Why the hell has my life become so frustrating?! My father—the asshole—ran off with some random chick five years ago like it was no big deal. I had only been twelve at that time. Twelve! Shithead! Ass eating dirtbag!

  My poor mother was devastated, it completely ruined her. She, of all people, didn't deserve to be treated like this! How could she have loved someone like him? And how could I also have once loved him more than anything in the world. I guess, back when he was still a father who took care of his family. Now, the rage I feel whenever I think about him? It’s like a fire that eats up every single thought in my head. And yeah, sometimes I wish I could just turn it off. But I can’t.

  A few years back, I started noticing something wasn’t right with my dad.

  He’d always been the kind of father who was around—weekends meant training, movie marathons, and spending time together. He worked as an insurance broker, a job so regular it practically smelled like instant coffee and pressed shirts. So when he suddenly started going on “weekend business trips,” it didn’t sit right. Gone from Friday night to Sunday evening. What kind of insurance emergency needed him out of town every other weekend?

  It didn’t make sense. It didn’t feel right.

  The worst part? My mom didn’t see it. Or maybe she chose not to. She was always the one who tried to see the best in people, even when they didn’t deserve it. And back then, she had more than herself or me to worry about. She was pregnant. Glowing, hopeful. Her world was growing, not shrinking. She didn’t want to believe the man she loved could lie to her face.

  But I saw it. I saw it in the way he avoided eye contact at dinner, how his phone buzzed just a little too often, how his voice softened when he took calls in the other room. And the mystery trainee he’d supposedly been mentoring. She wanted to believe in him. And I think, deep down, she was afraid of what might happen if she didn’t.

  And then came that day. The one that snapped everything in half.

  It was a rainy Friday afternoon—the kind where everything felt a little quieter than usual. Mom was baking. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and butter, and you could hear soft jazz playing through the old radio she kept on the windowsill. I was curled up on the living room couch reading a book.

  Then the front door opened. He walked in like he always did, shaking the rain off his coat, but this time, someone followed him.

  “This is Janine,” he said casually. “She’s shadowing me for a while. The company thinks she can learn a lot from me.”

  Janine.

  Even the name still makes my stomach turn.

  She was young, flawless in that magazine-cover sort of way. Dark straight hair, long legs, a polished smile. She looked like she’d stepped out of an ad for perfume or sports cars. The embodiment of Asian beauty.

  My mom peeked her head out from the kitchen to greet them, hands still dusted with flour. I watched her smile—tight, but genuine—and then turn away.

  Dad said they were meant to go on a longer business trip, so he had to stop by at home first, to get more clothes to change.

  And then, the moment that detonated everything:

  He thought no one was looking. Thought it was subtle. But I saw it—his hand, casual and unmistakable, landing on Janine’s lower back and then drifting lower, right before giving her a firm slap, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She giggled, flipping her long hair.

  Mom had come back into the living room just in time to catch it. She froze, midway through opening the ribbon on the back of her apron. In that one moment, everything inside her seemed to click, like a button finally switched.

  My mom had always been gentle, the kind of person who spoke softly and gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. But in that instant, her kindness turned to steel. Her voice, when it finally came, shook the walls. I had never seen my mother so angry on any other occasion. Never.

  That day changed everything.

  My father—a man I’d once thought invincible, someone I believed was incapable of cruelty—had cheated on his pregnant wife. In our house. In front of his own child. I thought my parents were forever. Turns out, “forever” is fragile. It can be broken by a moment. By a hand placed where it shouldn’t be. By a lie that was finally too loud to ignore. My perfect image of him was completely shattered.

  Yet, out of all that pain, what I remember most is the way my mother stood her ground. How she gathered the broken pieces of her heart, one by one, and didn’t let them define her. I’ve never admired anyone more.

  After the blow?up, Dad moved out that very night—no one could stand the sight of him for another second. Not me, not Mom, and certainly not my not?yet?born sister, Kimberly. Barely a week later, as if the stress had been a trigger, Mom’s water broke. I blamed him for everything. His lies, his ego—he’d upset her so much she went into labor early. She still had the presence of mind to dial an ambulance, and a few hours later Kimberly arrived, pink?cheeked and perfect. From that day on it was just the three of us, tucked away in our single?family house at the ragged edge of the suburbs—paying a mortgage that felt more like a ransom.

