CHAPTER TWO — The First Bell

Dante stood at the rust-flecked gates of St. Peter’s Secondary, the building stretching upward like an aging giant—cracked windows, graffiti that janitors had clearly given up on, and the faint buzz of a broken fluorescent light flickering above the reception door. The school wasn’t dangerous… but it had that unpredictable, unsettled hum of a place where too many kids carried storms inside their backpacks.

He rolled his shoulder—gently, cautiously—testing how much pain the old injury wanted to give him this morning. It replied with a stiff, mean tug. Fair enough. He deserved worse.

“You know,” LD said beside him, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted with that half-grin of his, “you could still turn around and leg it.”

Dante snorted. “I’m on a court order, genius.”

“Yeah, but you’ve outrun worse.”

“Not today.”

He pushed forward through the gates.

The air hit different. Colder. Strange. Like the school itself was watching him.

Inside, the corridors were a chaos symphony—buzzing chatter, lockers slamming, the squeal of trainers on old linoleum. A few teachers drifted by, clutching coffee cups like shields, their faces already exhausted even though the day hadn't began.

Dante felt eyes on him—students sizing up the tall stranger, teachers clocking him with wary curiosity, and LD weaving through it all like he owned the place.

“Try not to fight anyone today,” LD said lightly.

“I don’t fight anymore.”

LD raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

They rounded the corner toward the staff room.

That’s when Dante heard it—shouting.

A frustrated, deep-throated kind of shout that bounced off the walls.

LD nudged him. “That's your cue, big man.”

Dante didn’t want to get involved—first day. No drama. Just tick the hours, keep his head down, be a model citizen so the judge would see progress.

But trouble had a way of noticing him even when he avoided eye contact.

At the far end of the hall, a student—maybe fifteen—was squared up to a teacher twice his size. The teacher’s jaw was tight, but his eyes? Afraid. The kid was pacing in a tight circle, breathing hard, fists restless, a volcano with legs.

A crowd had already gathered.
Most were filming.

Dante’s jaw clenched.

LD whispered, “Don’t think. Just do.”

“Shut up,” Dante muttered, but his feet were already moving.

He didn’t barge in. Didn’t shout. Didn’t puff his chest. He simply walked in slowly, hands open, posture low, like approaching a wild dog you didn’t want to spook.

“Yo,” Dante said softly.

The kid swung his glare toward him—the kind of look someone learns too young. A look Dante knew too well. Survival. Hurt. Cornered animal energy.

“You don’t know me,” the kid snapped.

“True,” Dante said calmly. “But I know that look. Been there. Still got the T-shirt.”

The crowd muttered. The teacher looked relieved but stepped back, letting Dante take the space.

“What happened?” Dante asked.

The boy hesitated—just slightly. Enough.

“He tried grabbing my phone,” the kid said, voice rough with emotion. “Accused me of bunking class. I ain’t even done nothing.”

Dante nodded. “Okay. I get that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”
He rolled up his sleeve just an inch—showing one of the many faded scars near his forearm.
“I’ve been in worse places for smaller reasons.”

Something in the boy’s eyes faltered.

Dante stepped closer, slow and controlled. “Listen… take a breath. Not for him. For you.”

The kid’s chest rose and fell. Once. Twice. He was coming down from the edge.

“You don’t want everyone in this hallway to see you get dragged to isolation,” Dante said gently. “Not your story today. Not worth it.”

The teen looked at the cameras filming him.

Dante placed a hand lightly on his shoulder—firm enough to ground, gentle enough to respect space.

“Walk with me.”

The boy hesitated… then nodded.

The crowd parted as Dante guided him down the hall. The phones lowered. The tension dissolved. Teachers peeked out from classrooms, exchanging impressed looks.

LD whistled low. “Man came in like some youth-whispering superhero. I’m proud, bro.”

Dante shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

THE STAFF ROOM

The staff room smelled like too much kettle steam, microwaved leftovers, and early burnout. Dante wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock or just walk in, but before he could decide, the door swung open from the inside.

Standing there—folder in hand, curls bouncing slightly as she stopped—was Aaliyah Clarke.

The same woman he’d spoken to briefly earlier. But now, she seemed more composed, more guarded… and more stunning.

Her eyes flicked from him to the teen beside him.
“You okay?” she asked the boy warmly.

“Yeah… Mr—” The kid paused, realising he didn’t know Dante’s name.

“Dante,” he said.

The boy nodded. “Yeah. Dante helped.”

Aaliyah’s eyebrows lifted. “Helped?”

LD leaned in behind Dante. “She’s impressed, bro. She’s impressed. Pretend you don’t care.”

Dante ignored him. “Just calmed things down.”

One of the senior staff, a stiff-necked man in a grey waistcoat, inserted himself abruptly. “Mr Reid, I must say—teachers are advised not to intervene with students physically—”

Aaliyah smoothly cut him off.
“He didn’t intervene, sir. He de-escalated. Perfectly.”

