A week had passed, and Mark had found his rhythm. Or what passed for one.
Every morning started the same: up early, body aching through the exercise routine he'd stitched together from late-night research sessions between homework and exhaustion. Downstairs for whatever breakfast he could stomach, then school. He'd mapped every gang-owned corner of his block in his head like a minefield, and he walked the line between them with the kind of care you used for live wires.
Austin hadn't sugarcoated it that first week. Outside the gates, there were no rules about killing on the streets. Guns weren't rare here — they were common, more common than they'd ever been back in Zimbabwe, and they turned wrong steps into last ones. You could be dead before the sound caught up to you.
Adrian had backed it up with his own warning. Blue High. Their rival school. "If you see their uniform, it's on sight," he'd said, flat and certain. Silver High versus Blue High. No questions asked, no answers given.
Mark wasn't scared for himself. He was scared for Mom and Mary.
Mom was a doctor, and dangerous city or not, nobody was stupid enough to hurt the cheapest, closest person who could stitch them back together. Mary was the problem. They'd never gotten along, not really, but she was still his little sister and worrying came standard with the older-brother title. She was pretty. Undeniably, unfairly pretty, and he'd seen enough of how guys here looked at girls to know that was a target all its own. Still, some stubborn part of him needed to believe she could handle herself. Had to believe it, or the knot in his chest would never come loose.
---
Mark was in English now, front desk, while the same teacher who'd bailed them out of detention a week ago lectured on early 18th-century poetry.
Most of the class was dead to it. Asleep, murmuring, heads down and faces lit by phones. But Adrian and Connor — surprisingly — were locked in, in their own ways. Adrian with his lollipop, eyes half-lidded but tracking every word like a cat watching a mousehole. Connor slouched so far he was almost horizontal, but he wasn't snoring.
He'd expected it from Hakim and Austin. Not from them.
Mark didn't mind it. Every lesson here felt like a different planet compared to Zimbabwe's curriculum. For once, learning didn't feel like punishment. It felt like new ground under his feet.
The lesson dragged, voice washing over the room, until —
_BRRRING._
The bell cut through it. Break time.
---
Students poured out toward the cafeteria, and most of the girls swarmed Adrian like ants on spilled honey.
Mark watched it happen and sighed, more amused than jealous.
"How does he handle all that attention all the time?" he murmured, sliding his book into his bag.
"I ask myself that every time I see it."
Mark turned. Hakim stood behind him, that nonchalant smile already in place like he'd been wearing it all morning.
"Sup, man," Hakim said, dapping him up.
"Sup, Hakim," Mark replied, his own smile easy, laid-back.
"All good, dude. We going to lunch. You coming?" Hakim jerked his chin toward the door where Connor waited, grinning like he'd already tasted the pizza.
"As you can see… Red's a bit impatient."
"Sure, but what about Adrian?" Mark glanced over. Adrian was still buried under a wall of girls.
"Don't worry, he'll be fine," Hakim said, waving it off. "They usually bring him food and stuff. Now let's go quick. Today's Pizza Friday, after all."
He caught Mark's sleeve and tugged him toward the door.
---
The halls parted for them. First-years flattened themselves against lockers. Second-years dropped their eyes and kept walking. Nobody blocked them.
This was rank. Not some title on paper, but authority that walked out of the classroom and kept going. Mark saw it, felt it, and couldn't help being impressed despite himself.
His phone buzzed.
Mom: _Hey sweety, I'm going to have another busy day at work today so I might return late again. Make sure to cook and look after your sister._
He thumbed _Okay_ and slid the phone back into his pocket.
More first-years peeled out of their way without a word. The weight of rank wasn't spoken. It didn't need to be.
"So, Red, you still mad about the ass-whooping you got from SK?" Hakim jabbed Connor in the ribs, grinning.
"He just caught me off guard," Connor said, chest puffing up on instinct. "If I was ready, I could have beat him."
"Really now?" Hakim's grin went wider, sharper.
"Of course." Connor smirked, not backing down.
Hakim laughed. "If you say so, man."
---
They hit the cafeteria and it was noise. First-years and second-years packed at tables, talking loud, laughing, shoving fries at each other — the whole place buzzing like a generator about to blow. For a second it almost looked normal.
The three of them found a table near the edge, relatively empty, and claimed it. Bags hit the surface. Hakim was already standing.
"Y'all stay here. I'm gonna get the food," he said, easy, like it was already decided.
"Wait, don't forget the cash." Connor fished bills out, and Mark did the same, both of them passing it over.
"No problem," Hakim said, pocketing it. "So which flavors y'all like?"
"I want a pepperoni pizza." Connor's grin was already hungry.
"I kinda figured," Hakim shot back. "What 'bout you, Mark?"
"Just get the one you think is best."
"Ok man." Hakim turned and headed for the counter, weaving through the crowd like he owned the path.
Mark took the second to look around. Bianca was across the room, seated with a cluster of girls from her class. She caught his eye and waved, smile bright and quick. He nodded back. Far east, Payal was with her own group — girls from her class, same setup — but she didn't look up. Didn't notice him watching.
