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Chapter Ten – Sparks Beneath the Surface
By Monday, the rumors had changed.
They still whispered Harry's name in the halls, but now it wasn't all mockery. Now it was confusion. Curiosity. Even, in rare moments, respect.
No one expected Harry Blake to bounce back. He was supposed to break. But instead, he was standing taller. Walking with people. Smiling.
It rattled the system more than Harry ever imagined.
"Three people can't change an entire school," he told Sophie as they sat on the back stairs during lunch.
"No," Sophie agreed, peeling an orange. "But they can start the spark that burns it all down."
Harry chuckled. "I thought you were the gentle one."
"I am," she said, tossing him a slice. "Gentle with people. Merciless with systems."
---
In their next class—Creative Writing, one of the only electives Harry actually liked—the teacher walked in five minutes late.
"Sorry, class," said the man, dropping a bag beside his desk. "I'm Mr. Barrett. I'll be subbing this term. Your last teacher moved abroad."
Mr. Barrett was young, probably early thirties, with messy hair and glasses that looked one sneeze away from falling apart. But the room shifted the moment he spoke—he had presence, the kind that demanded attention without trying.
"I don't believe in easy grades," he said, looking around. "I believe in voices. You've all got them. You just have to find yours."
Lena raised her hand. "What if no one wants to hear it?"
He smiled. "Then you make them listen."
Harry sat straighter in his seat.
For the first time in a long while, he wanted to write.
---
After class, Barrett called out as Harry headed for the door. "Blake, right?"
Harry turned. "Yeah."
"I saw your poem. The one about the mask. That was yours, right?"
Harry hesitated, surprised. "...Yeah."
Barrett nodded. "That was brave. You've got something. Keep writing."
Harry didn't know what to say. He left the room feeling... seen.
---
That afternoon, things took a turn.
Sophie had just gone to the restroom, and Harry was walking past the lockers alone when Mason stepped in front of him.
No jokes this time. No fake smiles.
Just a quiet threat.
"You think walking around with your little fan club makes you safe?"
Harry's heart thudded. "I'm not looking for trouble."
"You're already in it," Mason said, his voice low and steady. "And now you've got them in it too."
Behind Mason, Dylan looked uneasy, arms crossed, avoiding Harry's gaze. A crack.
Harry swallowed. "If you're going to hit me, just do it."
Mason's eyes narrowed. For a second, it looked like he might.
But then he smirked, leaned in, and whispered, "Not yet. I want to watch you fall first."
He stepped back and vanished down the hall.
Harry stood there, breath shallow, pulse racing.
---
Later that evening, the trio met again at the park. Sophie brought snacks. Lena brought a list of ideas. Harry brought his silence.
"You okay?" Sophie asked gently.
"Mason cornered me again."
Sophie's hands clenched. "What did he say?"
"Nothing new. Just promises."
Lena, more composed, flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. "We need to move faster."
"Doing what?" Harry asked, frustrated. "Talking to teachers? They don't listen. They never listen."
"Then we make them listen," Lena said. "We gather proof. We write. We record. We expose."
Sophie leaned back. "You're serious."
Lena nodded. "If we wait too long, Mason won't stop with words."
The wind rustled the trees above them.
Harry didn't speak for a moment.
Then: "Okay. We fight back."
And just like that, the line was drawn.
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