Bullying, lesson 101

The lecture hall buzzed with low chatter as students filed into their seats, the usual shuffle of notebooks and coffee cups echoing off the high walls. I slid into a seat near the middle, head down, hoodie up. Zack plopped down beside me with a sigh and a grin that looked far too relaxed for someone who’d witnessed a public meltdown the night before.

Professor Grayson strode to the front of the room, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with dramatic flair.

Then he started.

“Bullying,” he said, pacing slowly. “Is a virus. It thrives in silence. It festers in rooms just like this—when we don’t speak up, when we pretend that pushing someone—literally or not—is harmless.”

He turned to face the class, eyes sharp. And then he looked right at me.

My spine stiffened. One second. Two. Three. Long enough for it to feel intentional. My throat went dry.

Zack leaned toward me, voice low.“Okay, how did he find out?”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. And because I could feel at least four people in the rows around us staring. Some curious. Some smug.

Professor Grayson continued his monologue about "empathy" and "public accountability," but it all buzzed in my ears like static. Each time his gaze skimmed the room, it seemed to land on me again. Just briefly. Just enough.

Zack nudged me.“I mean, I knew word spread fast, but… damn. You push one girl into a pool and suddenly it’s a moral crisis.”

I elbowed him. Not hard.“Shut up.”

He smirked.“You shut up. You're the one who turned pool parties into courtroom dramas.”

I tried to hide my smile, but it flickered through. Even if the whole room was burning, Zack had a way of handing me a glass of ice water—annoying, chilled sarcasm and all.

“…and according to the anonymous tip,” Professor Grayson continued, his voice rising just slightly above the murmurs in the hall, “the incident took place last night at House C’s pool. Between two female students. One of them isn’t even from House C.”

I didn’t flinch. I just rolled my eyes.

Zack shot me a look, his brow raised, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Of course they got a tip. Of course someone had to turn it into a formal complaint. Drama never dies quietly around here.

“While I will not be naming any students involved,” the professor added, glancing at me again—longer this time—“I want to make it extremely clear that violence, intimidation, and public humiliation have no place at this institution.”

No place. Sure.

I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms.

Let them talk. Let them whisper. I knew the truth.

They wouldn’t name me. They wouldn’t dare. Not when my last name had been stitched into donation plaques and scholarship programs since before I was born. Not when Zander, golden boy of this university, was my brother. I could push Emory off a cliff and they’d still chalk it up to “emotional distress.”

Zack leaned in again, whispering, “You’re way too calm about this.”

“I’m untouchable,” I muttered back, voice dry.

He blinked. “Wow. You’re like, one bloodline away from full-blown villain era.”

I smirked. “One bad press release away, actually.”

Professor Grayson kept going, but I’d stopped listening. His words were nothing but smoke, and I had no interest in choking on it.

Because at the end of the day, they’d all forget what happened.

But Emory wouldn’t.

And neither would I.

I rolled my eyes as Professor Grayson’s voice sharpened.

“We received an anonymous tip-off about a bullying incident that occurred during a House C event.” He paused dramatically. “The concerning part? The alleged perpetrator wasn’t even from House C.”

A ripple of whispers slid through the room like wind through leaves.

Zack glanced at me. I didn’t flinch.

I knew they wouldn’t say my name. They never did. Not when it mattered. Not with my family’s name stitched into half the plaques on this campus. Not with Zander standing at the top of every social totem pole, reminding everyone—even professors—where I came from.

Professor Grayson’s eyes flicked to me again.

I stared back, unfazed. They could talk about “anonymous tip-offs” and “concerning behavior” all they wanted, but we both knew this was a performance. They’d scold the air, preach about respect, maybe slap a passive-aggressive quote on the school bulletin board, and move on.

Zack leaned over again, voice hushed.“An anonymous tip? Bet you five bucks it was Emory.”

“Please,” I muttered under my breath. “Emory wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit her with a thesaurus.”

He snorted.

Professor Grayson cleared his throat again. “Let this be a warning. We may not name names—but we are watching. And actions have consequences.”

I bit back a laugh.Sure they do.

I leaned back in my seat, folding my arms. The lecture droned on, but my mind was already elsewhere.

