"Hi class! Since a few students left us yesterday, I have three new students to introduce!" Mr. Berlin announced, far too excited.
Whispers rippled across the room. Students leaned in with curiosity, some hoping one of the newcomers would be from the rising rookie band, Tiny Yellow Days.
The name sounded mellow—like sunshine and soft chords—but their sound was anything but. Ken had heard a few of their tracks. Raw, powerful rock. No faces attached. Just sound.
Mr. Berlin glanced down, calling out the first name: "Crow, you're up."
Squeals erupted. Cheers followed. Ken didn't need confirmation. It had to be one of the band members.
"Introduce yourself," the teacher urged.
Crow smirked as he stepped forward. "You already know who I am. Why should I bother?"
Arrogance rolled off him like heat.
Then Crow's eyes met Berlin's. The teacher's smile faltered, eyes dimming like wilting petals. Berlin pointed to a seat in the front row—center stage.
Ken didn't miss the irony. Crow versus Hawk, he thought.
Elites and legendary teachers were supposed to be different, but Ken missed Mrs. Alex. She had a calm presence—gentle like a spring breeze. Berlin was all thunder and ice. Harsh. Proud. Unforgiving.
In this world, elites were middle-class, legendaries were high-class, and lower-class... didn't exist. Or so they said. The perfect world didn't need a bottom rung. But the truth?
They were still here—still bleeding, still breaking, still pretending everything was fine.
Mr. Berlin's smile returned, wider than ever. "Ken, you're next."
Ken's stomach flipped. His skin prickled.
Keep it simple. Keep it boring.
"Hi, I'm, um... Ken. Nice to meet you. I'll be in your care," he mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.
Relief washed over him when no one reacted. Perfect. Just the way he liked it.
Berlin pointed to a seat—dead center. Not what Ken wanted, but he obeyed.
Then came Misty. And Ken knew what was coming.
Gasps filled the room as she walked in. Stunning, radiant, and completely oblivious to the whispers beneath the surface. People fell in love too easily. Appearance was everything. That's why the "perfect world" had so many flawless faces.
But looks didn't erase the truth. Bullying. Suicide. Violence. Mental illness. All of it buried under manufactured smiles and staged peace.
"Hi! I'm Misty, and Ken is my BEST-FRIEND-FOREVER!" she beamed. "Please get along with him. He may not talk, but he's sweet! I hope we can all be great friends!"
Ken coughed, trying to interrupt—but she kept going.
Berlin chuckled, clearly entertained. "You'll be sitting in the back."
Misty blinked, clearly expecting to be seated next to Ken. Her smile cracked. Ken's returned.
Berlin clapped once. The room snapped to attention.
He began speaking again, but Ken drifted.
He could hear the clock ticking inside his head.
The boy sat alone on the swing, gently rocking, eyes unfocused. Voices whispered behind him—nasty, cruel—but he kept swinging like it was his lifeline.
"Snow!"
Dawn stopped. Slowly turned. He knew the voice. He didn't like it.
Ken sat beside him, legs pumping. "Don't ignore me, that's rude!" he laughed.
Dawn hated that nickname—Snow. Only his father could call him that. From anyone else, it felt disgusting.
"Don't—call—me—that," Dawn hissed, every word sharpened like a blade.
They swung higher, chasing the sky. The sun shimmered above them, stretching across the blue.
Dawn smiled. Maybe his father could see the same sky, wherever he was.
Ken saw that smile and grinned wider.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked.
Dawn didn't answer. He was watching something fly—bright, fleeting, breathtaking. A moment of innocence.
Ken spoke anyway. "Don't listen to people. They only want something interesting to happen. They whisper sweet lies into each other's ears until they're full."
He didn't understand what those words meant back then. They just felt like the truth.
Then Dawn whispered something back:
"What if they're not lies?"
"Ken."
Back in the classroom, someone was calling his name.
"Ken."
Mr. Berlin was staring at him. So was everyone else.
Uh-oh.
Berlin's voice was chipper, but there was menace in it. "If you can answer this question, you won't get detention: What's a phrase you believe is the best in the world—and why?"
Easy question. But Berlin only accepted exceptional answers.
Ken blinked once. Then said, "They whisper sweet lies into your ear until they're full."
Silence.
"The meaning doesn't need to be explained," Ken added.
Dead quiet.
Then, Berlin turned and walked away. No words. No comment.
Ken smiled.
He won that battle.