Chapter 3: Chaos, Consequences, and the Seagull Revolt

She walked in, smile bright, like she was about to announce a surprise. She smiled brightly. “Evan, introduce your friends.” I stood up, grinning. “This is Jake, that’s Tyler, and over there is Mike—” In a good mood, I introduced each one. They waved, awkward but happy. I felt a flicker of hope.

“Put the stuff down, I...” I reached for the cake, ready to make my wish. I was about to blow out the candles and make a wish. I took a deep breath, eyes closed.

Before I could finish, the iced cola splashed in my eyes. Cold, sticky soda hit me full in the face. I gasped, stumbling back. Mom poured the cola all over my friends. They yelped, jumping up, wiping cola off their faces and shirts. The room was chaos.

“No wonder you’ve been so disobedient lately. Turns out you’ve made friends with this gang of troublemakers. Are they bothering you?” Her voice was calm, but her words cut deep. My friends looked at me, hurt and confused.

“Evan, you’re a good kid. Today, Mom will get rid of this bad influence for you.” She kept her tone light, but there was steel in her eyes. My friends shifted, embarrassed. She stayed calm, never used a single dirty word, but made my friends blush with shame.

They looked down, mumbling apologies. I wanted to scream. They just weren’t good at studying. They weren’t bad people, just not good at talking, so all they could do was slam the door and leave.

They grabbed their backpacks and left, slamming the door behind them. I watched them go, heart sinking. Mom gently patted my head. She smiled, wiping my face with a towel. “There, all better.”

I was in shock, letting her wipe my face with a towel and feed me cake. I sat there, numb, as she cut me a slice and held it out. I didn’t even taste it.

“Evan, when you grow up, you’ll understand. In this world, only Mom and Dad are truly good to you.” Her words echoed in my head. I stared at the cake, wishing I could disappear.

I couldn’t say a word. My throat felt tight. I just nodded, staring at the floor. What have I done, inviting my friends over just to be humiliated?

Guilt twisted in my gut. I’d wanted a party, but all I got was misery. Mason Carter said his mom’s best friend is Mrs. Parker from the next block. They often do spa days, have afternoon tea, and walk their golden retrievers together. I pictured them, gossiping and laughing, never worrying about anything real.

I thought, one day I’ll let her know what it’s like to lose a friend. I made a silent promise. One day, I’d make her feel what I felt.

But for now, I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit there. I needed to fight back, somehow. Otherwise, I’d die of anger first. My hands shook as I stood up, determination burning in my chest.

I ran upstairs to the bedroom, dumped all her cosmetics into the toilet, then ran to the garage and keyed only the expensive cars. I worked fast, adrenaline pumping. Lipsticks down the drain, mascara in the toilet, and a key down the side of Dad’s Tesla. I didn’t even feel bad.

When security caught me, I cried and made a scene, insisting my parents were cousins who married each other. I wailed at the top of my lungs, “My parents are related! That’s why I’m like this!” Security looked horrified. I almost laughed.

“I’m mentally unstable! I’m mentally unstable!” I rolled on the ground, clutching my head. The neighbors peeked out their windows, phones in hand.

That night, my parents got roasted in the neighborhood Facebook group. Screenshots, memes, the works. I saw Dad’s face go pale as he scrolled through the comments.

“Just pay up, it’s only money,” Dad said, not caring. “Did you get rid of those troublemakers today?” He tried to play it cool, but I could see the worry in his eyes.

Mom nodded. “I’ve noticed, it’s those bad kids corrupting Evan.” She sounded smug, like she’d won some kind of prize.

They both looked at me. “Evan, you’ve made a scene, but you’ll understand our good intentions later.” Their voices blended together, a chorus of fake concern. I wanted to scream.

“No one can mess up Evan’s grades.” Their obsession with perfection was suffocating. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

The next day, Mom took me to school. She drove in silence, lips pressed tight. I stared out the window, counting the cracks in the sidewalk.

