Friday, January 5th, 3:50 p.m. 

Junie’s POV  

I hate this class, you know,” I grumbled as Beth and I stared into the endless abyss that was this lecture. I can’t even remember why I signed up — probably because of Beth, honestly. 

“Junie, all you do is complain,” she whispered. 

I groaned. She wasn’t wrong. I just wish she was. 

Class dragged on like molasses. I’d rather be at the mall — or maybe even with… No. That’s a stupid thought. My head throbbed, sharp and pulsing. I winced and rubbed my temple, letting my head fall to the desk. I knew it was against the rules of this godforsaken class, but I couldn’t help myself. 

I sighed, laying down for what felt like only a second before — 

SLAM. 

“JUNIE MARIE SMITH!” 

I jolted up, smacking the back of my head against the upper row. Pain bloomed behind my skull as I blinked through the mortifying fog of attention. Everyone was staring. My eyes finally met Ms. Brown’s, her face pinched and wrinkled. 

“Y-Yes, Ms. Brown?” I squeaked. 

“Tell me,” she barked, slamming her fists on her desk like she wished it was my head instead, “What is our lesson about?” 

I stared, mouth slightly open, then looked at Beth with desperate eyes: please help me. But Beth just looked like she was holding in the world’s loudest and longest laugh. 

“She won’t be helping you, Ms. Smith. Now answer the question.” 

I swallowed. “I… don’t exactly know.” 

Ms. Brown scoffed and sat down, scribbling something on a slip. 

“You’re lucky it’s 4:00. That means you still have time for detention.” She smiled, holding up the red slip like a trophy. 

I groaned and grabbed my things. “Thanks for the help,” I muttered to Beth as she let a snort escape between her lips. I trudged down the steps to the center of the room, took the slip from Ms. Brown’s bony fingers, and left without another word. 

Out in the hallway, I exhaled. At least I was out of that hellhole. Maybe I could find a way to drop the class altogether. 

I paced toward the other building, already tired. Detention, again. My second home. I winced at the thought. 

As I opened the door — 

“Couldn’t go one day without coming home, huh?” 

That voice. That disgusting, smug voice. My stomach turned as I stepped fully into the room. There he was — the man watching over detention. Thomas Mackey, otherwise known as my dad. The fat, pathetic excuse of a man who only came crawling back into my life after Mom got remarried. 

He took a job at the school to be close to me. As if. The guy basically begged my mother to not make him pay for child support. Why the hell would he want to see the kid he couldn’t afford? 

“I’d rather be at my real home,” I said flatly, walking past him to my usual seat. “But we don’t always get what we want.” 

He scowled but didn’t reply, just returned to grading papers. 

Today’s crew wasn’t anything new — Anthony, Atlas, Isabella, Mina, and the finest of them all: me, obviously. 

I sat down, letting my bag drop beside the chair with a thud. I leaned back and stared up at the buzzing lights attached to the ceiling — one of them flickered, like it was having a nervous breakdown. Fitting. 

Across the room, Anthony had already dozed off, and Mina was furiously typing under the desk like she thought no one would notice. Jeremy kept kicking the back of Isabella’s chair just to annoy her, and she wasn’t even trying to hide the dirty look she was giving him. 

Typical detention crew… 

I grumbled as I looked away from them, and my eyes landing on the clock on the wall—old, beige, and probably older than the school itself—was stuck. The second hand kept twitching in place like it was trying to move but couldn’t. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Strange.