The heavy door of Blok Z slammed shut behind me, and the sharp scent of male cologne mixed with dust hit my senses. As I scanned the room, the situation became crystal clear: fifteen, maybe twenty guys... and not a single girl among them. Just me.
They were all perched on desks, shouting at each other or whispering in corners. The moment I stepped in, it was as if an alarm had gone off; everyone stopped. Their stares weren't curious; they were hostile, like predators looking at an intruder who had wandered into their territory.
"What is this now?" one of them said, slamming a basketball hard against the floor. "Did the principal mistake this place for a daycare?"
A wave of crude laughter erupted from the class. At that moment, a tall guy who was sitting by the window—looking like he was lounging on a throne—stood up. The others went dead silent as soon as he moved. With his hands in his pockets, he walked toward me like a shadow. He stood right in front of me, towering over me.
"There's no room for girls here," the guy said. His voice was ice-cold. "This is Saint Jude's backyard. Our rules, our junkyard. You're in the wrong place, new girl."
I rolled my eyes. He expected me to be intimidated, but he was dead wrong. I adjusted the strap of my bag and looked this nameless guy straight in the eyes. A mocking, faint smile played on my lips.
"Look, whoever you are..." I said, keeping my voice deliberately indifferent. "I couldn't care less about your 'backyard' or these pathetic little kingdom games. I didn't come here to make friends with you or to find a place in this dusty classroom."
The murmurs in the room died down instantly. The guy's brows furrowed slightly. It looked like no one had ever dared to call him "whoever you are" before; a flash of genuine shock crossed his face.
"I just want to finish this year and get my diploma," I continued, glancing around at the rest of the class. "In fact, I'd rather stare at a blank wall than spend a single second hanging out with any of you. I can guarantee that by graduation day, I won't remember any of your faces—or even your names. Now, if your little drama show is over, show me a place where I can actually listen to the lesson."
The guy paused. This wasn't what he expected; he saw neither fear nor admiration in my eyes. A shorter guy next to him (I think his name was Ethan) stepped in, snatched my bag from my shoulder, and tossed it onto an old desk in the very back—one with a broken leg and paint splattered all over it.
"Then wait for that precious diploma of yours in that pile of trash, Princess," Ethan said with pure spite.
Without breaking my smile, I walked toward that desk. I sat on the dusty chair, ignoring the way the desk wobbled, and pulled out my book. "Thanks, boys," I said as I flipped the page. "Your hospitality is bringing tears to my eyes."
I could feel that tall guy staring at the back of my head. I hadn't even asked for his name; I hadn't found it worth asking. At that moment, I realized that them outcasting me wasn't the problem—the real war had started because I didn't take them, or their "leader," seriously at all.