Chapter 1: The Lie That Changed Everything

To scare off the classmates who bullied me, I claimed that the hardest guys from Lincoln Vocational were all my crew.

My voice trembled, but I did my best to sound like I meant it. I puffed up my chest a little. The cafeteria lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor, and the stale smell of fries hung in the air. I tried to meet their eyes, hoping they’d back down, but their smirks just grew wider.

They didn’t buy it, so I put on my best act and called out to one of the blond guys passing by.

I tried to sound casual, like this was just another Tuesday. I spotted a tall blond kid—leather jacket, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved with that slow, lazy swagger—like something out of a movie. My heart hammered, but I forced out, “Hey, aren’t you going to say hi to your boss when you see her?”

The blond guy looked at me.

His blue eyes flicked over, cool and unreadable. For a second, I thought he might just keep walking, but he stopped, his gaze settling on me like he was figuring out if I was worth his time.

Five seconds later, he drawled, “Hey, boss.”

His voice was low, the kind that made you think of trouble. He said it slow, almost like a joke, but loud enough for everyone to hear. I caught a few kids glancing over, curiosity lighting up their faces.

This blond guy was ridiculously good-looking, but there was something about him—like he could start trouble just by walking into a room. Flicking a cigarette butt between his fingers, he asked, “Boss, you bringing in someone new?”

He flicked the cigarette into a nearby trash can—he didn’t even glance at the trash can. Smoking at school was bold; if a teacher had seen him, he’d be toast, but he didn’t seem to care. The way he looked at me made my skin prickle, but I stood my ground, hoping my knees wouldn’t buckle.

He motioned, and the rest of his crew strolled over—guys with wild hair colors and the kind of tattoos you get from a friend with a needle snaking down their arms. They all towered over us girls by at least half a foot.

One had electric blue hair, another wore a ripped denim vest over a hoodie. Their boots thudded against the tiles. They leaned against the wall, arms crossed, scanning the scene like they owned the place. The air felt charged, like a storm was about to break.

I was so scared I couldn’t say a word.

My mouth went dry. I could hear my own heartbeat, pounding like a drum. For a split second, I wondered if I should bolt, but my feet wouldn’t budge.

The blond guy grinned and turned to the others. “Hey, aren’t you going to say hi to the boss?”

He flashed a lopsided grin, the kind that could melt or freeze you, depending on his mood. He jerked his chin at his crew, and the tension in the hallway jumped another notch.

The guys with neon hair froze for a second. One caught on and shouted, “Hey, boss!”

A couple of the others echoed him, their voices bouncing off the lockers. It was almost comical, the way they all suddenly straightened up, pretending I was someone important. If I hadn’t been so terrified, I might’ve laughed.

The blond guy lifted my arm, which was scraped and bruised, and asked, puzzled, “Lose a fight? Was it these kids?”

He took my wrist gently, turning it over to see the angry red marks. His brows furrowed, and he glanced sharply at Marissa and her crew. The whole hallway seemed to hold its breath.

He shot a cold glare at Marissa and the others. Marissa and Brianna, sniffling and crying, bolted in terror.

They practically tripped over themselves trying to get away, shoving past the other students in their rush to disappear. A few onlookers snickered, but nobody dared say a word.

I tried to sneak away, but someone grabbed my arm.

Someone grabbed my sleeve, yanking me back before I could slip away. My stomach dropped as I realized I wasn’t getting out of this so easily.

“Where you going? Bossssss...”

The way he dragged out the word made it sound almost playful, but I could hear the warning underneath. The rest of the hallway was watching now, eyes wide. My face burned with embarrassment.

I didn’t dare look at the blond guy. I ducked my head and mumbled, “Sorry, I just wanted to scare them.”

My voice came out barely above a whisper. My cheeks burned, and I stared at the floor, wishing I could disappear.

He gently flicked my forehead. “Give me your number. Now you owe me one.”

It wasn’t a hard flick, more like a tap, but it startled me. He grinned, waiting, the hint of a dare in his eyes. My mind scrambled for what to do next.

I scribbled a random number on a scrap of paper and handed it over.

My hands shook as I tore a corner from my notebook, writing down the first digits that popped into my head. I tried to look casual as I passed it to him, but my palms were sweaty.

The blond guy pulled out his phone and dialed.

He didn’t even glance at the paper, just punched in the number with practiced ease. His friends watched, amused, as if this was all a game.

“Sorry, the number you dialed isn’t available...”

The automated message echoed between us. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

I blurted, “Sorry, I messed up, that’s my mom’s number.”

I tried to sound apologetic, but my voice cracked. I could feel everyone’s eyes boring into me, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Come on. Your mom’s number isn’t in service?”

He gave me a look, half amused, half skeptical. His friends snickered behind him, nudging each other.

I didn’t answer, just wrote my real number. I figured I’d just block him if he called.

My hands trembled as I handed it over, my mind racing with ways to get out of this later. Maybe I could change my number, or just never answer unknown calls again.

The blond guy smirked, leaned down, and looked me in the eye: