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Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Flash Back

The morning light filtered through the grimy window of the apartment, casting long shadows across the cluttered living room. Alex Thompson stirred on his thin mattress, the events of the previous day clinging to him like a bad dream he couldn't shake. His body ached from the fall in the hallway—bruises blooming on his shoulder and ribs—but it was the emotional sting that lingered most. The argument with his mom replayed in his mind as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. *I was a jerk. She doesn't deserve that.* Kind-hearted as ever, he resolved to make it up to her. He glanced at the clock: 7:15 AM. School started in forty-five minutes, and the walk would take most of that. No time for breakfast beyond a stale granola bar from his backpack.

Sarah was already gone, her early shift at the diner starting before dawn. She'd left a note on the table: "Love you, kiddo. Packed a sandwich—eat it. We'll talk tonight." A plastic-wrapped PB&J sat beside it, her handwriting shaky from fatigue. Alex's chest tightened with guilt. He pocketed the sandwich, slung his patched backpack over his sore shoulder, and headed out into the crisp October air. The projects were stirring: moms yelling at kids to hurry for the bus, stray dogs sniffing at overflowing trash bins, and the distant honk of traffic from the highway. Alex walked with his head down, his clever mind already plotting the day's survival strategy—avoid the main halls, stick to the edges, get to class early.

Evergreen High loomed ahead, its brick facade cracked and weathered, much like the spirits of many who passed through its doors. The parking lot buzzed with students piling out of cars—some shiny SUVs from the affluent side of town, others rusted beaters like the ones in his neighborhood. Alex slipped through the side entrance, hoping to blend into the pre-bell chaos. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and the air hummed with gossip about weekend parties he was never invited to. He made it to his first class, English, without incident, sinking into a back-row desk where he could doodle circuit diagrams in his notebook while half-listening to the discussion on Shakespeare.

The morning dragged on: math, where his sharp mind solved equations before the teacher finished writing them, earning a nod of approval but no friends; science, where he quietly corrected a lab partner's misconception about chemical bonds, his kindness shining through in patient explanations. "It's okay," he told the confused girl beside him. "Everyone mixes up covalent and ionic at first. Here, let me show you." She smiled gratefully, but Alex knew it wouldn't last—associations with him were social suicide.

Lunch period approached like a storm cloud. Alex's stomach growled, but the cafeteria was a battlefield he dreaded. He considered hiding in the library, but his PB&J was in his locker, and hunger won out. Weaving through the crowded halls, he kept his eyes on the floor, but fate—or bad luck—had other plans. Near the cafeteria doors, a familiar hulking figure blocked his path. Marcus Rivera, fresh off yesterday's "victory," stood with his arms folded, Jake and Tyler at his sides like bookends of stupidity. A few onlookers lingered, sensing the tension, but no one intervened. That was the code: don't get involved.

"Morning, fuckface," Marcus greeted with a toothy grin, his voice carrying over the din. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like popping corn. *Look at him, scurrying like a rat. Yesterday wasn't enough—time to remind him who's boss.*

Jake leaned in, smirking as he chewed on a toothpick. *Nerd's back for more. Bet he didn't sleep a wink. This'll be quick.* "Yeah, thought you'd learn to stay out of sight after we schooled you. Got any more cash today, or we gotta search you?"

Tyler, ever the muscle, stepped forward, his bulk casting a shadow over Alex. *Fucking weakling. I could crush his skull. Make him beg.* "Hand it over, bitch. Or we'll make yesterday look like a playground game."

Alex's heart raced, but he straightened up, his clever brain kicking into overdrive. He scanned for escapes—a teacher nearby? No. The crowd was thinning as kids funneled into the cafeteria. "Guys, please. I don't have anything. Let's just... go our separate ways? I could even help you with homework if that's what this is about." His voice was calm, kind, offering an olive branch despite the fear gnawing at him. Smart move, he thought—de-escalate, appeal to logic.

Marcus's face twisted in mock offense. "Help us? You think we're as dumb as you look, you little shit?" He laughed, a harsh bark that drew more eyes. *He's trying to talk his way out. Pathetic. I'll shut that mouth.* Without warning, Marcus shoved Alex hard in the chest, sending him staggering back into a row of lockers. The impact rattled his teeth, pain flaring in his already bruised ribs.

