Chapter 3

The harassment started small.

A shove in the crowded hallway from one of Mark' s new Northwood buddies, followed by a jeering laugh.

"Watch it, goody-two-shoes."

I just kept walking.

Then, my locker was vandalized, "Academy Reject" scrawled across it in permanent marker.

Principal Thompson made a stern announcement about respecting school property, but no one was caught.

Mark and Tiffany would stage "romantic" interludes wherever I was. If I was studying in the cafeteria, they' d sit at the next table, their conversation deliberately loud, full of boasts about Mark' s "inevitable" scholarships and Tiffany' s brilliant future as his wife.

It was pathetic.

I needed a sanctuary. I found out about a supervised student housing program, a small dorm-like building near the community college, for academically focused seniors who needed a quiet place to study. The application was rigorous, but my grades were already improving, my focus unwavering.

I got in.

Moving my few belongings into the small, clean room felt like shedding a heavy skin. Peace.

Mark, of course, couldn' t resist.

The first night, he showed up outside with a cheap guitar, serenading Tiffany' s imagined presence under my window, loudly and off-key. Several residents yelled at him to shut up.

He just smirked, blew a kiss to my darkened window, and sauntered off with Tiffany, who looked more annoyed than flattered.

His grades, predictably, were in freefall.

Ms. Evans, the school counselor, called me into her office.

"Sarah," she began, her face etched with concern, "I know you and Mark used to be close. His grades are... alarming. He' s failing several classes. Do you have any idea what' s going on?"

I met her gaze directly. "Ms. Evans, Mark and I are no longer close. He made his choices. Tiffany is his main influence now."

She sighed. "Tiffany is also struggling, but Mark... he was always such a bright student."

"People change," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

The next day, Ms. Evans called Mark and his mother into her office. I saw them go in as I was heading to class.

Later, I heard from a classmate who' d been in the office waiting area what happened.

Mark, apparently, had been outrageously arrogant.

"Don' t you worry, Ms. Evans," he' d boasted, loud enough for his mother and anyone nearby to hear. "I' m going to be valedictorian. Full scholarship to State, maybe even an Ivy. I' ve got it all figured out."

Then, he' d gestured vaguely in my direction as I passed in the hallway. "Unlike some people who have to grind day and night just to scrape by."

That' s when Mrs. Peterson snapped.

She slapped him. Hard. Right there in the counselor' s office.

The sound, my classmate said, echoed.

Mark was stunned into silence. Mrs. Peterson burst into tears.