My mother's voice always had a way of settling in the air, calm and certain. I can still see her expression when she'd lean in and says:
"If you do good things to people, the good things will come back to you. You'll be blessed even more."
I took those words to heart; I grew up viewing everyone through a lens of empathy. My mother taught me how to be a "good person"-how to think in every situation and hold my logic above my emotions.
It wasn't just advice; it was something she instilled in me.
Whenever I was boiling with anger at a situation or a person, she'd lean in and whisper, "Think, think, think." Now, that voice echoes in my head whenever it matters most. It's a constant reminder: for every action, a consequence follows.
But one afternoon, another question popped out. It finally slipped out. "Mom, but what if bad people do bad things to me?"
The kitchen went quiet. She stopped what she was doing and stared at me, her eyes searching for mine for a long moment. Then, she smiled-a gentle, knowing look that didn't quite reach the corners of her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak.
"...."
Beep-beep-beep!
The screech of the alarm pierced through my dream like a siren. I fumbled for my phone, and the glowing 08:30 hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
"W-whaaaaattt!!"
My voice tore through the quiet of the house, probably rattling the dishes in the kitchen.
...
Outside, the morning was radiant in its perfection. Birds chirped in the trees, the sky was a brilliant, mocking shade of blue, and the neighborhood sat in a peaceful, lazy silence. It was the kind of morning that invited you to move slowly, to breathe in the cool air and take your time.
Meanwhile, I was a one-man disaster.
I sprinted down the empty school hallway, my lungs burning and my shirt clinging to my back. I reached my classroom door, paused for a heartbeat to catch my breath-failing miserably-and swung it open.
The room went silent. Thirty pairs of eyes swung toward me like a spotlight.
"If it isn't Cale Ovrevold," my teacher said, peering over his glasses. "Why are you late?"
"S-sir, there was an emergency," I blurted out.
The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to swallow them back down. It was the most pathetic, overused excuse in the book. I could have done better than that.
He stared at me, his gaze digging into me with heavy suspicion. Then, his expression shifted into a small, unexpected smile.
"So even someone like you gets late."
I stood there, frozen. Was that an insult? A compliment? Whatever it was, I didn't have the energy to decode it.
"Get inside," he said, gesturing to the room.
"Y-yes sir."
I slumped into my chair as the class erupted into a low murmur.
"Yo, Cale! Wanna hang out later?" one of the guys whispered, leaning across the aisle.
"Sure," I panted, still trying to get my heart rate under control.
"If it isn't our MVP," another teased. "Let's play League later. Carry us to a win?"
"Nah," I managed a weak grin. "You're too heavy to carry. I'd break my back."
A few muffled laughs broke out, quickly cut short by the teacher's voice.
"Silence!"
°°°
BRRRRRING!
The bell was the best sound I'd heard all day. I stretched my arms over my head, feeling my spine pop.
"Finally," I muttered, sliding my phone into my pocket.
My classmates pulled me, "Let's go Cale."
The walk to the canteen was the highlight of the morning. I was just moving with the flow, laughing as I talked with my friends about the online games.
The air in the hallway was thick with the energy of a hundred different conversations, and I was right in the middle of it talking with my friends.
"Cale, I have something to tell you."
Jake leaned in close, his voice a low, dramatic conspirator's whisper against my ear.
"What is it?" I asked.
He reached out, grabbing our other friend, Daniel, and pulling us both into a tight huddle.
"The one who moves first is gay," he declared.
The world stopped. Both of us froze mid-stride, turning into absolute statues. I didn't even breathe. My eyes darted toward Jake, boring into him with a furious, silent gaze that screamed, 'Really? Right now?'
But suddenly, Daniel just shrugged and started walking casually.
"Hey, you two, get moving," Daniel said, looking back at us with a proud tilt of his head. "I already moved, and I'm proud to be one anyway. Mhmmp." He gave us a pointed, sassy look.
"Yes, Queen," we both muttered simultaneously, our heads bowing slightly in mock respect.
Jake broke his "statue" pose and let out a laugh. He stepped forward, reaching across and slinging his arm over Daniel's far shoulder, pulling him into a side-hug as they started teasing each other again. I grinned, following a step behind them, enjoying the normalcy of it all.
Then, the hallway went dead silent.
The laughter from the lockers died out. The shuffling of feet stopped. I knew something was amiss before I even saw them. I tilted my head back, and my smile vanished.
A group of students were walking toward us. They didn't need to shout; their presence alone was enough to make everyone else shrink against the walls. They walked as if the floor belonged to them and everyone else was just an obstacle.
Without thinking, I reached out and yanked both Jake and Daniel to the side, pulling them out of the center of the hallway.
"What are you doing, Ca-" Daniel started to protest.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. It was instinctive-the way a prey animal freezes when it catches the scent of a predator. It wasn't logic yet; it was pure, cold fear that drove me into the corner. Who in their right mind would want to catch the attention of the school's apex bullies?
My friends finally caught the vibe and stayed quiet, but someone near us couldn't help themselves. A faint murmur drifted through the air: "They act as if they own the way. Annoying."
The leader subordinate stopped. His head turned slowly toward us.
"Who said that!?"
He didn't just look; he pivoted, his eyes locking onto our direction. He marched toward the student standing right in front of us, reaching out to grab the kid's collar and bunching the fabric in his fist. He leaned his face in close, a dark, jagged smile spreading across his lips.
I watched them, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The bully didn't just hold the kid; he savored it. He leaned in with bugged eyes and a wide, twisted smile, his posture loose and arrogant. He knew he didn't have to worry about a counter-attack-not with his pack standing right behind him, anchored by the silent, looming figure I assumed was their leader.
They weren't just picking a fight; they were asserting dominance.
The student in his grip was a total contrast. He trembled, his breath coming in shallow, panicked hitches. He was a rabbit caught in a snare, looking for an exit that didn't exist. Around us, the hallway had become a gallery of cowards. Students tilted their heads away, suddenly fascinated by their lockers or the floor tiles, desperate to act like they saw nothing.
The air felt heavy with the weight of the rumors. People said this group was the reason a student had committed suicide last semester.
They were hyenas. And they were looking for a kill.
Beside me, I felt Jake and Daniel tense up. Their playful energy from the "Queen" joke had evaporated, replaced by a sharp, jagged anger. They were about to step forward, mouths opening to refute the bully's dominance, but the air in the hallway shifted before they could make a sound.
"What is this commotion?"