The waistcoated man paused, clearly annoyed at being corrected, then forced a polite smile. “Well. Very good then. Carry on.”

He walked off.

Aaliyah turned to Dante with a softer expression. “What you did… not many people can reach him when he’s like that.”

Dante shrugged, suddenly aware of how close she stood. “Just talked to him.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Most adults don’t talk. They command. He needed someone who saw him.”

Her shift was subtle, but her eyes held him for one extra beat too long.

LD coughed dramatically. “Ask for her number.”

Dante pretended he didn’t hear him again.

Instead, he said, “Where do you want him? Isolation? Counsellor?”

“Actually…” Aaliyah considered. “Bring him to my classroom. I’ll handle it.”

The boy looked up, surprised. “You’re not kicking me out?”

“Do I look like the type to give up on people?” she said, smiling.

Dante watched the kid smile back—a real one this time.

Then she looked at Dante. “You’re free to join if you want.”

He almost said yes immediately.
Too fast. Too eager. Too obvious.

So he cleared his throat. “I’ll… see what the office needs first.”

Aaliyah nodded, leading the boy down the hall.

LD stared after her. “You absolute idiot. She literally invited you to the room.”

“I’m working, man.”

“You’re allergic to happiness.”

“Shut. Up.”

SIGN-IN, SIGN-ON, SIGN-YOUR-LIFE-AWAY

The receptionist didn’t look up as he approached. “Name?”

“Dante Reid.”

Tap tap tap on the keyboard.

“Ah yes. The… community placement.”
Her tone made it sound like he’d been dropped off in a cardboard box like a stray cat.

“ID badge,” she said, handing him a plastic lanyard. “And you start in the Behaviour Hub tomorrow. Today, Ms. Clarke will show you around.”

Dante nodded, but his mind was already somewhere else.

Upstairs.
In a classroom with warm lighting and far too many houseplants for a school.
Where Aaliyah Clarke was probably talking calmly to the boy he’d helped.

Where he low-key wanted to be instead of standing here like a confused postman.

LD leaned on the counter casually. “So… we heading up?”

Dante slid him a side look. “Why are you even here?”

LD smirked. “Moral support. Entertainment. And watching you pretend you’re not falling for your future wife is better than Netflix.”

“Bro, stop.”

“Make me.”

THE CORRIDOR AGAIN

As they walked toward the staircase, Dante caught small flashes of conversation as teachers drifted past.

“That new guy—did you see how he handled Kieran?”

“He got him to calm down in under a minute!”

“Finally someone that kid listens to—”

“Tall, scarred guy? Looks like he’s seen war?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Dante wasn’t used to positive attention. It made his stomach twist in unfamiliar ways.

LD nudged him. “They love you already. Try not to self-sabotage.”

“I’m not—”

“You always do.”

He didn’t respond. Because LD was right.

UPSTAIRS: THE QUIET ROOM

Aaliyah’s classroom was at the end of the corridor. Warm light spilled through the narrow window panel in the door. Inside, voices murmured—a gentle conversation.

Dante stood outside a moment, adjusting his collar, wiping his palms against his trousers.

LD crossed his arms. “You’re nervous. That’s adorable.”

“Not nervous.”

“You fixed your shirt three times.”

“Jump off a bridge.”

“Love you too.”

Dante exhaled and knocked softly.

Aaliyah opened the door almost instantly.

“You came,” she said with a small smile.

“Just checking in.”

“Good. Come in.”

Her classroom was unlike any he’d ever seen—books everywhere, inspirational posters with soft edges, fairy lights draped along the back wall, and a faint smell of vanilla and marker pens.

The boy sat at her desk, calmer now, tapping a ruler absently.

“Dante,” the kid said, as if the name already meant something to him.

“Hey, man. Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”
A beat. Then: “Thanks. For earlier.”

“No problem.”

Aaliyah watched the exchange quietly, something thoughtful in her eyes.

Then she said, “I told the senior staff what happened. They’re… impressed.”

Dante rubbed the back of his neck. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t,” she said firmly.

And that tone?
That certainty?
It hit deeper than he expected.

AS HE LEFT THE ROOM

Aaliyah’s voice followed him softly:

“Dante? You did good today.”

He paused in the doorway.

“Thanks.”

“See you at lunch. I’m supposed to go over your timetable with you.”

He nodded awkwardly. “Cool. Yeah.”

“Cool,” she echoed.

LD let out a quiet whistle as they left. “My boy’s got game he doesn’t even know he’s playing.”

Dante didn’t respond.
But he didn’t deny it either.

Because for the first time in a long time…
something in his chest felt lighter.

Like maybe—just maybe—St. Peter’s wasn’t punishment.
Maybe it was the beginning of something he didn’t know he needed.

And somewhere far behind him in the empty classroom, the lights flickered once.

Quiet.
Unnoticed.
Like a presence shifting.

LD hummed low. “You feel that?”

Dante frowned. “Feel what?”

But LD only smiled.

“Nothing, bro. Let’s get to work.”