Chapter 2: The Target on the Back
Life for Ben Miller had become a series of calculated movements designed to avoid confrontation. He walked with a hunched posture, his eyes constantly scanning for Derek or his cronies. He sat in the corners of classrooms, rarely spoke during lectures, and spent his lunch breaks in the library or the cafeteria, always praying for anonymity.
But anonymity was a luxury Derek Vance refused to grant him.
The cafeteria was Derek’s arena. It was where he solidified his status, holding court at the center table while his teammates watched, laughing at his "jokes." And the punchline was always Ben.
"Hey, Miller!" Derek shouted across the room one Tuesday. Ben froze, halfway to his seat. The entire cafeteria seemed to go quiet, the collective breath of hundreds of students held in anticipation of the inevitable show.
Ben trudged over, tray in hand. "Yeah, Derek?"
"I was just telling the guys," Derek said, grinning. "Your brother was actually halfway decent. A shame he broke. But you? You’re just a waste of a locker space. Why are you even still here? Your brother quit. He gave up on the team, he gave up on this school. I guess weakness just runs in the family, huh?"
Ben’s face burned. He felt the sting of tears, but he blinked them back, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. "Lucas didn't quit," Ben said, his voice trembling but surprisingly loud. "He got hurt."
Derek let out a bark of laughter. The football players surrounding him guffawed, slapping the table. "Oh, 'he got hurt.' Sounds like an excuse for a quitter. If you’re so proud of him, why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he saving you right now? Oh, right. Because he’s a loser, and you’re a loser’s little shadow."
Derek reached out, his hand wrapping around the edge of Ben’s tray. With a casual, almost bored flick of his wrist, he jerked the tray forward. The food—spaghetti, milk, a cup of fruit—slid, tipped, and crashed onto the floor. The sound of the plastic tray hitting the marble was a sharp, final report.
"Oops," Derek said, not looking at the mess. "Looks like you’re as clumsy as you are pathetic. Clean it up, Miller."
Ben stood there, shaking. He looked at the mess, then up at Derek’s smug, arrogant face. He saw the way the other students looked away, embarrassed, cowed, afraid to speak up. He felt completely, utterly alone.
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But what Ben didn’t know was that he wasn't alone. miles away, Lucas was logging into an old account, watching the digital footprint of the team’s group chats, reading the threads of vitriol Derek spewed daily. Lucas had known this day would come. He had been preparing for it.
He looked at his own knee, still stiff but healing. He looked at the calendar. It was time. He couldn't play, he couldn't hit the field, but he was still a captain. And captains protect their own.
