I lacked nothing that money could buy. I wore clothes that came straight from glossy magazines, carried the newest phone long before most students even knew it existed, and had a debit card with a limit I never bothered to ask about. Yet inside me lived a quiet hollowness that followed me from room to room. Meals were silent. Birthdays were efficient. Conversations ended quickly.
At school, I filled that emptiness with dominance.
Every system needs someone at the bottom, and I chose my target carefully.
His name was Mateo Brooks.
Mateo attended the school on a full scholarship. He sat near the back of every classroom, his notebooks neat but worn, his pencils sharpened down to stubs. His uniform had clearly belonged to someone else before him, the fabric faded and the sleeves slightly too short. He walked as if trying to take up as little space as possible, shoulders curved inward, eyes rarely lifting from the ground.
What caught my attention most was his lunch.