Heat and Cold

High school. They said that being in high school is fun.  A lot of memories can be made that you will always remember and cherish when you finish and graduate. But today start’s the last year of me being in high school. The only memory I made is being caught up in my classmate’s conflicts, by making me the biggest target in Fiat Locke Academy for three years.

‘What do you mean by caught up, Niel?’

It means being targeted by the bullies. Making fun of, being the laughingstock for everyone’s happiness. But things are just the way they are. I cannot change it, even if I have to beg for them to stop, they won’t, they will just continue and I just have to suffer. And I am used to it.

“Good Morning sunshine!”

And speaking of, the leader of my bullies, Nathan. I don’t know why he chose me to be the target of everyone, it’s just one day, they all went up to me and then they started saying things that are funny to them, but offensive to me.

“Mornin’.” The only thing that came out of my mouth.

“You’ve got breakfast?” He asks and I look at him… confused, as he wraps his arms on my shoulder. His smile makes me sick. Because you know that when he smiles like this, he will do, or say something to insult me.

Nathan was exactly what Fiat Locke Academy considered a casanova. He was tall, easily towering over my slouching frame, with dark, effortlessly wavy hair that always looked perfectly styled even after a grueling practice. He possessed the kind of broad, athletic build that only came from hours of high intensity training, which made sense considering he was one of the star players on the school’s hockey team. To everyone else, he was a charming golden boy. To me, he was a nightmare in a varsity jacket.

“Because if you haven’t eaten yet,” Nathan continued, his voice dropping into that dangerously sweet tone I had learned to fear, “I’d love to buy you some. With your money, of course.”

The guys standing behind him laughed. It was the same routine every year. I adjusted my thick glasses, keeping my eyes glued to the tiled floor, and silently reached into my pocket to hand over my lunch money. Fighting back only made the bruises last longer. Satisfied with his easy prize, Nathan patted my cheek a little too hard, shoved me against the lockers, and walked away with his crew.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my oversized sweater. They didn't know who I really was. They didn't know that the clumsy, stuttering nerd they loved to torment was the son of the legendary hockey pro whose jersey hung in the national hall of fame. My dad died on the ice, and when he died, my relationship with the sport died too. I hid behind these oversized glasses and messy hair because blending into the background was safer than carrying a legacy.

I have kept wondering, what if my dad didn’t die, would I suffer the same situation I am stuck in? Will Nathan respect me? Or will he still mock me?

I guess we’ll never know.

When the first bell rang, I dragged myself to my homeroom, pulling out my notebook and trying to mentally prepare for another year of survival. The classroom filled up with loud chatter, everyone catching up on their summer breaks. I kept my head down, staring at the desk.

The final bell rang, and the teacher walked in, shutting the door. But before she could even introduce herself, the door swung open again.

The entire room went dead silent.

Standing in the doorway was Michael Joel.

If Nathan was a nightmare, Michael was the devil himself. As the captain of the school's hockey team, he carried an air of absolute authority that made even the teachers hesitant to cross him. He was built like a brick wall, his sharp jawline set in a permanent, icy scowl. Dark, intense eyes swept across the room, dismissed everyone instantly, and settled right on the empty desk directly next to mine.

“You’re late, Mr. Joel,” the teacher said, her voice lacking any real reprimand.

Michael didn't even bother to answer. He just slung his black duffel bag over his shoulder and walked down the aisle. Every step he took felt heavy, suffocating. He pulled out the chair next to me, the screech of the metal legs scraping against my nerves.

As he sat down, a faint scent of winter air and expensive cologne hit me. He didn't look at me, but the sheer presence of him made my chest tight. Nathan was a bully who wanted attention; Michael was a force of nature who commanded it without saying a word.

I stared blindly at my notebook, my heart hammering against my ribs. Out of all the classrooms, out of all the empty seats in this academy, the universe had placed me right next to the captain.

Another hockey player. Another year of trouble. And looking at the rigid, unforgiving line of Michael's shoulders, I had a terrifying feeling that this year was going to be completely different from the rest.