  A year later the divorce was finalized after weeks of legal tug?of?war over property, schedules, and signatures. Mom got sole custody; Dad was granted alternate?weekend visits—way too generous, if you asked me. His court?ordered support checks, kept the lights on, and I stayed at my private girls’ school, safely insulated from boys and their drama. Mom picked up a part?time job so there’d be a little left over each month for treats or new clothes. Life without a husband, it turned out, could still be frugal but manageable. As if we’d ever really depended on him.

  But no one expected one thing: This bastard had recently stopped all support payments. Our lawyer fired off letters, but they all came back unanswered. There was no response to the reminders. My father had vanished into thin air and couldn't be found. Vanished—probably run off to another country with that ridiculous Janine.

  The money dried up fast. We couldn’t keep the house, so we downsized to a cramped three?room apartment where the rent and utilities swallowed Mom’s paycheck whole. My turn next: I’d need to land a part?time job, and soon, if we were going to stay afloat.

  Anyway, the move meant I had to change schools—in the middle of the school year. I’d been attending a private girls’ academy. Yes, I was a little spoiled back then; Dad had the money and insisted on “the best” for his precious daughter. So, why not take advantage of it, right?

  Now, thanks to him, I was stuck in the main office of a public boys’ school. Literally my worst nightmare came to life. But, every other co?ed school in the district was full, so this place had just recently opened its doors to girls as well. The policy was barely a year old, which most likely meant that there were hardly any female students. Perfect. Just perfect. I could already feel the crazy creeping in.

  I sat waiting for the secretary to finish my paperwork and for her to assign me to my brand?new “super?cool” class. Please, universe, don’t let it be a sea of nothing but guys. Whatever happened, I wasn’t about to take anyone’s nonsense; if they pushed me, I’d push back—and maybe teach those uncouth Neanderthals some manners.

  One leg swung over my knee, I let my foot bounce back and forth while I waited. I took in the cramped office. I was perched on one of three plastic chairs to the left of the door, next to a tiny round table stacked with outdated brochures. A long counter sat around three metres in front of me, and behind it were two desks. The secretary—thin glasses, tight bun—was bent over my file.

  The phone rang, yanking her attention away. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but she wrote something down every now and then—probably sick notes. A moment later the door swung open and two boys burst in, laughing like they’d just discovered fire. One was pocket?sized and dark?haired; the other was a walking telephone pole. Dumb and Dumber: the growth?spurt edition.

  Still on the phone, the secretary raised one finger—the universal teacher?signal for “knock it off or perish.” No effect, those two were still giggling and up to no-good.

  Dark Curls spotted a pencil cup on the counter and immediately tried to balance a pen on his upper lip. Tower Boy gave him a slow clap, then leaned over and used the top of Curls’ head as a bongo drum. Apparently this was peak comedy.

  Finally the secretary hung up, smacked the receiver into its cradle, and said—without even looking—

  “Antonio, Jacob—cut it out. Do we need a rehearsal for detention?”

  Instant obedience. They snapped to attention, practically saluting. Apparently they were here to pick up the sick?list; she slid the paper across the counter and, without even glancing my way, they bolted. Fine by me—less small talk with the local comedy duo.

  “Miss?Sawyer, I’m finished with your entry.”

  I popped up and hurried to the counter. She handed me a packet of papers. “Your schedule, classroom number, and the rest of the essentials.”

  “Got it,” I said, clutching the packet.

  “One more thing,” she added before I could turn away. “As sorting this out has taken a while, you don’t have to head to class right this minute—it’s mid?period. Wait until the next break, then go in with everyone else. Feel free to explore the building in the meantime.”

  Probably a good idea; barging into the classroom mid lessons would only paint a bigger target on my back. I thanked her, and she dismissed me with a quiet “Good luck.”

  I decided to go outside for a bit, find a bench to sit on, and study my new surroundings.

  The school complex was huge, but the schoolyard? Massive. Like, ridiculously so. It stretched out behind the building like a miniature park that couldn’t quite decide if it was meant for studying, socializing, or military-grade sports drills.

  I stepped outside, blinking into the light, and took it all in. The first thing I noticed was a wide tarred area just past the back exit. To the left a little further stood a modest snack bar—half-rusted but still in operation— surrounded by buzzing vending machines and a couple of trash cans. The area was sprinkled with a good amount of long picnic benches, as well as some single benches for students to sit on.

  Past that came the real heart of the yard: a broad green lawn, well-kept and edged with clusters of trees, flowerbeds that already started blooming due to it being spring, and overgrown bushes that probably hadn’t been trimmed since the school's last renovation. The lawn wrapped around the paved area in a big U-shape, giving off a calm, almost idyllic feel—at least until recess hit and it turned into a zoo.

  Beyond the green space, toward the very back, things shifted gears. This was the “sport zone,” clearly reserved for PE class torture sessions and jock worship. A red, rubberized running track looped around the perimeter, with sand pits on either side for long jump or high jump—though it mostly looked like a giant litter box. A row of weathered goalposts marked a multipurpose field where you could probably play football, run laps, or break an ankle depending on the day. There were even faded lines for basketball on a cracked concrete court just off to the side.

  I took a deep breath and let the sight soak in. Honestly, I didn’t know what I expected at first. At least it wasn’t the post-apocalyptic dump I’d braced myself for.

  After I made myself comfortable on the closest bench available, I looked down at the papers the secretary had handed me. My new class number, a detailed floor plan, my schedule, class times, teacher list… and weirdly, a full roster of the students. Names and all. Nice. Time to find out if I was going to be surrounded by idiots. Scanning the list, I let out a relieved breath—there was another girl in my class. One. Exactly one. Her name was Leana Wise. Poor thing. She’d had to survive all those boys by herself until now. I already knew: if anyone gave her trouble, I’d back her up. No question.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The bell rang—probably signaling the start of the next lesson. Maybe it was time to explore a little more. I waited a little before I got up to wander back into the building. Some students probably had to change classes for the next lesson, so I wanted to give them some time to file back into their classrooms.

  Inside the school, even though the building was big, everything was pretty straightforward. The hallways weren’t confusing at all—if you looked at the layout from above, the school probably resembled a giant cross. Floor by floor, I memorized the layout. I’d rather not get into the situation where I would ever have to ask for directions.

  The ground floor didn’t have any classrooms. Just the cafeteria (tucked into the center of the "cross"), the teachers’ lounge, the secretary’s office, a first aid room, the library, the entrance area, and one unmarked door. What was behind it? No clue. All the classrooms and restrooms were split between the top three floors. That was about it.

  To kill some time, I decided to check out the restroom. According to my papers, the girls’ was on the first floor. I headed up the stairs, which were situated on either the top or bottom end of the “cross”, already grumbling to myself about how much walking this place required. But hey, a little exercise never hurt anyone.

  The restroom was right where I expected—midway along the outer side of the corridor, exactly opposite the cafeteria's position below. Probably the same setup on every floor.

  The girls’ restroom was... meh. Not disgusting, just kind of run-down. Passably clean, but definitely not somewhere you'd want to drop food. On the right side, a row of sinks stretched beneath some streaky mirrors. A big plus point for the little box next to the door that offered free toiletries for the girls.

  I didn’t really need to use the toilet, so I just glanced into one of the mirrors instead. A serious face stared back at me—turquoise eyes, the same colour I hated seeing in my reflection because they reminded me too much of him. Same for my hair: dark brown, loose, falling just past my shoulders. I tried to encouragingly smile at myself—halfhearted, but still. Maybe things wouldn’t be as terrible as I thought. Only six months left for this school year and then just another year on top. I could survive this. A strong woman was living inside of me. I’d be fine.

  With a small scowl and a quick nod to myself, I stepped back into the hallway with a little more confidence. Time to check out the second floor—where I’d be spending most of my time anyway. The floors looked like they were arranged depending on the class year, the first years on the third floor, the highest of the building, then the second years on the second floor and finally the third years on the first floor.

  I stood still for a second, eyeing both directions down the dim corridor. Then I noticed something—figures at the far end to the right. I had to squint. Three people stood near the wall. A guy slouched coolly against the wall like he thought he was starring in some teen drama, casually talking to two girls—one with a ponytail, the other with shoulder-length curls.

  I wasn’t able to make out any other features, as the corridor was still in dim light and they were too far away to see them clearly, especially the guy. He was somehow cloaked in shadows, like a character that hadn't yet loaded into a video game.

  I made the decision to walk towards them instead of taking the stairs like I’d originally planned. Curiosity usually killed the cat, as the saying goes, but I was way too interested in what was going on up there, especially in the middle of class. The lights in the corridor jumped on, motion sensors activated. Just as I reached the group of three, the girl with the ponytail suddenly burst into tears and ran past me, sobbing, hands buried into her hands. Her friend desperately shouted her name and took off after her.

  I watched them for about a second before something in me clicked, turning back toward the jerk who’d clearly made her cry. Great… First day at my new school, and I’d already caught one of these “charming” boys in the act of emotionally crushing a poor girl. What a start!

