The rest of the day dragged by in a haze of humiliation and frustration. I struggled through my classes, stutter worsening each time a teacher called on me.

At my locker, I knew the bullies would be waiting. Sure enough, Brad and his goons approached, taunting as usual. This time Brad snatched my chemistry notebook, flipping through with a sneer.

"Oh look, what a loser carries a book around." He tossed it into the overflowing trash can with a laugh.

"Give it back," I said meekly. Brad just cocked a brow in mock surprise.

"You want it? Come get it."

I steeled myself and trudged to the trash, fishing around for my notebook. That's when Mr. Adams rounded the corner with impeccable timing.

"Mr. White, what are you doing digging in the trash? Exactly the delinquent behavior I expected."

I tried to explain but he cut me off, "No excuses. Detention this Saturday."

He strode off as my tormentors laughed uproariously. I stood alone, humiliation burning inside. All I wanted was to get through the day without this constant shame and struggle. Was that really too much to ask?

I took a deep breath and entered the detention room, dreading what new humiliations awaited. Sure enough, Mr. Adams sat smugly behind the teacher's desk, clearly relishing playing jailor for the afternoon.

"I've got you locked up now, Mr. White," he greeted me with false cheer. His jibes and insults had worn down my defenses over the years of schooling under him.

"You'll play by my rules in here. No more of your delinquent behavior," he warned, as if I was some hardened criminal. I bit my tongue to avoid stuttering a reply.

"If it was up to me, you'd be out of here for good. No wonder your father died so young, having to carry the burden of a son like you all these years. What do you call that kind of burden again?"

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself for landing the low blow. I stared down at my desk, fists clenching as I blinked back the sting of tears. It was going to be a long, torturous afternoon under his glare. All I wanted was for the clock to move faster, to be somewhere - anywhere - else but here.

I kept my eyes down, fighting to control my rising anger and hurt. But Mr. Adams tried to keep poking.

"You know, if you were my son, I wouldn't let you get away with anything the way your poor father did," he said.

I snapped before I could stop myself. "Thank god I'm not your son."

The words had barely left my mouth before Mr. Adams slammed his palms on the desktop with a furious crash. His large frame loomed over me as he growled, "What did you just say?!"

Panic flooded through me. I'd walked right into his trap. "Nothing, sir! I said maybe you're right," I backtracked quickly.

His eyes narrowed in distaste. "That's what I thought, you delinquent." He returned to his seat, the threat of violence still hanging heavy in the air between us.

I realized with sinking dread that this detention was far from over.

I woke with a start, disoriented for a moment as to where I was. Then it all came flooding back - the interminable detention under Mr. Adams' cruel gaze.

"You can go now, Mr. White," he said dismissively from behind his newspaper.

"Yes sir," I muttered tiredly, shoulder's slumped in defeat.

"And don't you forget the lesson I taught you, delinquent," he called after me as I dragged myself out into the dawn light.

I rode my bike home in an exhausted haze, every muscle sore. As I turned down my street, the familiar sight of our little house was like an oasis. All I wanted was to collapse into my bed and sleep for a week to forget the horrors of that endless night.

Mr. Adams' vicious words echoed in my head despite my best efforts to tune them out. I knew then with rising determination that I would prove him wrong someday, no matter what it took or how long the road ahead wound. His cruel reign over me would not last forever - of that I was certain.

"No wonder your father died so young. Dealing with such a burden" that word kept in my head.