Jace lowered his phone for a second. Confused, Arpac exchanged glances that said, "Is she serious?" Beck's face twitched. The reaction he wanted wasn't happening, and that made him angrier than rejection. "Bullies hate when their script falls apart."
"Oh, we're just getting started," he growled. He reached into the paper bag on the table behind him and pulled out a second egg. Bigger, colder, dripping condensation, the kind meant for maximum impact. The way his fingers tightened around it showed exactly what he planned to do next. Arpac cheered, sensing the escalation.
Students who had been pretending not to watch were now glued to the scene. Zariah didn't move, not even to wipe the yolk from her eye. Her breathing stayed steady. Her posture stayed relaxed. Her silence stayed sharp enough to slice the tension in half.
Beck stepped forward, lifting the second egg high like a hammer, ready to strike. And that moment of stillness before the storm was the exact second the entire cafeteria realized they weren't watching a victim. They were watching a fuse. Beck's grip tightened, his ego burning hotter than the cafeteria lights. He raised the second egg, ready to crack it with twice the force.
He had no idea he was seconds away from starting a war he couldn't win. The corner of the Brookside cafeteria was the unofficial headquarters of Arpac, loud enough to dominate the atmosphere, tucked away enough for their schemes to hatch unseen. It was here, behind a wall of orange varsity jackets and toxic bravado, that Beck Rowan leaned over the table and smirked like someone planning a show he couldn't wait to star in. The cafeteria roared with distant lunchtime chaos, but this corner felt insulated by ego. Empty soda cans rattled as Beck slammed his palm down.
"So," he said, lowering his voice as if he were running a criminal empire instead of a teenage bullying club. We need to remind everyone who runs this place. Trent, Milo, and Carter, the core of Arpac, nodded as if reciting a pledge. They lived off Beck's scraps of dominance. And with the new school year starting, they were desperate to reestablish hierarchy fast.
"New girl looks like the perfect warm-up," Trent said, jerking his chin toward the table where Zariah Cole sat alone. Beck followed his gaze. Zariah was quietly pulling books from her bag. Hair neatly braided. Posture small but controlled.
She didn't talk to anyone. She didn't look at anyone. She didn't fit anywhere, at least not according to their shallow criteria. She's invisible, Carter added. No friends, no reactions, nobody to back her up.
"Invisible," Beck repeated, liking the sound of it. "Perfect." Behind them, Jace Rowan held his phone, checking angles like a director preparing a shot. He already saw the views rolling in. The likes, the comments, Rowan's run the school again.
We hit her during lunch. Milo suggested make it public. Something messy. Something they won't forget. Beck leaned back, letting their ideas inflate his ego.