  I stormed right up to him, practically waving my arms around. I wasn’t going to just walk away.

  "What the hell is wrong with you? Making her cry like that? Typically men— you all act like we’re disposable or something!" I snapped, hands flying around like I was directing traffic in a hurricane.

  But I had to swallow hard when I actually got a good look at him.

  He was the poster boy for trouble. Effortless, blond messy hair that probably took twenty minutes and three products to “not care about.” Blue eyes. A perfectly sculpted face, like something off a cologne ad. And that body? Way too impressive to be fair. But I wasn’t about to fall for any of that. There was no way something that pretty came with a decent personality. Especially not when he’d just left a girl in tears.

  He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, like this was the most boring part of his day. Honestly, he looked like a model on his lunch break. Cool as a fridge. Maybe even a walk-in freezer.

  "Hmm?", he grunted, tilting his head like I was a mildly interesting documentary. Then he frowned—pityingly. Ugh.

  "She confessed," he said in a deep voice, with maddeningly calmness. "I said I didn’t feel the same. That’s it."

  "Oh, and you couldn’t have let her down a little more gently?" I shot back, arms crossed now too. Great, we were mirroring. Disgusting.

  He finally pushed off the wall slightly, like I’d forced him to do an ounce of effort. "I literally said I didn’t want to be in a relationship. What was I supposed to do? Pretend I’m into her just so she doesn’t feel bad? That’s messed up."

  He paused, then added while I was too stunned to counter, "Or maybe I should've fake-dated her. Then I’d be collecting girlfriends like Pokémon. But, that’s not really my thing. Unless you think that would’ve been better?"

  I blinked. He had a point. A terribly reasonable, logic-infested point. Ew.

  He looked at me with genuine curiosity, like he expected an actual answer.

  I opened my mouth — then closed it again, just to open it again. I probably looked like a fish on land while I was fishing for an answer. Crap.

  "Look, I’m not gonna date someone just because they like me," he went on, shrugging. "That’s not romance. That’s guilt-tripping with extra steps."

  Okay... who gave this walking men’s clothing ad permission to make sense? He kind of had a point. Why did I confront him like that, just jumping to conclusions?! Sometimes my temper really got the better of me… I screamed internally.

  "Yeah, you’re right," I muttered slowly, defeated. My sass reserves were critically low. First day at a new school and I’d already been verbally suplexed by Mr. Too-Perfect. Fantastic.

  I narrowed my eyes and lowered my gaze, feeling about two inches tall.

  "You see..." he started, clearly ready to launch into some philosophical nugget about honesty or heartbreak or who even knows. And I didn’t want to stick around to hear it. I had already embarrassed myself enough.

  "Whatever. I need to get to my classroom," I mumbled, refusing to give that smug face another second of my attention while already spinning on my heel like a grumpy ballerina.

  I took one step, then paused and glanced over my shoulder. “Also, shouldn’t you be in class? Or do heartbreakers get an -off-lessons-pass?”

  He just shrugged, lazy and smug like he had tenure in being insufferable. So obnoxious!

  “Well,” I added, pointing at him like I was casting a mild curse, “you better start letting girls down a little softer, Mr Ketchum.” I narrowed my eyes. “Because if I catch you making another girl cry, I swear I’ll come back and haunt your love life like a vengeful Cupid.”

  He snorted. I could see he was holding back a full-blown grin.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, already regretting staying any longer than really needed.

  “Vengeful Cupid?” he echoed. “That’s… new.”

  “Oh, I’ve got more where that came from,” I jabbed my thumb toward the stairs. “Hope to see you not around, Heartthrob MC-Emotion-Destroyer.

  He choked on a laugh. Actual, unfiltered laughter. That was solid.

  I turned on my heel (again), strutted toward the glass door that separated the floors from the stairs like a woman on a mission. Confident, dramatic, filled with pride of having had the last word.

  Then I walked smack into it.

  Full. Face. Impact.

  There was an audible thud, followed by a startled gasp — from me — and then a second snort from the hallway behind me. Oh god.

  I staggered back a step, clutching my nose, trying to pretend I totally meant to body-check the door like that. Maybe to test the glass integrity. For science. It definitely passed the test.

  "Careful there, Wildcard.", came the deep voice, now tinged with unmistakable amusement. “Wouldn’t want you headbutting your way through the curriculum.”

  I made a face and turned just slightly looking in his direction, pretending I hadn’t just had a near-death experience with a see-through wall.

