The last bell of the day had rung twenty minutes ago, but Draxton City Academy still hummed with reluctant life. Teachers had assigned cleanup duty to every class—mopping floors, wiping boards, stacking chairs—punishment disguised as responsibility.
Most students had already finished and fled. The fourth-floor corridor was nearly empty now, sunlight slanting through high windows in long, dusty bars, turning the linoleum gold and the shadows black.
Ira stayed behind.
She knelt on the ground, damp rag in hand, quietly wiping down the surfaces.
Her long black wavy bangs fell forward like a curtain, brushing the floor each time she leaned in. She worked in silence, methodical, trying to disappear into the task.
She didn't hear them approach.
Vanessa Blake's shadow fell across the desk first—platinum hair catching the light like a blade.
"Well, look who's still here playing good little maid. Newbie, You think you're the hot shit now,—boys drooling over you? ( They heard boys saying they like the new girl) Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Ira's hand stilled.
She looked up slowly.
Vanessa stood with her arms crossed, glossy lips curved in a smile that wasn't a smile. Ava Collins, Sophia Bennett, and Daria Solen flanked her—four girls against one, blocking the aisle like a wall.
Ira has known them . They are the bullies— harrassing people like it's their job.
She tried to avoid them, focusing on the work she had been given.
Ava stepped forward , reaching out without warning and grabbing a thick handful of Ira's hair. She tugged—hard enough to make Ira wince.
Ira's shoulders stiffened the moment Ava's fingers sank into her hair. She tried to keep her focus on the rag in her hand, wiping the same spot on the desk over and over, pretending the tug didn't hurt, pretending she could disappear into the motion.
"God, feel this hair," Ava said, voice dripping with mock awe. "So soft. So perfect. Bet you spend hours brushing it, huh? Just so every boy in this school can jerk off thinking about wrapping it around their fist ."
Ira's large dark eyes flashed—wide, then narrowing with irritation. The soft glow in them darkened into something sharper, something tired of being touched without permission.
"Shut up," she said, voice low but clear, each word edged with quiet anger. "I don't like bad-mouthing."
The words hung in the air—small, defiant, trembling just enough to betray the fear she refused to show.
Ava laughed first—sharp, delighted.
"Ohhh, listen to her! 'I don't like bad-mouthing.'" She mimicked Ira's soft tone in an exaggerated baby voice, twisting the curl tighter. "So proper. So pure. Does that make you feel better, princess? Like you're above us?"
Sophia snorted, stepping closer. "She talks back now. Cute. Thought you were the silent type—too shy to speak, too good to fight. Guess the little doll has teeth."
Daria leaned in, voice dripping mockery. "Aww, she's irritated. Look at that face—those big eyes getting all mad. What's wrong, Ira? Don't like hearing the truth? That boys want to fuck you because you look like you'd cry pretty?"
Vanessa tilted her head, smiling slowly.
"Say it again," she whispered. "Tell us to shut up. Louder this time. See what happens ."
Ira's jaw clenched. Her free hand curled into a fist at her side—small, trembling, but steady.
" I'm cleaning. Let me finish."
Vanessa's eyes narrowed, cold amusement flickering.
"Okay. Let her clean guys . Do your work, newbie. We won't trouble you anymore. "
Vanessa removed her hand from Ira and retreated.
Ira kept mopping without any word. She doesn't want any trouble.
Those girls kept staring at her.
Vanessa hinted the girls to stay calm.
When she was done wiping, wiping Ira started to stand up.
Vanessa's gaze flicked to the mop bucket Ira had left a few inches away—still half-full, water sloshing faintly.
She stepped forward casually, foot hooking the bucket's handle.
With one smooth motion she yanked it sideways.
The bucket tipped fast, soapy water flooding across the linoleum in a wide, slick sheet right under Ira.
Ira's knees—already planted on the damp floor—slid out from under her the instant she shifted her weight to stand.
She pitched forward with a startled gasp, hands shooting out to catch herself, but the wet floor offered no grip.
Her palms skidded; elbows buckled.
She landed flat on her stomach, chest-first into the spreading puddle, curls splashing into the cold water, uniform soaking through instantly.
The breath whooshed out of her.
For a second she just lay there—face turned to the side, cheek pressed to wet linoleum, dark eyes wide with shock—while the four girls loomed above, shadows long in the golden light.
The girls laughed—high, cruel, victorious.
"Look at her," Ava sneered. "Down where she belongs."
Sophia crouched, grabbing Ira's chin and forcing her head up.
"Cry, bitch. Show us how weak you really are."
Ira's dark eyes, shimmering with unshed tears—locked on Vanessa.
Something inside her broke open.
She surged to her feet in one violent motion, wrenching free of Sophia's grip.
Ira went near Vanessa.
Her hand flew.
The slap cracked across Vanessa's face like a thunderclap—palm connecting with cheek in a sharp, resounding smack that echoed down the hall. Vanessa's head snapped sideways, a bright red handprint blooming instantly on her flawless skin.
The crowd gasped.
Vanessa touched her face, eyes bulging with shock—then fury exploded.
"You fucking hit me?!"
Ava gasped.
Sophia's mouth dropped open.
Daria blinked.
Ira didn't wait.
She spun and ran.
The fourth-floor corridor stretched ahead—long, shadowed, empty. Lockers blurred past on both sides, fluorescent lights flickering overhead, her wet sneakers squeaking frantically on the linoleum.
Behind her, Vanessa's scream tore through the silence.
"GET THAT FUCKING BITCH!"
Heels pounded—fast, furious.
Shouts bounced off the walls.
Ava's voice chased her, raw and vicious.
"She slapped Vanessa! She actually slapped her!"
Sophia yelled, "Grab her hair! Drag her down!"
Daria's laugh was manic.
"We're gonna break her pretty face!"
Ira flew around the first corner, skirt flaring, heart slamming so hard it hurt. She dodged a stray chair left in the hall, shoulder clipping a locker with a metallic clang.
Pain flared, but she didn't stop.
Vanessa's voice rang out closer now—unhinged, furious.
"You're dead, Ira! I'm gonna rip your hair out!"
"You think you can touch me and live!"
Ava's voice chased her, raw and vicious. "She's heading to the staircase! "
The corridor curved—classrooms flashing past on both sides, doors closed, lights off.
Ira sprinted harder—lungs burning, thighs screaming—dodging a janitor's mop bucket, leaping over it in a desperate surge.
Sophia yelled, "You can't run forever, slut! We're gonna catch you,"
Ira's breath tore from her throat in ragged gasps.
She didn't look back.
She ran—fear and fire mixing in her veins.
The fourth floor stretched on—shadows lengthening, echoes growing louder.
They were close.
Too close.
To be continued.....