The second punch came slower, but it was just as heavy.
Jordan sat in the back of the classroom, as far away from the windows as he could get, his eyes fixed on the clock. He hated this class — Algebra, the one subject that made him feel more like a failure than the others. It wasn't the numbers, though; it was the constant reminder that everyone else seemed to understand the rules, the patterns, the shortcuts. He never could. He wasn't built for this kind of thinking.
It wasn't like the other kids didn't struggle, but their struggles were different. They had parents who could afford tutors, or private schools, or endless hours of study help. Jordan had his father's guidance, but not for math. His dad had his own battles — trying to keep his small shop afloat in a city that was more about spectacle than substance. So, Jordan learned to fight his own battles, silently.
That's why it was so easy to slip into the back of the class and fade into the wallpaper. It wasn't that he was shy — he wasn't. He'd just become an expert in disappearing. The fewer people noticed, the fewer people had expectations.
But that day, something shifted.
It started with a movement across the room. Red and his crew strolled in, late, as usual. Red was always late; it was almost like a game for him, flaunting the fact that he didn't care about the rules that bound everyone else. He slid into his seat with the same cocky smile he always wore, as if the entire world owed him something, and his lack of effort was a testament to how easy everything came to him.
Jordan glanced up briefly, the old habit of watching Red and his entourage. He had learned early on that staying out of sight didn't always mean staying safe. Red didn't need a reason to target him. It could be a look, a wrong move, or just an ordinary day. It was all the same to Red.
Today, though, something was different. For some reason, Jordan felt a strange sense of power creeping up his spine. It wasn't much, just a spark, but it was enough to make him sit up straighter.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp tone of Mrs. Malone, the Algebra teacher. "Jordan, would you care to explain this equation?"
Jordan froze, the sudden spotlight catching him off guard. The class fell silent, eyes shifting toward him. Red, of course, looked up immediately, his eyes gleaming with the promise of a joke. Jordan's pulse quickened, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the edge of his notebook.
"Uh…" His voice faltered for a second. He wasn't prepared for this. "It's… uh, it's a linear equation. You… you solve for X."
The class snickered. It wasn't an intelligent answer, but it was better than nothing. Mrs. Malone raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but she didn't press further. She moved on, but Red's laughter lingered in the air, a mocking echo that made Jordan's skin crawl.
Something inside him snapped.
He had always taken the jabs. He had always accepted being the punchline of the joke, the butt of every cruel remark. But today, today felt different. The tension in his chest — the suffocating weight of invisibility — seemed to coil tighter, like a spring ready to snap.
Maybe it was the way Red had sneered at him, the way his laughter still hung in the air. Maybe it was the fact that Jordan was sick of this life, sick of being small, of being a shadow in a world where everyone else had a place in the light.
But whatever it was, something inside him pushed him to stand up. Not literally — no, he wasn't stupid enough to confront Red head-on. But mentally. Spiritually. He decided, right then and there, that he was done.
Done with pretending to be invisible.
Done with sitting back and letting life happen to him.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class, but Jordan stayed seated a moment longer. He packed up his things slowly, deliberately. It wasn't just the usual rush to get out of there. He wasn't running away this time.
As the classroom emptied, Jordan lingered at his desk, the weight of his own resolve pressing down on him. The room was quiet now, almost too quiet. He knew that in a few moments, Red and his crew would be leaving, and they'd probably shove him or make another sarcastic comment, but he didn't care. For the first time in a long while, he didn't care.
He walked out of the room slowly, making sure to keep his head high. His eyes never met Red's, but he could feel the tension building between them. Red was waiting for him to flinch, waiting for that familiar look of defeat, but Jordan wasn't going to give it to him. Not today.
As he passed Red's desk, the snide remark came. It was expected, almost like a reflex for Red, a way to remind Jordan of his place.
"Watch where you're walking, freak," Red muttered, his voice low enough for only Jordan to hear.
Jordan didn't stop. He didn't flinch. He didn't even glance at Red. He just kept walking, his feet carrying him toward the hallway as if there was a path opening before him, a path that was his to take.
He didn't know where it would lead. He didn't know what the consequences would be. But for the first time in his life, he didn't care.
Later that day, Jordan found himself walking home alone, as usual. The streets were quieter than he remembered, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty space around him. He hadn't felt this calm in a long time, but there was still a lingering question at the back of his mind: What now?
He had made the decision to stand up. But what did that even mean?
It wasn't like he had some grand plan. It wasn't like he was going to suddenly transform into some hero who could fight back against Red and his friends. But he could feel something stirring inside him — an energy, a drive, a spark of rebellion that hadn't been there before. It wasn't about the physical strength of a hero like Super Pablo. It was something different, something quieter, but no less powerful.
And as Jordan reached the door to his apartment, he paused for a moment. He looked up at the old building, the same one he had lived in all his life. For the first time, he didn't see it as just a place to hide. He saw it as his starting point. The first step.
Tomorrow was another day. And maybe, just maybe, it was the day everything would change.