  “Wildcard?”, I repeated slowly.

  He gave me a crooked half-smile and shrugged. “Yeah. You show up out of nowhere, pick a fight, and walk straight into a door. You’re clearly here to keep things entertaining.”

  I scoffed and glared at him. “Let this be an example of what awaits you next time I see you make a girl cry. Because I might headbutt you instead of a door.”

  “See? Total wildcard,” he said, turning to saunter away like some smug male lead in his own show.

  I gave him one last tight-lipped stare, spun around (carefully this time), and marched up the stairs like the glass door and I hadn't just had a moment. Which we absolutely had, still wondering how I just didn’t see the door in time when I made my grand escape.

  I stopped in front of the room where my new class was busy studying. First, I glanced at my notes, then at the clock mounted to the wall. Before I could fully register that it was time for recess, the school bell rang—and the classroom doors burst open.

  I barely managed to step aside and press myself against the wall, before I could have an additional run in with another door, as a stampede of stomping feet and loud laughter poured into the hallway. I waited patiently until the chaos slowly died down.

  My one and only female classmate was the last student to leave the room. She looked a little rattled but spotted me right away.

  “Oh, hi!” She greeted me warmly.

  I smiled. She was pretty cute—maybe 160 centimeters tall, with brown hair in a bob that brushed her jaw.

  “You must be the new student!” she added brightly.

  “Yep, guilty as charged,” I said with a playful eye-roll. “Mirona Sawyer—but feel free to call me Miri. And you must be Leana, right?” I held out my hand.

  She blinked in surprise, staring at me with a puzzled expression before hesitantly taking it.

  “How do you know that?” she asked as we shook hands, blinking at me like I’d just read her diary out loud.

  I gave her a sly grin. “I’m a mind reader. Also, part-time psychic. Weekdays only though.”

  She looked genuinely impressed for a split second before I laughed and waved the papers the secretary had given me. “Kidding. You’re literally the only other girl on the class list.”

  “Ohhh,” she said, finally connecting the dots.

  Bless her heart—she appeared not to be the sharpest crayon in the box, but definitely the brightest in color.

  “Come, let’s head to the schoolyard. I am literally starving!” And with that I made to follow her enthusiastic steps down to the devils den.

  Outside in the courtyard, a mass of students went about their lunch, but we found a good spot for ourselves on the grass. To my surprise, Leana pulled out a picnic blanket like a total pro. Okay, maybe she was smarter than I thought. She even shared her lunch with me—sweet as sugar, seriously.

  “So,” I asked, flopping back on my elbows like I was sunbathing in the middle of a war zone, “what’s it like being trapped in a school full of hormone-fueled chaos goblins?”

  “Oh, it’s actually not so bad,” Leana said with a positive note. “Some of them can be total creeps, sure, but most are really nice.” She leaned in like we were trading state secrets. “And there are some really cute guys here. The cutest one—the one literally every girl loses her mind over—is Raven Payne. He’s super cool, all the guys respect him, and he’s got this whole ‘mysterious lone wolf’ thing going on. But no one’s ever dated him. His standards are, like, sky-high.”

  She sighed dreamily while her gaze drifted off, like she’d just seen a shirtless angel float by.

  “Ah, yeah,” I muttered. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the 'mysterious lone wolf' might actually be the emotionally stunted stray I most likely had already ran into. Lucky me.

  Leana spent the rest of the break giving me a rundown on electives. The school offered a surprisingly wide range of extracurriculars—from fencing to the school newspaper, which Leana was part of. I decided I’d figure out which ones to take once I was home. It must’ve been somewhere with the documents the secretary had given me.

  When the bell rang again, we joined the rest of the students marching back to class.

  The rest of the day flew by. I met a bunch of teachers: our homeroom and math teacher, Mr. Solomae; our English teacher, Mrs. Silvester; and our biology teacher, Mr. Malush. I didn’t have any more classes today, and I’d meet the rest of the staff tomorrow.

  To my utter shock—and mild suspicion—the boys in my class turned out to be surprisingly well-behaved. Like, sitting-still-and-not-throwing-desks level behaved. Who knew?

  And to my great personal joy (and the preservation of my last nerve), I didn’t run into that smirking “Heartbreaker McTooCool” from earlier again. Small mercies.

  All in all? No blood, no tears, minimal embarrassment. I was calling day one a success. Gold star for me.

  I'd be so grateful for everyone that follows my story and eventually leaves a comment, suggestion or thought! Thank you so much <(' . '<)