They wouldn’t touch me. Not while I still had power. Not while Zander was still pretending I was worth defending.

And definitely not over Emory.Professor Grayson clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly in front of the projector screen like he was delivering the world’s most dramatic TED Talk.

“I don’t want to treat you all like children,” he said, tone heavy with exaggerated disappointment, “but after what happened this weekend, the school board has agreed—we’ll be enforcing random house checks.”

A low groan rose through the room.

Zack muttered under his breath, “Oh great, guess I’ll be throwing out Jean’s entire stash tonight.”

I smirked, eyes still forward.

Professor Grayson lifted a finger like he was delivering scripture. “Let me remind you of the House Conduct Code. These are not suggestions. They are rules.”

Here it comes.

“No possession of drugs,” he began, voice sharp. “No bullying, in any form. Cleanliness must be maintained. No sexual engagements with other students inside the houses. And—” his lips thinned, “absolutely no unsanctioned parties.”

More whispers. Some groans. A loud “seriously?” from somewhere in the back.

My foot tapped under the desk, more from boredom than nerves.Cleanliness? Really?

Zack leaned in again. “They might as well just evict everyone and start over.”

I didn’t respond, just glanced up at the clock.

Professor Grayson narrowed his eyes at the room like we’d all personally offended him. “Let me be clear. These checks will begin immediately. You will be notified of your assigned inspector and schedule before the end of the week.”

He didn’t need to say more. Everyone knew what this was about. The pool party. The push. Emory’s very public splash. Someone was embarrassed, and now the whole campus had to suffer.

Too bad for them—I’d lived under worse scrutiny than this. I could play clean long enough for them to get bored.

Let them check.

They’d still come up empty.

Professor Grayson finally unclenched his jaw, adjusted his glasses, and gave a stiff nod toward the board behind him.

“Alright,” he said, voice shifting into something more measured—forced calm over simmering frustration. “Let’s begin.”

The screen flickered, revealing the day’s topic in bold: Psychological Group Dynamics & the Bystander Effect.

Zack let out a quiet groan. “Great. More reasons why everyone sucks.”

I stifled a laugh, slouching back into my seat.

Professor Grayson turned, tapping the title with the back of his marker. “Today we’re examining how people behave in group environments—especially when responsibility becomes diluted. You see something wrong, but no one acts. Why?”

He paused, letting the question hang in the air like he was waiting for someone to admit guilt.

His eyes scanned the room—and, predictably, they stopped on me for a second too long.

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just offered the most neutral expression I had in my collection.

He moved on.

“Think of moments where someone should’ve stepped in. Think of parties. Think of dorms. Think of anywhere where silence becomes complicity.” Another pause. “Some of you already know exactly what I mean.”

Zack muttered beside me, “This guy’s dying to say your name.”

I shrugged. “He won’t. Not unless he wants my mother’s lawyer breathing down his neck.”

Professor Grayson turned back to the screen. “The Bystander Effect is about diffusion of responsibility. The belief that someone else will do something… so you don’t have to.”

He clicked the remote, revealing a black-and-white image of a crowded street where no one helped a collapsed man. “And when everyone believes that? Nothing gets done. Harm continues. Victims stay victims.”

I stared at the screen, jaw tight.

Zack leaned in again. “Kinda sounds like Isaac watching Emory drown.”

I snorted under my breath.

Professor Grayson didn’t look back this time. He just kept talking.

But the message was clear.

And suddenly, this lecture felt a little too personal.

The lunch bell rang, breaking the heavy silence of the lecture hall, and I practically pushed Zack toward the café before anyone else could crowd the space. We slid inside, scanning for a place to sit—anywhere but near Emory or Isaac.

Every table seemed taken or dangerously close to their usual hangout spots. We circled the room awkwardly, sidestepping groups that might spark unwanted attention.

“Maybe outside?” Zack whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

I shook my head. “Too hot.”

Just as I was about to suggest we grab something to go, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, over here!”

I turned to see Eren, casually leaning against a table with a few of the popular kids. The kind of crowd I never thought I’d be sitting with.

He flashed me a grin—half teasing, half something softer—and motioned us over.

