2025-05-28 04:41:09I was used to being the joke.
At Crestwood High, I was the kid no one noticed—except when they needed someone to laugh at. My name was Elijah Turner, but most just called me "Ratboy" or "E.T." or some other variation of insult. I stopped correcting them years ago. It didn’t matter. Crestwood wasn’t a place for people like me. It was a breeding ground for legacy students—kids with last names that opened doors, drove imported cars to school, and never worried about student loans. I, on the other hand, biked here every day, wore the same three hoodies on rotation, and lived in a tiny apartment above a laundromat with my grandmother. She did her best. God, she really did. But no amount of love or encouragement could shield me from the social slaughterhouse that was Crestwood High. And today? Today was slaughter day. It was a Friday, which meant school spirit day. Which also meant I had made the fatal mistake of wearing my regular faded jeans instead of the approved Crestwood green-and-gold gear. Just another excuse for them to single me out. I was at my locker, stuffing my books into my bag, when I heard the thudding footsteps behind me—too loud, too deliberate. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “Yo, Ratboy!” The voice was unmistakable. Jordan Easton. Star quarterback. Resident prince of Crestwood. And my daily tormentor. I turned slowly, trying not to show the dread knotting in my stomach. Jordan stood there with that smug grin he always wore—like he was the center of the universe and we were all just extras in his movie. Behind him was his entourage: Chris, Troy, and of course, Amelia Rhodes. The queen of the school. Long blonde hair, perfect teeth, laugh like a dagger. “Didn’t get the memo, freak?” Jordan said, tapping the gold ‘C’ on his varsity jacket. “Today’s spirit day.” I adjusted my backpack straps and looked past him. “I didn’t have anything in those colors.” Chris let out a dramatic gasp. “You hear that? Poor Eli doesn’t own anything in gold and green! Tragic.” Jordan clucked his tongue. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Before I could move, he grabbed my water bottle from the side of my bag and upended it over my head. Cold water soaked my hair, my neck, and the back of my hoodie. Laughter exploded around me. I heard phones clicking, recording. I froze. Amelia’s voice was syrupy and fake. “Jordan, stop. You’re going to make him cry again.” “I’m not crying,” I muttered, teeth clenched. Jordan stepped closer, towering over me. “You should be thanking us, E.T. Now you look like you actually took a shower.” More laughter. I should’ve fought back. Thrown a punch. Screamed. Anything. But I didn’t. Instead, I wiped my face with my sleeve, slammed my locker shut, and walked away—dripping, humiliated, and absolutely hating myself. The rest of the day passed in a blur of whispers, sideways glances, and snickers. I didn’t bother going to lunch. I hid out in the library, like always, taking refuge between rows of forgotten books. This was my sanctuary. My cage. I tried to focus on the scholarship application I was filling out—yet another desperate attempt to escape this hellhole and make something of myself. I was top of the class, after all. That had to count for something, right? But my fingers trembled, and the words blurred on the screen. Why did I keep believing it would get better? Why did I keep hoping? Because of her. Amelia Rhodes. The irony wasn’t lost on me. The same girl who stood by while they laughed at me—mocked me—was the same girl I used to dream about. Before she changed. Before popularity devoured her. Back in sophomore year, we were lab partners in Chemistry. She used to smile at me. Used to ask questions about space and stars and what I wanted to be when I got older. Back then, I thought maybe, just maybe, she saw me. Now? She barely saw me as human. I hated that I still thought about her smile. I hated that my heart still fluttered when I heard her laugh—even when it wasn’t meant for me. I was pathetic. After school, I lingered at my locker until the halls were empty. I didn't want to risk another run-in. But as I turned the corner toward the side exit, I stopped dead in my tracks. There they were. Jordan, Chris, Troy—and Amelia. Huddled around Jordan’s car in the parking lot, laughing, sharing drinks, tossing a football back and forth. They hadn’t noticed me yet. I should’ve turned around. But I didn’t. I kept walking, head down, determined to slip past. No such luck. “Yo, E.T.!” Jordan called out. “Got any weekend plans? Maybe polish some shoes? Clean a few toilets?” I didn’t answer. Chris lobbed the football. It smacked the back of my head. I stumbled, but stayed on my feet. Jordan whistled. “Nice reflexes, nerd.” I turned slowly. My jaw clenched. “Leave me alone.” “Oh, he speaks,” Amelia said, pretending to be shocked. “Quick, someone write it down.” I glared at her. For a moment, the mask slipped. I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes—shame, maybe. Regret? But it vanished as fast as it came. Jordan moved closer, slinging an arm around my shoulders mockingly. “You know, Eli, maybe if you weren’t so weird, people would actually like you.” I shrugged him off. “I don’t want people like you to like me.” His smile dropped. That was a mistake. Next thing I knew, my backpack was ripped off me. Chris dumped the contents onto the pavement—textbooks, notes, the calculator I’d saved for months to buy. It clattered to the ground, breaking apart. I stared at it. And then they all laughed again. But this time, I didn’t walk away. This time, I looked Jordan dead in the eye and said, “One day, you’re going to regret this.” He laughed, tossing my notebook into a puddle. “Sure I will, E.T. Sure I will.” I stood there, soaked in humiliation, surrounded by my things like broken pieces of a life no one cared about. "Oh yeah! Keep dreaming nerd." Jordan said and launched a blow at my face. I fell down fast and went unconscious
