Chapter 1: The Price of a Lie

In my junior year of high school, Natalie got picked on by a bunch of jerks. I stepped in, thinking I was doing the right thing, but she turned on me and blamed me for starting it all. The school jumped on the chance to investigate and ended up expelling me. College was out of the question after that; instead, I learned how to fix cars, working as a mechanic for other people.

That decision flipped my whole world upside down. My hands learned the language of grease, not textbooks, and the future my dad dreamed about—a future filled with offices and crisp shirts—got swapped for busted knuckles and the endless rhythm of engines. Sometimes, I’d wonder if things could’ve gone differently, but mostly I tried not to think about it at all.

Eight years later, I bumped into Natalie again. She looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine—glamorous, confident, all smiles. But her tone dripped with pity: “You know, we were all dumb kids back then. I kinda feel bad for how things turned out for you. Hey, remember how everyone said you had a crush on me? What do you say—wanna go out for a day, just for old times?”

It was like she was offering me a handout, her perfume sharp in the air, memories of that hallway burning in my head. The nerve of it nearly made me choke. She had this smug little tilt to her chin, like she was tossing me a bone.

For a second, I wondered if she even remembered what she'd done to me, or if this was just her way of erasing it. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

I looked at her and just started laughing. “Natalie, who the hell do you think you are?”

I didn’t wait for her answer. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is laugh and walk away, even if your hands are still shaking from years ago.

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When the school handed me the expulsion notice, I could barely process what I was hearing.

The words blurred together on the page, the principal’s voice fading out as he read off the reasons. The plastic chair squeaked under me, and the scent of lemon cleaner stung my nose. I gripped the edge of the seat, trying not to throw up. I sat there in that blindingly bright office, sweat prickling under my collar, my whole body numb except for the relentless tick of the clock.

“Why are you back so early? Not gonna chill for a bit?”

My arm was in a sling as I turned toward the voice. It was Marcus—our school’s top bully. The same jerk who’d tormented Natalie and fought me to a draw, leaving us both banged up. He leaned on a crutch, limping, but when it came to trash-talking me, he was full of energy.

Marcus always strutted like he owned the place. Even hurt, he made that crutch look like a trophy, not a weakness, making sure everyone saw it.

Natalie was hiding behind him, fiddling with the zipper on her backpack, shoulders hunched, eyes darting anywhere but at me.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, staring at the scuffed linoleum, like she was hoping the floor would open up and swallow her whole—or at least erase the last week from memory. I could see her hands trembling on the straps of her bag.

“You know deep down you were the one who asked me for help.” I fixed my eyes on Natalie, making every word count.

Each word burned on my tongue. I wanted her to look at me, but she just flinched, her lips twisting like she was trying not to gag.

“Derek, Marcus and I were just messing around. I was only joking with you, who knew you…” Natalie trailed off, shrinking further behind Marcus. “Who knew you’d be so impulsive, hitting people without thinking…”

Her voice was soft and syrupy, but every word was a knife in my gut.

The hallway seemed to shrink around us, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Her tone—half apology, half accusation—left me colder than any punch Marcus ever threw. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

“What are you talking to him for?” Marcus waved his hand, rolling his eyes. “People like him are the biggest fakes. Talk to him too much, he’ll probably say we’re the ones lying. I don’t wanna be the bad guy who bullies his classmates.”

Marcus let out this loud, fake laugh. Natalie just twisted her mouth, like she was trying to keep from gagging.

Their laughter bounced off the lockers, shrill and phony, showing me exactly who my real friends were. My heart pounded, and I just stood there, swallowing anger and humiliation, the echoes trailing me all the way home.