Zack glanced at me, eyebrows raised.

“We don’t have much choice, huh?” I muttered.

As we joined the group, I felt the eyes on us—some curious, some skeptical.

But Eren just pulled out a chair for me like I belonged.

Maybe things were shifting.

Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as invisible as I thought.

I leaned in close enough so only Eren could hear me, my voice low. “Don’t you usually eat with Zander?”

He didn’t even look up from his tray. “Zander’s probably out hooking up with some girl. That guy’s addicted to bad decisions.”

I let out a short breath through my nose and leaned back in my chair, arms folding across my chest. My gaze drifted out the café window, landing on nothing.

It shouldn’t sting. But it did.

“He used to ignore me,” I said quietly, surprising myself more than Eren. “When we were kids. Wouldn’t even look at me half the time.”

Eren glanced over now, interest flickering behind his eyes.

I didn’t stop. “He always called me the ‘useless random orphan’ Dad brought home. Wouldn’t play with me. Wouldn’t talk to me unless he had to. He’d tell people I was just temporary. That I wasn’t his real sister.”

My fingers dug into my sleeves as I stared at the table.

“But one day I fell into this ditch out near the back of the property. Twisted my ankle so bad I couldn’t even crawl out. I screamed for hours, thinking he’d never come.” My throat tightened slightly. “But he did. Eventually. And when he saw me—he didn’t say anything. He just climbed down, picked me up, and carried me all the way back.”

Eren was watching now, completely still.

“He stayed by my bed that entire night. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t leave. Just sat there like… like maybe he did care. Even if he never said it out loud.”

I looked away, blinking quickly.

“I don’t get him. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.”

Eren reached over, brushing his thumb lightly against my wrist under the table. No words. Just that. And somehow, it was enough.

Connie, who I didn’t even realize had been eavesdropping from the seat behind us, let out a dramatic gasp that turned a few heads.

“Zander did that?!” he said, eyebrows practically climbing off his forehead. “I didn’t even think that guy knew how to care about a girl.”

I gave him a flat look over my shoulder. “Don’t you have a sandwich to finish?”

He grinned, totally unbothered. “I’m just saying. It’s kinda wild. Zander’s all… ‘I-don’t-have-feelings-unless-it’s-for-women-I’m-flirting-with.’”

I shrugged, resting my elbow on the table and half-twisting my spoon through a muffin wrapper. “He’s always been hot or cold. There’s no middle with him. Either I’m invisible, or I’m the only thing that matters. Depends on the day.”

Eren made a low noise beside me, like he was holding back a comment.

“Sounds like a great emotional role model,” Connie added with an exaggerated thumbs-up before finally biting into his sandwich.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well. You don’t exactly get to choose your siblings.”

Eren nudged me under the table, subtle but grounding.

“Still,” Connie said around a mouthful, “the ditch story? Kinda sweet. Kinda tragic. Ten outta ten would watch if it was a Netflix special.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Remind me never to trust you with personal stories again.”

Connie just winked. “Too late.”

My phone buzzed on the table, screen lighting up with a notification that made my heart drop straight to my stomach.

Dad.

Just his name was enough to drain the blood from my face.

I didn’t even have his number saved on my new phone yet. The message still came through. Clean. Sharp.

Friday night. 7PM. Ward Estate Banquet Hall. Formal.Be there. We’re attending as a family.

No "hi." No explanation. Just a time and place. Like I was a pawn being moved on a board.

I stared at it for a beat too long. My fingers tightened around the phone, like maybe if I crushed it hard enough, the message would disappear.

“What is it?” Eren asked beside me, leaning in slightly.

I locked the screen and shoved the phone into my bag before he could see the look on my face.

“Nothing,” I muttered. Too quickly.

Eren raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Connie, thankfully, was too busy trying to steal Mikasa’s fries to notice.

But that message sat at the base of my spine like a weight.

A banquet.

A family appearance.

Which meant suits. Smiles. Staged affection. My dad’s cold hand on my shoulder in front of cameras and investors. Zander pretending we were a normal family for a night.

And me. Stuck in the middle, pretending I still belonged.

I swallowed hard, trying to chase down the rising panic.

It wasn’t like I could say no.