.
---
Chapter Nine – Lines in the Sand
The next day started with warning signs.
Harry noticed it the second he stepped through the school gates.
Mason and his group—Kane, Dylan, a few others—were huddled together near the benches, speaking low and glancing around too often.
Harry kept his head down and moved fast. But the weight of their stares trailed after him like smoke.
"They're planning something," Sophie said, appearing at his side, her voice low.
"Yeah, I figured," Harry muttered.
"You want to ditch today? We could fake stomachaches."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Wouldn't work. They'd just find another time."
Sophie sighed. "Bravery is highly overrated, by the way."
Together, they made it to first period without incident. And second.
But Harry could feel it building—the way thunder gathers before a storm.
It wasn't a question of if something would happen.
It was when.
---
It hit in third period.
During History class, Mr. Barton handed out a group project assignment—one Harry would've normally dreaded. But this time, there was an added cruelty.
"Groups will be random today," Mr. Barton said. "Check the list on the projector."
Harry scanned the screen.
His stomach twisted.
Harry Blake — Mason Reed — Dylan Connors — Tasha Vance.
He didn't even have time to protest before Mason was sliding into the seat next to him, wearing a wolfish grin.
"Looks like we're partners, freak."
Harry said nothing. He focused on the assignment handout, ignoring the way Dylan snickered behind his hand.
"Relax, Blake," Mason murmured. "We'll carry you like always. You just sit there and try not to screw it up."
Sophie, two tables away, caught Harry's eye. Her face tightened, but she couldn't say anything without drawing attention.
Neither could he.
The bell rang, ending class.
As Harry stood to leave, Mason "accidentally" knocked Harry's books from his hands. They scattered across the floor.
The room erupted into muffled laughter.
Harry bent down slowly, cheeks burning. His hands trembled.
He expected no one to help him.
But then, a hand appeared in front of him.
Slim, dark-skinned, ringed fingers.
Lena.
Without a word, she helped him gather his things, ignoring the snickers around them. Ignoring Mason's smirk.
When they stood, Lena faced Mason directly. No fear. Just cool, sharp disdain.
"You drop something, Reed," she said, voice calm and cutting.
Mason's smile faltered.
Harry stared, stunned.
Sophie slid next to them.
"We good here?" she said, eyes flashing.
Mason opened his mouth—maybe to snap back, maybe to escalate—but Mr. Barton appeared behind him, arms crossed.
"Problem, Reed?"
Mason stiffened. "No, sir."
"Good. Get moving."
---
The three of them walked out together—Harry, Sophie, Lena—moving as a unit through the buzzing hallways.
When they reached the lockers, Harry finally found his voice.
"Thanks," he muttered, still shaky.
Lena shrugged, casual as ever. "You'd do the same."
He wasn't so sure about that. Not yet. But maybe... someday.
Sophie bumped his shoulder playfully. "Looks like we're building a rebellion."
Harry gave a dry laugh. "A very small rebellion."
"Hey," Sophie said, grinning, "it's not the size. It's the heart."
Lena smirked. "And the strategy. Don't forget that part."
For the first time in a long while, Harry felt something warm spark inside him.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Not loneliness.
Something stronger.
Hope.
---
Later, after school, they gathered at the park across the street—a quiet patch of green where the city noise faded away.
They sprawled in the grass, backpacks tossed aside.
Lena pulled a sketchbook of her own from her bag—not drawings like Harry's, but pages full of plans. Notes. Maps of how bullies operated through social pressure. Names connected by arrows.
"You've been studying them?" Harry asked, amazed.
Lena nodded. "Since middle school. Patterns never change. Bullies need an audience. Take away the audience, they lose power."
Sophie leaned back on her elbows, staring at the sky. "So we need to make them less entertaining?"
"Exactly," Lena said. "Expose them. Make them boring. Make them... weak."
Harry traced his fingers over one of the diagrams.
Mason's name sat at the center of the map, like a spider in a web.
It wouldn't be easy.
It would definitely be messy.
But maybe—just maybe—they had a chance.
He looked up at the two girls sitting with him, fierce and stubborn and unbreakable.
For the first time, Harry didn't feel like a lost cause.
He felt like part of something.
And that made all the difference.
---