his throat, a soft but firm sound that demanded attention. "Good morning, everyone. Let's start with the assignment from yesterday." Papers shuffled, pens scratched, and a few students glanced around nervously, as if trying to figure out who was paying attention. I quietly opened my notebook, my pen hovering over the page, ready to follow along without drawing any attention.
Even here, I could feel the subtle tensions in the room. Whispers and sideways glances, the brief flinches when someone raised their voice, the hidden smiles that meant someone had scored a small victory over another. It was almost hypnotic, watching the undercurrents of high school life from my quiet corner.
A girl two rows ahead looked over her shoulder and smirked at something another student had written. I pretended not to notice, but I cataloged it anyway. Everyone had their games, their little ways of asserting dominance or testing boundaries, and I had learned early on that observing was safer than participating.
The bell marking the end of the period rang loud and clear. Students shifted in their seats and murmured quietly, but no one left the classroom. We remained where we were, waiting for the next teacher to arrive. The air changed subtly with each transition, the quiet anticipation filling the space as we prepared for the next lesson.
Even though Crestwood Academy appeared orderly and controlled on the surface, I could feel the undercurrents. The hierarchy, the small cruelties, the quiet victories and defeats, all shaped the day. And I was determined to watch and learn, carefully carving out my space, unnoticed, untouched.