Evie Calder

The bell had long since rung.

The halls outside were beginning to quiet, first the chatter, then the shuffle of footsteps, and eventually even the hum of vending machines sounded louder than the leftover echoes of the day. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the empty classroom.

Evie was near the window, her shoulder to the glass, like she was trying to phase through it. One hand gripped the strap of her backpack like it was a lifeline. The other was pressed flat to the sill, knuckles pale.

Blocking the only exit were four boys, seniors all.

Brett stood in the center, one hand in his pocket, the other drumming lazily against the desk beside him. His blazer hung open, tie crooked like always. He was smirking, but not like he’d told a joke, like he knew something everyone else didn’t.

To his left, Vogelbaum leaned against the door, lanky arms crossed, eyes flicking from Evie to the hallway like a lookout. He chewed on a toothpick, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

Tritter sat on a desk near her, too close, like he was waiting for her to flinch. His fingers twirled a pen he’d stolen from a teacher last week, tapping the edge of the seat.

And Yamal, stockier, quieter, stood just a step behind Brett, arms loose at his sides. He was the one who always kept the door closed. He wasn’t smirking. He didn’t have to.

“You know,” Brett said, voice soft but oily “we’ve been patient. Real patient.”

Evie didn’t look up.

“Thought maybe you’d appreciate that.”

“She doesn’t,” Tritter muttered, tone casual. “She thinks she’s above us.”

“Maybe she forgot who helped her when she didn’t have shit,” Vogelbaum added, pushing off the door to pace a little. “No family. No home. Just us.”

“I didn’t—” Evie’s voice cracked before it fully formed. She shrank back.

“No, no. You don’t talk today.” Brett took a slow step forward. “You listen.”

Evie froze. Her breathing quickened, chest rising visibly under the too-thin fabric of her uniform.

“I think,” Tritter said, hopping off the desk and walking around behind her “our little ghost girl’s got an attitude problem.”

“She should be grateful,” Vogelbaum said. “We’ve been nice.”

“You know what I think?” Brett asked, stepping even closer, voice lowering. “I think she’s forgetting who owns her body, mind and silence.”

Their hands wandered around her body, intentions clear

Just then, the door handle rattled.

All four boys turned at once.

“You have a problem, buddy?” Brett said without missing a beat, straightening his shoulders and angling himself toward the door. The smirk didn’t leave his face, but the sharpness in his tone cut the air.

Behind him, Evie looked up, just for a second. Her eyes were wide and wet, mouth slightly open. She didn't say anything. Couldn't.