
I really did believe high school drama had an expiration date.
That it stayed where it belonged—under fluorescent hallway lights, inside lockers, in the past. But life has a strange way of recycling old cruelty, dressing it up as “authority,” and sending it back when you least expect it.
It started so casually I almost missed the danger in it.
Lizzie came home from school and dropped her backpack by the kitchen table like she always did, except her shoulders looked heavier than the bag.
“We got a new science teacher,” she said.
“New teacher nerves?” I asked, half-smiling. “Strict?”


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