The crowd murmured, forming a loose circle—entertainment for the bored. Jake grabbed Alex's backpack strap, yanking him forward. "Empty your pockets, asshole. Now." His thoughts raced with glee: *He's gonna fold. Always does.*

Alex complied partially, pulling out the wrapped sandwich with trembling hands. "This is all I have. Take it if you want." Kindness again, hoping to end it peacefully. But Tyler snatched it, unwrapping and taking a big bite before tossing the rest on the floor and stomping it flat. "Tastes like poverty. Disgusting, just like you."

Laughter rippled through the onlookers. Alex's cheeks burned, but he held his ground. "Why do you do this? It doesn't make you stronger—it just makes everyone miserable." His words were clever, probing at their insecurities, but it backfired.

Marcus's eyes narrowed, rage boiling. *Smartass thinks he can psychoanalyze me? Fuck that.* "Shut your mouth!" He swung a meaty fist, connecting with Alex's jaw in a sickening crack. Pain exploded, stars dancing in his vision. Alex reeled, trying to stay upright, but Jake tripped him from behind, sending him crashing to the hard tile floor.

"Stay down, pussy!" Tyler growled, delivering a swift kick to Alex's side. The blow landed with force, air whooshing from his lungs. *He's out cold soon. Good riddance.*

The world blurred as Alex hit the ground, his glasses cracking against the floor. Voices faded into a distant hum—the crowd's gasps, the bullies' taunts. Marcus leaned down, spitting on him. "Learn your place, motherfucker. Next time, we won't stop at bruises." *That felt good. Kid's broken now.*

As darkness crept in, Alex's mind retreated, knocked into unconsciousness. But in that void, memories surged like a floodgate bursting open—a flashback to his old bullies, the ones from middle school who had set the stage for this endless torment.

It was two years ago, in the dingy halls of Riverview Middle, a feeder school even rougher than Evergreen. Alex, then fourteen and even skinnier, had just moved to the projects after his dad bailed, leaving them penniless. The new kid stigma clung to him like glue. Leading the pack was Derek "Spike" Malone, a wiry eighth-grader with spiked hair dyed an unnatural red and a chip on his shoulder from his own abusive home. His sidekicks: skinny Lenny, who compensated with loudmouth bravado, and burly Gus, whose fists did most of the talking.

The first encounter was in the gym locker room after PE. Alex was changing, his cheap gym shorts ill-fitting, when Derek sauntered over. "New meat, huh? Look at this scrawny fucker. You from the trailers or what?" Derek's voice dripped venom, his thoughts dark: *Easy target. Make an example—keep the others in line.*

Lenny snickered, grabbing Alex's shirt and tossing it into a puddle on the floor. *He's gonna cry. Bet on it.* "Yeah, bitch. Hand over your shoes—they look better than mine."

Gus loomed, cracking his knuckles. *Punch him once, he'll fold. Fun.*

Alex, even then kind and clever, tried reason. "I don't want trouble. Please, just leave me alone." But Derek shoved him into the lockers, the clang echoing. "Trouble? You're the trouble, invading our school like a rat." He punched Alex in the gut, doubling him over.

The bullying escalated over weeks: stolen lunches, tripped in halls, notes calling him "trash boy." One day, in the bathroom, they cornered him. "Pay up, asshole," Derek demanded, knife glinting—stolen from shop class. *Scare him shitless. He won't tell.*

Alex's heart pounded. "I don't have money. My mom's sick—please." But Gus held him while Lenny rifled his pockets. Finding nothing, Derek slashed his backpack strap. "Useless fuck. Next time, bring cash or we carve you."

The memory twisted: the fear, the isolation. Alex reported it once, but the principal dismissed it—"boys being boys." It taught him silence. Derek's reign ended when he got expelled for drugs, but the scars remained, priming Alex for Marcus and his crew.

Back in the present, as consciousness flickered, the flashback faded. Voices pierced the haze—teachers shouting, the bullies scattering. "What happened here?" a stern voice demanded.

Alex groaned, the pain anchoring him. *Not again...* But the old wounds fueled a quiet resolve. If only he could change.

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