A chorus of voices echoes from the classroom as I stand outside. It strains my ears and I control myself from making a face. I see the teacher turn to the class and say something before he heads for the door.

"Julian Torres, is it?" He extends his hand out for a handshake. I stare at his open hand and then his beaming smile. 

"Hi," I say, my voice barely audible. The hand on my bag strap tightens slightly. He coughs before withdrawing his hand after I don't return the gesture.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. My name is Ryan Cunningham and I'll be your homeroom teacher for the rest of the year." His voice was kind and his chocolate brown eyes even more so. “Shall we take you inside and you can introduce yourself?”

"Can I not get an introduction?" I ask quickly, making him stop in his place. "I'm not here to make friends, so it shouldn't matter.

His hand rests on the doorknob as he looks back towards me. Mr Cunningham's gaze softens as he appears to take a good look at me. "Sure,” he says. I enter after him and I'm already scanning for the first available seat. Preferably at the back. I avoid any direct eye contact with curious classmates as silence clouds the room.

"Listen up, you chumps," Mr Cunningham teases and a few laughs resonate in the room. " We have a new student today by the name of Julian Torres. I want you to make-" There. I make my way towards it, squirming past hanging feet and bags on the ground. I plunk into the chair, and only until then, do I roll my shoulders back and feel some tension leave my body.

"Well," he continues, "It appears you have already found a seat. I was going to assign you one myself, but since you like that one so much, I'll let you have it." While he sounds amused, I begin to feel a weird sense of silence in the room. I look around me and find most of the class either fixated on my desk or sending me glares from their seats. Two rows down from my column, I notice one of the boys that I stumbled into in the closet. Oh Boy! His gaze is piercing compared to the others as he scores his desk for a paper and scribbles something onto it. I swerve my head back towards the front of the room.

Grabbing my bag, I plop it onto the table and rummage for the things I need before slipping it back near my feet. Mr Cunningham writes something on the board, and I begin jotting down the notes until a crumbled paper lands on my workbook. The pen stops in my hand as I contemplate whether I should open it. Nothing good will come out of it. With the back of my hand, I swipe the paper onto the floor. Another minute and two new crumpled pieces of paper replace the old one.

I look in his direction and he’s staring at me as he points to the paper and mouths “open it”. I really don’t want to, but a part of me knew he was not one to give up. I open the paper that he has labelled one. It reads: the next time it will be your head if my paper hits the ground. I blink at what I just read. The words on the second paper are shorter, as it reads: That is not your seat. Move.

Well…

I scrunch up both papers, place them on the table and swipe them off my table. Slowly. 

“May a Mr Cunningham come to the teacher's office”, a disinterested voice blares from the speakerphones. He puts the whiteboard marker down and faces the class. "I will just step out for a while. I expect you all to continue what I've put up on the board during the time that I'm gone."

"Yes!" The class answer in unison. He nods his head, satisfied, before leaving.

I have no intention of talking to anyone and I don't want them talking to me, so I resort to drawing in my notebook. It screams 'I'm busy' and 'no room to interrupt'. Something hits the back of my head and I swivel in my chair. “Who was it?”

“I told you the next one would be your head.” The boy from this morning is standing behind my desk, a smile on his face from inciting an annoyed expression from me. “I know you read the note, so why aren’t you moving?”

“The teacher allowed me to sit here.” I manage to keep my voice calm although I can’t look him directedly in the eye.

“Only because the real owner isn’t here.” He moves to the side of my desk. “If you need help moving, it would be my pleasure.” Leaning down, he reaches for my bag. I dart my hand out and grab onto it before he can fully pull it to his side.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

I hate confrontations and do everything in my power to avoid it but the one thing that I hate more is people touching my things.

“Seriously!” I say through gritted teeth. “Let go.”

“Or what?” He says slowly.

“Okay, break it up”. A male with ash brown hair and bronzed skin comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. He tugs him into the air from behind and twirls him around. The boy from yesterday widens his eyes upon his feet leaving the ground and his grip on my bag slipping off completely. He is spun full circle before the other chooses to put him down.

“Stay out of this, Delaney,” he says upon touching the ground. He tries to step around him to reach me again which has me taking a precautionary step backwards ready for another confrontation. Delaney dashes out an arm and his chest crashes into it. He grunts at the interference.

“First thing to do before I figure out the issue, calm yourself down, Harvey.” Although he had a soft voice, his words held a strength to them that made you want to listen. Harvey claws at his arm for a while, but he holds no weight over a man twice as tall and beefy in the arms.

“Fine,” he sighs, his body going still. You win.”

Delaney smiles in victory. At the same time, he drops his arm. His attention is on me as he addresses Harvey. “So… why the sudden hissy fit, Harvey? You're not one to pick on newbies on the first day.”

"He was sitting in Quinton's spot."

Delaney doesn’t look surprised at all. He claps his hands. “How noble of you,” he says sarcastically. “But Quinton will be the one to decide if there’s a problem. Not you. Got it?”

“Got it,” he answers begrudgingly.

Delaney chuckles and places an arm around his shoulder. Harvey doesn’t shrug it off although he seems bothered by the situation. “Now that that’s done. I’m sorry about my idiot friend here.” He leans closer to me as if he doesn’t want Harvey to hear. “He’s a little obsessed with Quinton.”

“Who’s obsessed with me?” A voice interrupts from the front of the room. Our heads turn in the direction of the voice and my eyes widen at the sight of that blonde hair.