Chapter 5: Outcasts and Old Wounds

I saw Natalie again while playing basketball. It was a Saturday morning, the gym full of echoing sneakers, the scoreboard stuck on 12:34, half the lights buzzing overhead, and the faint smell of sweat and orange Gatorade.

The game was intense when suddenly, a ball flew in from the sidelines and hit my opponent. It bounced off with a satisfying thud, drawing a chorus of “Whoa!” from the guys on the court.

Before I could react, the boy who had just stolen the ball from me was surrounded by a group of thugs. Their jackets matched, all black with red thread stitched into the cuffs.

And Natalie stood in the middle of them, arms crossed, arrogantly saying to the boy, “That was you, wasn’t it? You stole my brother’s basketball?” Her voice rang out, cool and sharp.

The boy was dumbfounded, unable to say a word. He looked at me for backup, his cheeks flushed.

Natalie waved at me. “Caleb, come here.” Her words cut through the noise, the gym falling strangely silent.

I hadn’t seen her in a while, only hearing bits of gossip about her from classmates. Someone said she’d been seen at the train station with Derek, another claimed she dyed her hair blue.

After all, she was a school beauty—any little thing she did became the talk of the school. Her Instagram followers doubled every time she changed her profile pic.

Only now did I realize how much she’d changed. It was like someone had swapped out the Natalie I knew for a stranger with the same face.

She wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but a white shirt and an ultra-short skirt with ripped tights. Her boots had thick soles and silver buckles, and her nails were painted midnight black.

Eyebrow piercings, a nose stud, earrings, and purple lip gloss… She looked like she belonged in an episode of Euphoria, not homeroom.

Her once-pure, pretty face was now completely transformed. She even had a cigarette tucked behind her ear. It was all attitude and armor, and the old Natalie seemed a thousand miles away.

Natalie asked, “Caleb, did he steal your ball just now?”

I was speechless. “We were just playing.” I raised my hands, trying to diffuse the tension, wishing someone would just turn up the music and break the spell.

But she wouldn’t let it go. “Don’t be shy. With me here, no one can bully you.”

For a moment, the scene overlapped with my childhood memories. I was eight again, hiding behind the jungle gym—the rusty one behind the swings, where everyone traded Pokémon cards—my glasses broken in half, and Natalie standing tall in front of me.

I remembered back in fifth grade, when it was cool to have a local bully as your big brother. Every kid dreamed of someone older to stand up for them, to make them feel invincible.

I’d offended a bully in our class, and after school, he brought his big brother to teach me a lesson. My stomach churned as the sun went down, the playground emptying out.

Natalie happened to see it. Without hesitation, she rushed over and shielded me like a mother hen, yelling, “My dad’s a cop! If you touch him again, none of you will get away with it!”

She was bluffing, and her voice even trembled with fear—but she still stood in front of me, unwavering. I believed her, and for a moment, so did the bullies.

But this time was different. Now, Natalie was stirring up trouble for no reason, just to show off in front of everyone. Her laugh sounded hollow, the crowd egging her on.

She was intoxicated by being surrounded by a crowd. The thrill of chaos sparkled in her eyes, as if the world owed her attention.

I declined politely, “We’re seniors now. No one does childish stuff like that.” My voice was soft, but I meant every word.

Natalie looked a little embarrassed. She chewed her lip, flicking her gaze away like she was searching for an escape.

I squeezed through the crowd and apologized to the innocent boy. “Sorry. I’ll buy you a Coke to make up for it.” I forced a smile, hoping it would smooth things over.

A thug behind Natalie jabbed a finger at my face and cursed, “Don’t you know what’s good for you? Our girl’s standing up for you—who do you think you are?”

I replied bluntly, “No need.” I was done playing their game.

“Fine! I was just trying to help. Next time you’re in trouble, don’t come crying to me.”

Natalie left, surrounded by her entourage. Her heels clicked on the gym floor, echoing long after she was gone.

After she left, my classmates whispered:

“Natalie’s repeating her senior year, almost done, and she’s still hanging out with those people. She must be out of her mind.”

“She’ll regret it. If you don’t work hard now, when will you? You only get one shot at this—wasting it is the dumbest thing you can do.”

Everyone saw things clearly. No one thought she was cool anymore. It was all just a show, and we were tired of being the audience.