Down as in knocked out, unconscious. The new girl, she she sent him flying. Trevor laughed loudly. Man, stop lying. Blake wouldn't get knocked out by a girl half his size.
Especially not some transfer who's been here for three days. Connor shook his head violently. I saw it with my own eyes. She kicked him so hard he hit the lockers and dropped. I swear to God.
The room fell silent. Jared stood. Say that again slowly. Connor swallowed. Nyla Carter knocked Blake out.
One hit. I don't even know how. She moved so fast. Trevor waved a dismissive hand. Blake probably slipped.
Locker floors are slippery. He didn't slip. Connor snapped, voice cracking. She took him out. But convincing them was impossible.
The Barons weren't built to accept humiliation. Not even hypothetically. Jared crossed his arms. Look, even if Blake did get hit, you know he'd never admit that. and were sure as hell not repeating it, Trevor smirked. Especially not to the team or coach, but Connor wasn't backing down.
"We can't ignore this. If people find out if someone saw, then we fix it," Jared interrupted, his voice shifting into something darker, colder. "We remind the new girl who runs this school." Trevor cracked his knuckles. "Lunch break, back hallway, no cameras.
Well make her pay." But Connor hesitated. His voice dropped. You don't get it. You didn't see her face.
She didn't flinch. She didn't even look scared. So what? Jared scoffed. She caught Blake off guard.
It won't happen again. Connor shook his head. She wasn't trying. That's what scares me. She wasn't even trying.
Trevor rolled his eyes. Listen to yourself. You sound like you're talking about some trained assassin. She's just a girl. Connor didn't reply.
He knew what he saw, but denial was easier for them than fear. Jared shoved a duffel bag into his locker. Whatever she thinks she is, we're ending it today. Blake's reputation, the Barons's reputation, not up for debate. She humiliated him.
She humiliated us. That was when Trevor leaned back against the lockers, folding his arms with a sly grin. "You boys are stressing over nothing," he said. "You forgot who Blake's dad is?" Connor blinked.
What does that have to do with this? Trevor smirked wider. Everything. His dad runs the parent council. He practically owns half the board.
If we get a video of Nyla hitting back, even once she's done expelled, no questions asked. Jared's eyes lit up. So we don't just beat her. We bait her. Trevor finished.
Make her snap. Make her hit first. Connor swallowed. You want to ruin her life? Trevor shrugged.
She started it. No, Connor whispered. She didn't. But the others didn't care. They had a plan now.
And plans, especially cruel ones, gave them confidence. They didn't just want to retaliate with fists. They wanted to destroy Nyla's future. Jared pulled out his phone, typing rapidly. Someone in the student council replied within seconds.
And just like that, the fake rumor machine roared to life. preparing the trap Nyla was about to walk straight into. The cafeteria at Westridge High buzzed with the usual lunchtime noise. Chairs scraping, trays clattering, voices rising in layered chaos. But beneath the surface, an unusual tension simmered. Conversations felt sharper.
Eyes lingered longer. Whispers traveled faster than food lines. Nyla felt the shift the moment she stepped inside. She carried her lunch tray toward an empty table near the wall, the same place she had sat for the past two days. Quiet, out of the way, invisible.
It should have felt safe. But today, invisibility evaporated the second she sat down. A notification pinged across someone's phone, then another, then dozens. Students began pulling out their devices, their faces tightening with shock, satisfaction, or something uglier. Nyla took a small bite of her sandwich before she heard it.
Yo, check this out. No way Blake didn't deserve that. She really hit him first. Girls insane. Like actually violent.
She froze. Slowly. She looked up. Screens around the cafeteria glowed with the same video. A clip only 20 seconds long showed Blake staggering backward, clutching his chest as if Nyla had attacked him unprovoked.
The footage cut right before he threw the first shove. It didn't show his insults, his threats, the punch he landed on her back. It didn't show the crowd. It didn't show the truth. It only showed Nyla stepping forward, then the impact.
The angle was shaky, edited sloppily, but it was enough. The cafeteria erupted with whispers. That's assault. She's psychotic. Who lets people like her into this school? she should be suspended or expelled.
Students who hadn't noticed her presence an hour ago now stared at her with the suspicion reserved for criminals. Nyla kept her face expressionless, but something inside her tightened like a door locking from the inside. She reached for her water bottle, trying to stay composed, but a group of girls from the cheer squad slid into seats nearby, loudly enough for her to hear. I heard she attacked Blake because he told her to move. one said. That's what the student council chat said.
I heard she threatened to do it again. The rumors multiplied like wildfire, and Nyla hadn't said a single word. Before she could take a second sip of water, a sudden hush fell over half the room. Three members of the student council stroed in, badges clipped to their shirts like they were federal agents instead of teenagers. The president, Melissa Quinn, held a tablet that displayed the edited video on loop.
She didn't approach Nyla. She didn't ask for her side. She just turned to her two officers and said loudly, "We're calling an emergency meeting. Possible suspension, maybe worse." The cafeteria reacted instantly.
A wave of stares, judgment, and poorly disguised fear washed over Nyla. No one asked what happened before the clip. No one wondered why Blake was still missing from lunch. No one cared that she hadn't defended herself publicly. seconds of manipulated footage had become her entire reputation. Nyla looked down at her untouched lunch, her appetite gone, her breathing stayed steady, the calm before something darker.
She knew this wasn't random. Someone had planned it. The timing was too perfect. Someone wanted her isolated, and it was working. She pushed her tray away and stood.