The conversations gradually resumed, but the energy had changed. Word would spread through the school before the lunch period ended. The new girl had just declared war on Derek Morrison.
Keisha took a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly. She’d hoped to get through at least one day without trouble. But some things were inevitable. And backing down from bullies had never been an option. The real question wasn’t whether Derek would retaliate. It was when, and how far he’d be willing to go.
The harassment started before second period ended.
Keisha walked to her locker, keys in hand, but the lock wouldn’t turn. She tried again, checking the combination she’d memorized that morning. Nothing.
“Having trouble?” Jake Wilson appeared beside her, grinning. “Locks can be tricky when they get… damaged.”
She examined the mechanism. Someone had jammed gum into the keyhole.
“Real mature.”
“Just the beginning,” Jake said, walking away backwards so he could watch her reaction. “Derek’s got a long memory.”
Third period American history dragged by without incident. But as Keisha gathered her books, she noticed her notebook was missing—the one with three days’ worth of notes. She searched her bag twice before giving up.
In the hallway, she spotted Tommy Bradley showing off the notebook to a group of freshmen, making exaggerated gestures as he read her handwriting aloud in a mocking voice. “Look at this fancy penmanship. Must think she’s real special.”
Keisha approached calmly. “That’s mine.”
“Prove it.” Tommy held it above his head like a playground bully. “Maybe if you ask nice, I’ll consider giving it back.”
She didn’t ask. She didn’t grab for it either. Instead, she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of him holding it.
“What are you doing?” Tommy’s bravado wavered.
“Evidence.” She slipped the phone back into her pocket. “In case I need to file a theft report.”
Tommy’s face reddened. But he threw the notebook at her feet before stalking away. The pages scattered across the hallway floor. As Keisha knelt to collect her notes, a pair of worn sneakers appeared in her line of sight. She looked up to see Marcus Thompson, the same student who’d commented at lunch.
“You need some advice,” Marcus said quietly, glancing around to make sure they weren’t overheard.
“I’m listening.”
“Derek Morrison isn’t just some rich kid playing tough. His dad owns half the businesses in town, including the car dealership where my mom works. His uncle’s the police chief. When Derek wants something to happen, it happens.”
Keisha stood, clutching her retrieved notes. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“I’m trying to save you.” Marcus’s voice carried genuine concern. “Last year, there was this kid, Miguel Santos. Transfer student like you. Derek decided Miguel was getting too friendly with some girl Derek liked. Miguel ended up with a broken nose and three cracked ribs. Fell down some stairs, according to the official report.”
“And you believe that?”
“I believe Miguel transferred schools two weeks later.” Marcus leaned closer. “Look, I get it. Standing up feels good. But Derek doesn’t fight fair. And he doesn’t fight alone. Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.”
Before Keisha could respond, Marcus melted back into the crowd of students changing classes.
The afternoon brought escalating harassment. Someone “accidentally” spilled chocolate milk on her backpack during lunch. In chemistry lab, her safety goggles went missing, forcing her to borrow a scratched pair that made it impossible to read measurements clearly. By sixth period, a pattern had emerged. Derek’s crew took turns making her life difficult, always with plausible deniability. Always with witnesses who saw “accidents,” not harassment.
But seventh period pushed things too far.
Keisha sat in English class, trying to focus on the discussion of To Kill a Mockingbird, when Derek raised his hand.
“Mrs. Patterson, I think we should hear from our newest student about this book. I bet she has some real insights into the themes.”
Mrs. Patterson smiled encouragingly. “Keisha, would you like to share your thoughts on Harper Lee’s portrayal of racial injustice?”
The setup was obvious, but Keisha responded thoughtfully, discussing the book’s exploration of prejudice and moral courage. She spoke for two minutes, articulating her points clearly and intelligently.
When she finished, Derek started slow clapping.
“Wow, that was so well spoken. You’re really articulate for…” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “I mean, it’s nice to hear someone who can express themselves so clearly.”
