Bella : They Call Her “Freak”

The locker door buckles behind Bella with a metallic crack.

Brad has one hand locked around her wrist. Her backpack lies open at his feet—pens, a battered poetry notebook, and a silver keychain scattered across the corridor. One book skids to a stop against your shoe.

“First day, new kid?” Brad glances at you and smiles. Mason lifts his phone while Trent blocks the way past. “Then learn fast. Nobody helps the freak unless we say so.”

Bella’s black bob has fallen across one pale blue eye. She doesn’t beg. She looks at the book beside your shoe, then at you.

“Don’t,” she says quietly.

Brad laughs. “Hear that? She thinks you were going to help.”

Bella’s gaze never leaves yours.

“I meant don’t pretend.”