“My name is Paul Matthew Lacson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I greeted the class in front of me with an awkward smile on my face. Some of them smiled back at me, while others did not care to make any response.

“Class, be sure to treat your new classmate well,” Miss Leah Sanchez reminded the students. She was the homeroom teacher of this class I transferred into. “Go ahead, Paul. You may take any vacant seat.” I thanked her and looked toward the room.

Each class can hold up to thirty students. The desks and seats were arranged into five rows and six columns. This class only have 24 students, all present, excluding me. There was only one vacant seat in the second row and five in the back row. I decided to take one of those five. The only other student in the back row was a male student occupying the seat by the window. I chose the seat closest to the door. There was an awkward vacant space of four seats between me and him.

“Now, that that’s settled, let’s proceed with some announcements…” Ms. Sanchez continued with the homeroom.

I am now in my second year of high school. To be honest, I didn’t want to go to school anymore. I dropped out of school two years ago after my first year. All of my previous classmates had already graduated. Some were already working, while others decided to go to university for a degree.

Staying at home, I spent most of my time playing video games and browsing the internet. No, I wasn’t a shut-in. I helped around the house whenever I can. Since I’m an only child, and both my parents work, I am almost always alone at home. I did the household chores myself.

When I told my parents that I didn’t want to go to school anymore, they understood and accepted my decision. I quit school because I was being bullied. There was only so much the school could do to help me while my parents were always busy at work to do anything about it. They must have felt guilty about it and accepted my choice.

Once, when I went to the mall to buy a new game, I met Ms. Sanchez by coincidence. She was a new teacher at the school back during my first year, and one of the few teachers who tried to help me when I was bullied.

We had a chat over some cake and coffee. She said that she should have been able to do more to help in my case back then. I told her that that wasn’t true and that she did her best, but she doesn’t seem convinced. In the end, she tried to persuade me to continue my schooling. She saw my records and that my grades were good. It would be a waste if I don’t graduate.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She also mentioned that my previous classmates had already graduated. Some of them admitted their fault and were guilty about it. The school did not admonish them, but the administration stated that if I would like to continue in my studies at their school, they would provide a discount for my tuition fees in reparation to the damage that I had received during my previous stay. The case would be kept in the dark from the other students currently enrolled. After all, all the students who knew about what happened had already graduated.

With the conditions, I called my parents and discussed it with them. I told them that I wanted to continue studying, and they were really happy about it.

And with that, I’m back here at my old school.

The bell rung and homeroom ended. Ms. Sanchez looked at me with a pleased smile and then left the room, which was then filled with a buzzing noise as the students started talking while preparing for the next class. Some of them were sneaking glances at me.

“Hey,” the girl sitting in front of me said as she turned around. “Do you have the materials for the next class?”

“Uh… no…” It took me a few seconds to make a proper response. “I haven’t bought any of the books yet.”

“Let’s share then,” she said with a smile. Swiftly, she stood up and brought her book, notebook, and pen case and placed them on top of the desk beside mine. She then pushed it and combined our desks, then brought the seat along. The other students who heard the noise of the desk and chair being dragged turned to look, then quickly lost interest.

“My name is Zari Mae Yu, but you can call me Za,” she said as she stretched out her hand for a shake while smiling brightly.

“I’m Paul Matthew Lacson… well you already heard that earlier. You can call me anyway you want.” I took her hand and shook it.

“Then I’ll take you up on that offer and call you Paul.”

The ten minute break ended and second period began.