The classroom fell silent. Mrs. Patterson’s face flushed, but she seemed frozen, unsure how to address the obvious racial undertone without making things worse.
“Thank you,” Keisha said evenly. “I appreciate you noticing my ability to communicate effectively.”
Derek’s smile faltered slightly at her calm response, but he pressed forward. “It’s just refreshing, you know? Sometimes people from certain backgrounds struggle with academic discussions.”
The silence grew heavier. A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“I’m sure you’ll find that people from all backgrounds can surprise you,” Keisha replied, her voice steady as steel.
When the bell rang, she gathered her books without hurry, walking out with her head high. But inside, something had crystallized. The games were over. Derek had just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. In the hallway, she could hear Derek laughing with his friends, probably congratulating himself on his clever performance. He had no idea what he’d just unleashed.
Friday morning started with Keisha finding her locker decorated. Someone had taped a banana to the metal door with a note that read “Welcome to the Jungle” in Derek’s distinctive handwriting. She removed it without expression, aware of the students gathering to watch her reaction. Some looked ashamed. Others snickered. Keisha crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash, but she kept the tape as evidence.
“Oh, did you not like your present?” Derek appeared with his usual entourage, speaking loud enough for the growing crowd to hear. “I thought you might be homesick for the urban wildlife.”
“Creative,” Keisha said, closing her locker with deliberate calm. “But you might want to work on your penmanship. Makes it easy to identify the source.”
Derek’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to his targets talking back, especially not in front of an audience. “Maybe you need a lesson in respect.”
“Maybe you need a lesson in basic human decency.”
The hallway buzzed with whispered reactions. Students pulled out phones, sensing something bigger brewing.
Throughout the morning, the harassment intensified. In P.E., someone had put itching powder in her gym clothes. During lunch, Jake Wilson deliberately bumped into her, sending her tray crashing to the floor.
“Oops,” Jake said, not bothering to hide his grin. “Hope you’re not too clumsy to clean that up.”
Keisha knelt to gather the scattered food, while students stepped around her. A few offered to help, but she waved them off. She could handle Derek’s games. What she couldn’t handle was the growing audience that seemed to enjoy the show.
The breaking point came during eighth period study hall. Keisha sat alone at a corner table working on calculus homework when Derek and his crew approached. The study hall monitor had stepped out, leaving 30 students unsupervised.
“Hey, everyone,” Derek announced, his voice carrying across the room. “I’ve got something special to share.”
He pulled out his phone, and suddenly Keisha’s voice filled the room through a small Bluetooth speaker. It was her English class discussion from the day before, but edited and manipulated. Her thoughtful comments about racial injustice had been spliced with audio clips to make it sound like she was saying inflammatory things about white people. The edited recording painted her as an angry, racist outsider who hated her new school and everyone in it.
Students looked shocked, confused, some angry.
“Guess we know how she really feels about us,” Derek said, pocketing his phone with satisfaction. “Good thing we got to hear her true thoughts.”
Keisha sat frozen as whispers erupted around her. Some students looked suspicious, others disgusted. A few seemed to realize the audio was fake, but their voices were drowned out by those who believed it.
“That’s not what I said.” Keisha’s voice cut through the noise, but Derek talked over her.
“Are you calling me a liar? Everyone just heard you.”
“Everyone just heard you manipulate recordings to make me sound like something I’m not.”
Derek stepped closer to her table. “Why would I need to manipulate anything? We all heard what kind of person you really are.”
The study hall door opened, and Mrs. Chen, the monitor, returned. The room fell silent, students suddenly fascinated by their homework.
“Is everything all right in here?” Mrs. Chen asked, sensing the tension.
“Perfect,” Derek said with his politician smile. “Just having a friendly discussion about current events.”
When the bell rang, Keisha gathered her books with hands that barely trembled. Students filed out, some avoiding eye contact, others staring openly. The damage was done. By tomorrow, Derek’s edited recording would be all over social media.
As she walked toward her final class, she overheard fragments of conversation…
