What was the moment you realized private school is overrated?
The Stalker’s Web and The Pool Incident
My weird classmate tried to brand me by pressing a sizzling hot metal crest against my skin. So, I took the ultimate revenge and had him begging. 6 months later at graduation, he begged me not to mention him in my validictorian speech. I was 13 when my parents disowned me.
And it was the best day of my life because that’s when they shipped me off to an elite Swiss boarding school. You see, up until this point, my parents were abusive as hell. So, even being surrounded by preppy white boys and having constant imposttor syndrome was better than living at home.
I thought I would be the only one that felt like an outcast until 3 months later when I met my saving grace. It came in the form of a boy with a hitup backpack and homemade haircut named Randy. As soon as he walked into the dining room, everyone went silent.
I was going to ask him to sit beside me and my friends when suddenly my roommate Jake grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.”
The last scholarship kid we had stole three Rolexes and someone’s MacBook before getting expelled. I wanted to tell Jake I knew what it felt like to not belong, but I also remembered eating alone my first month before they accepted me.
So instead, I just nodded and tried to tell myself that if I had to earn my spot here through hell, so did he. But what they did to him over the next few weeks still keeps me up at night.
It started small. The library installed a metal detector that only he had to walk through. Rich kids would spill things on his clothes specifically because they knew he couldn’t afford to replace them. And instead of fighting back, he did something even worse. He was kind.
When his mom sent homemade cookies, he shared them with everyone, including the kids who tortured him. I watched him pick up a $50 bill on the floor and ask everyone who it belonged to. It was one of those high school situations when you don’t know who’s telling the truth, so you choose to stay out of it.
But then came legacy week. For those who don’t know, it’s a week where if your parents went to the school, then you can hit up kids whose parents didn’t. All in the name of tradition. I figured that if I stayed put in the library, then I’d be okay.
I was walking back to my dorm at 11 p.m. when three legacy students cornered me in the basement. Preston stepped out of the shadows holding the metal school crest like he’d done this a hundred times before. The other two legacy kids blocked my exits while he flicked his lighter open and held the flame under the metal.
“Every non-leacy needs to learn their place,” he said, watching the crest start to glow orange at the edges.
“Hold him,” he told the others.
They grabbed my arms and I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything except how much it was going to hurt. But suddenly, I heard the fire alarm go off. The sprinklers kicked on immediately, soaking everything.
Preston dropped the hot metal, and it hissed against the wet floor.
“Shh!”
“We got to go,” one of them said.
They released my arms and bolted for the exit.
Through the water pouring down, I saw Randy standing by the alarm pull station, his hand still on the lever. He helped me up and we made our way out as security guards rushed past us toward the basement.
The next morning, we were called to the headm’s office. I walked in with my head held high, thinking that Preston would finally get what he deserved. But the headmaster didn’t even look at me. He just stared straight at Randy.
“Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused?” He asked, his tone cold and assertive.
“The basement is flooded. Thousands of dollars in water damage.”
“They were trying to.”
The headmaster interrupted him.
“You can take the kid out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the kid. One more incident and you’re out.”
Ry’s shoulders dropped as he nodded. We were dismissed, but apparently Preston is the gift that keeps on giving because when we left, there he was, waiting outside the room with his little Paw Patrol. He whispered something to Randy that made him go rigid, then walked away laughing.
Randy wouldn’t tell me what he said, just hurried off alone. I tried to visit him, but he stayed in his room all day with the door locked. I was eating breakfast when everyone started running out to the hallway.
I followed them thinking there was a school shooting or something, but the crowd led to Ry’s room. Inside, the campus security were turning it upside down. Randy stood in the corner with an extremely stoic expression on his face.
“Found the devil’s lettuce in his desk drawer,” The campus guard announced.
By noon, Randy was expelled. No investigation, no questions, just complete exile. I found Randy that evening behind the dorms, shoving his few belongings into a garbage bag. He was crying, actually sobbing.
This kid who stayed kind through everything they did to him was finally shattered. I didn’t say anything, just sat there while he cried. After a few minutes, he looked at me with red eyes.
“You’re the only one who ever tried to be decent to me here,” he said, wiping his face.
“You deserve to know why this matters so much.” He pulled out a crumpled photo from his wallet.
A man in surgical scrubs standing in front of a hospital.
“My little sister has leukemia. In Syria, my dad could have helped her, but here we can barely afford her chemo. I was supposed to save her.” He stood up, slinging the garbage bag over his shoulder.
“Preston knew all this. That’s what he whispered. That my sister would die before I could ever help her.” Rage boiled my blood.
I spent almost a year wishing someone would hit Preston into shape. But I never knew that that someone was going to be me.