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CHAPTER NINE
I could barely sleep. I lket wondering who sent the money and his they knew that I needed it. I shove my phone that kept making a funny sound in my face.. Ever since I left the grand hall of Crestwood. It has been tons of messages and friend request. Most of the students wanted to know who I really am. Who my parents were? Amd most importantly why I had been hiding the fact that I was rich. But the truth was that, I wasn't. I was just some street rat whose blood was collected to be tested if I was the real deal. My mind flashed back as I remembered what he said. Was I the lost long kid afterall? Or did he just took pity on me and sent me the money? No one sends that amount of money except if only...I couldn't think strait. I looked at my phone and saw the student forum had been blowned up with losts of pictures and video about what happened that day. But why did Cindy bet on me? Did she know something that I didn't? Cindy was one of the richest kids in
CHAPTER EIGHT
" Do you think he has the money?" " Eli is always a loafer and will forever be. Do you even see his shoes?" [ Some of the kids laughed. ] " I bet he does not have the money to pay. He is only stalling. Trying to buy more time." " And what if he is not?" " Have you seen the guy? He can barely afford lunch. What does that tells you?" " I had Jordan's father just bought the most biggest house in the city. Did you get an invite for the house warming party?" A girl in a short skimpy dresss asked looking at her friend. " No." " Huh? That means you are of lower class. I should watch the kind of friends move with." She said laughing " Ten thousand grand on Eli that he is bluffing." Tracy Stewart said laughing. Most of the students all began to drop their money all betting against me. But then a girl came forwards. She was known to be on her own. She was like the queen in the school and many feared her for some unreasons I know nothing about. " One thousand g
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain had stopped by the time I reached Crestwood’s front courtyard, but the damage had already been done. Students were gathered in clusters, whispering, filming, laughing—phones pointed like weapons at the center of it all. In the middle, my grandmother stood, her coat soaked, curls frizzed from the drizzle, her back ramrod straight as she faced down Jordan and two of his usual shadows. Jordan was smiling like he was on stage. “Come on, old lady. Just say it. Kneel and beg, and maybe I’ll forgive your little grandson’s temper tantrum.” The crowd chuckled. “Show some humility,” one of his cronies added. My blood boiled. I shoved past a pair of junior girls, storming into the circle like a bull. “Grandma!” I shouted, voice cracking with urgency. “Get up! You don’t have to talk to them.” I said in anger shoving my way through the clustering crowd that were hovering over my grandmother who was on her knees. She turned toward me, her expression equal parts relief and fury. “E
CHAPTER SIX
The car door remained open, silent as the rain peppered the pavement. I stared at the black leather interior, unsure if I was hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Maybe Jordan had punched me straight into a fever dream. But the car was real. And someone was waiting. I hesitated. I could still turn around, go home, lick my wounds, try to explain to my grandma why I’d been suspended and didn’t fight harder to stay in school. But my legs didn’t listen. They moved on their own. I slid into the backseat, soaked hoodie dripping onto the plush carpeted floor. The door closed automatically behind me with a soft hiss. Inside, the air smelled like expensive cologne and leather polish. The divider between the driver and the back was up, blacked out. But I wasn’t alone. A man sat across from me in the wide backseat, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than everything I owned. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a hard face, graying temples, and
CHAPTER FIVE
It went through. No error. No decline. Just a beep. “Approved,” she mumbled, stunned. People started cheering. Some clapped me on the back. Even Jordan looked confused from across the room. I didn’t say a word. I just walked away. That night, I got another message. > [Well done, Mr. Turner. You’ve shown initiative. Your next task arrives tomorrow.] I stared at the screen with disbelief. Who am I? The euphoria of the cafeteria victory faded faster than I expected. By the next morning, I was nobody again. The whispers returned, laced with bitterness instead of awe. “Bet it was a one-time thing.” “Probably stole it.” “Didn’t you hear? That was his grandma’s pension money.” I tried to ignore them, but it was like walking through a swarm of flies. Persistent. Annoying. Biting. And, of course, Jordan was waiting. He caught up with me outside the locker room after gym, where I’d stayed behind to change. Everyone else was gone, and I was just tightening
CHAPTER FOUR
My gaze was fixed on the screen. Just those two words: Yes / No. Simple. Plain. But they felt like a loaded gun pointed straight at me. My thumb hovered, shaking. Every logical part of my brain screamed Don't. This was insane. Creepy. Probably illegal. I should delete the message, block the number, call the bank, call the cops, do something normal. But then again, normal never got me anywhere. Not when normal meant watching my grandmother cough through the night because we couldn’t afford the good medicine. Not when normal meant skipping meals so she could eat. Not when normal meant walking to school with my shoes coming apart and pretending it didn’t bother me when Jordan and his gang laughed at me in front of everyone. $50,000 wasn’t normal. And maybe… neither was I. I took a shaky breath, the air thick in my throat. Then, I tapped Yes. Nothing happened. No confetti, no dramatic music. Just the message disappearing, like it had never been there. I stared at the
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