"Hey Connor?" Mark said, breaking the quiet that had settled between them.
"What's up, dude? I'm about to beat my high score," Connor answered without looking up from his phone, Temple Run already eating his attention.
"I have a few questions."
"Ok then, ask 'em." Connor's thumbs didn't slow.
"Where's Austin? I barely saw him today."
"Don't blame you. That bookworm usually goes straight to the library and skips class entirely. Teachers let it slide 'cause he's got the best grades out of all the first-years."
"I see. Second question — why aren't there any third and fourth years here?"
"That's a dumb question. It's 'cause they're seniors."
"What do you mean?"
"Haven't you noticed there's a second floor in the school?" Connor said, a trickle of sweat sliding down his cheek as the game got tense. "First floor's for first and second years. Second floor's for third and fourth. That's also where the student council room is."
I see. So the first and second years are separated from the third and fourth years. Structured. Clean lines in a school that felt like it should've been nothing but chaos.
Mark thought it over as he looked out through the glass wall of the cafeteria, the noise behind him and the rest of the world on the other side.
---
It took about ten minutes before Hakim was back, trays balanced, the smell of grease and cheese hitting the table before he did. He set them down with a clatter.
"I'm back, y'all. Hope you weren't too hungry now," he said, sliding into the seat next to Connor, who still hadn't looked up from his game.
"Don't you know it's rude to play a game while eating?" Hakim reached over and plucked Connor's phone right out of his hands, smooth as a pickpocket.
"No — why do you always insist on doing that!" Connor snapped, hand grabbing at empty air.
"'Cause we're human, not savages," Hakim said, grinning as he set the phone face-down on the table.
"Fuck you, man," Connor muttered, voice dripping annoyance, but he didn't make a move to take it back. He knew better.
Hakim put his hands together and said a quick, quiet prayer before he picked up a slice and started eating. Between bites, he started up a conversation like nothing had happened.
"Yo, Mark. You got plans tonight?"
"No. Why?"
"The boys were thinking of doing a night on the town, and since you're new to the city, we figured we could show you around." He took a bite of pizza, cheese stretching before it snapped.
"Sorry, man. I gotta take care of my little sister."
"You have a sister?" Connor's head came up, curiosity cutting straight through the annoyance.
Mark just nodded.
"Is she hot?" Connor asked, and the words were barely out before Mark's eyes cut to him, a glare cold enough to kill the noise at the table.
Connor shut his mouth. Then, after a beat, he grinned. "Whoa, buddy. I didn't think you were capable of a glare like that."
"Only a fool would talk about a man's little sister, dawg," Hakim said, laughing around his pizza.
"But anyways, man, it's cool. You free tomorrow though, right? We can go then," Hakim said, smile easy again.
"Ok." Mark kept it simple.
"Great. Now let me get your number." Hakim pulled his phone out, thumb already moving. "I'll add you in the boys' group chat."
He programmed Mark's number in, the screen lighting his face while Connor reached for his phone like it might bite him.
---
After that, lunch went on like it had all week. Talking, eating, Connor trying to steal his phone back, Hakim laughing too loud. Normal. The only thing that broke the rhythm was a fight outside the cafeteria — two girls from 1C going at it, hair-pulling and screaming. Rumor said it was over SK. Might've been speculation. Mark figured it was possible.
One thing he'd learned in a week: people here would fight over anything. Minor or major didn't matter. A look, a word, a boy. The reason was just an excuse.
After that, the day bled out like any other. Lessons, teachers talking, clock dragging its feet. By three, they were out the gates and heading home.
Mark decided to walk. Stretch his legs, see more of the city than the inside of a bus. Take it in. But taking it in meant he drifted, and drifting meant he crossed a line he didn't know was there. Blue Academy territory.
He didn't notice the five of them. Didn't see how they peeled off from walls and doorways and fell in behind him, keeping distance, waiting. They wanted him alone. Wanted a corner he couldn't run from.
Mark had earbuds in. The world was muted, distant. He was busy looking at storefronts, at graffiti, at the way the late sun hit cracked concrete. He wasn't looking for danger. So he didn't see it coming.
He turned into a narrow pathway — walls close, sky a thin strip — and that was when they moved.
Except they didn't get to him.
A huge silhouette stepped out first, wide enough to fill the alley. A smaller one beside him, still as a blade.
"Not today, guys," the small one said, voice light, almost bored. "He might be my new toy. I need him in good condition."
He nodded at the big one.
Three minutes. That was all it took. Screams tore up into the sky, sharp and wet. When it was quiet again, the five boys weren't moving right. Some of them weren't moving at all. Some of them might've been luckier if they'd stopped moving for good.
Mark heard none of it. The earbuds kept everything out. He walked on, hands in his pockets, thinking about homework and what to make for Mary. The two silhouettes watched him go.
"What do we do now, boss?"
"Let's say that boy did this and see how it plays out." The smaller one turned, and they walked the other way.
Mark's Saturday was about to be the most chaotic day of his life. He wouldn't know why. Wouldn't know what was coming for him.
That remained to be seen.
---