Chapter 6: Surviving Maple Heights

6.

On my first day at Maple Heights High, I refused my parents’ offer to drive me. I knew Dad was busy with his new business, so I carried my backpack and went alone.

The morning was crisp, dew still clinging to the grass. I slipped in my earbuds, listening to the muffled sounds of the neighborhood waking up—dogs barking, engines starting, kids yelling across yards. My heart thudded in time with my footsteps.

The homeroom teacher was a chubby, bald man with a cheerful smile.

He wore a Hawaiian shirt under his corduroy blazer, the kind of fashion disaster only a truly happy person could pull off. He greeted me at the office with a firm handshake and a wink. "Ready to meet the lions, Lillian?"

When we reached the classroom door, it was chaos inside.

Desks were rearranged into odd shapes. Someone was balancing a pencil on their nose while another kid lobbed a paper airplane across the room. It smelled like old gym shoes and stale gum.

Because I couldn’t hear in my left ear, my right ear was extra sensitive. I didn’t know who threw a chair, but it startled me.

The sudden clatter made me jump, my pulse skyrocketing. I touched my ear out of habit, steadying myself before stepping further into the fray.

The homeroom teacher gave me a reassuring smile: "Don’t worry, just wait here a sec."

He patted my shoulder, then strode in like a man on a mission, hands on his hips, and shouted in a booming voice:

"Everybody, quiet down!"

No one listened…

A pencil whizzed past his head. He ducked, face turning red with exasperation. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

His face turned red: "If you don’t quiet down, I’m calling your parents!"

A kid in the back shot back, "Go ahead, mine’s probably at work!"

That got their attention. Groans rippled through the room as kids slouched back to their seats. The chaos simmered down to a dull roar.

At last, the class settled down.

He straightened his blazer and shot me a thumbs-up, as if to say, "See? Piece of cake."

"Today, we have a new transfer student in our class."

I felt every pair of eyes swivel my way. My palms went sweaty, but I forced myself to smile.

I walked in, stood at the front, and introduced myself simply:

"Hey, I’m Lillian—like the flower, but with two L’s."

The moment the words left my lips, a murmur swept through the room. Someone in the back whispered, "That’s actually kinda cute."

A chorus of excited voices erupted below:

"The new girl’s so pretty!"

"Quick, is my hair a mess?"

I felt my cheeks flush. It was better than the cold stares I’d feared. I managed a nervous laugh.

In the corner, someone spoke up impatiently:

"So loud."

The voice was low, almost bored. The rest of the class snapped to attention, and suddenly, it was quiet enough to hear the buzzing of the old ceiling fan.

The room instantly fell silent.

Even the teacher looked relieved. I shot a grateful glance at the mysterious kid in the corner.

I was a bit surprised. After the homeroom teacher massaged his temples for a while, he told me to sit in front of that person.

I glanced around, clutching my backpack, and nodded. The chair squeaked as I sat down, right in the line of the mystery student’s gaze.

I hesitated.

For a split second, I wondered if this was the right move. But the alternative was standing awkwardly in front of thirty strangers, so I sat anyway.

The homeroom teacher reassured me: "It’s fine, that kid doesn’t hit girls."

I blinked, not sure if I should laugh or run. That wasn’t the comfort I’d hoped for, but at least it broke the tension.

Me: ………

I forced a smile, silently promising myself to watch my back.

So he hits people, just not girls.

Yikes.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to focus on the open window and the distant sound of someone mowing a lawn.