A neighbor lady quietly told her, “Mrs. Carter, Evan doesn’t seem emotionally well. Should he see a doctor?” Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were sharp. I felt her gaze on me, heavy and judging.

“Emotional problems? What do emotions have to do with studying?” Mom looked at me, backpack on my shoulders. “Our Evan, happy or not, will always get first place, right?” She smiled at the neighbor, then turned to me, eyes cold. I bit my tongue, swallowing my anger.

That day she sent me to school. She watched me walk inside, arms crossed. I felt her stare burning into my back.

I went into the classroom, but saw her head to the teacher’s office behind me. I peeked through the window, heart pounding. I knew nothing good was about to happen.

I heard she made the homeroom teacher call in all the parents of the classmates who came to my house yesterday. Whispers spread fast. By lunch, everyone knew something was up.

She strictly warned them to watch their own kids—don’t let them be losers and drag down good students. I overheard her in the hallway, voice sharp and clear. My face burned with shame.

“Mason’s mom, the kids are just classmates. It’s normal for them to hang out. Besides, at this age...” The young homeroom teacher tried to smooth things over. She sounded desperate, voice trembling. I wanted to hug her.

“No effect? As the homeroom teacher, you bear the greatest responsibility, you know? Mason dropped two places in the monthly exam. Shouldn’t you reflect on your teaching?” Mom’s voice was icy. I saw the teacher flinch, tears in her eyes.

“Why not guide kids to make good friends? Letting them hang out with troublemakers—isn’t that your failure as a teacher?” The words echoed down the hallway. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

When I rushed over, all I saw was the homeroom teacher crying, and Brian’s mom hunched over, also crying. The sight broke my heart. I wanted to run in and scream at my mom, but I froze.

Brian’s from a single-parent family. His mom supports two kids—really tough. I remembered how Brian always shared his snacks with me. I felt sick.

And my mom stood opposite them, smug as a victorious rooster. She looked proud, like she’d just won a gold medal. I hated her in that moment.

I wanted to rush up, but Mason Carter appeared out of nowhere and hugged me. He grabbed me from behind, holding me tight. “Don’t,” he whispered. “It’s not worth it.”

“Evan, listen to me.” His voice was steady, but I could feel him shaking. I tried to pull away, but he held on.

“Evan, you can’t beat them.” He sounded so sure, so defeated. I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right.

Mason Carter dragged me to the playground and sighed. We sat on the swings, watching the sun set. The world felt heavy.

Man, watching my strong body get more and more timid because of him, I was furious. I wanted to yell, to fight, to do something. But all I could do was sit there, silent.

“I want revenge, don’t stop me!” I kicked at the gravel, frustration boiling over.

“If you rebel, they’ll just hurt you more.” He looked at me, eyes sad. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Mason Carter squatted down and told me a story. He drew circles in the dirt with a stick, voice soft.

“One time after eating out, they asked me what I wanted to eat.” He stared at the ground, not meeting my eyes. “I said McDonald’s. My mom said it’s not healthy. Then I said barbecue. Dad said it’d leave a smell. Whatever I suggested, they had a reason to say no, so I just said whatever.”

He shrugged, lips pressed tight. “Didn’t matter what I wanted.” “That day we had pork chops and rice, but I hate pork chops. So I just ate plain rice and didn’t touch a single chop Mom gave me. They got upset, insisted pork was nutritious and I had to eat it. I forced down two pieces, then threw up.”

He looked away, cheeks red. I felt my stomach twist. Just hearing this, I felt suffocated. “Why didn’t you flip the table?” I wanted to scream. How could he just take it?

Mason Carter looked at me, then kept doodling in the dirt with a stick. He didn’t answer, just kept drawing lines. I wanted to shake him.

“I did rebel. The next day was the finals. I deliberately wrote messily and lost points for handwriting.” He gave a small, sad smile. “It was the only way I could fight back.”

“They want me to be first, so I made sure I wasn’t. But I didn’t expect Mom to go straight to school and find the English teacher.” He shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe it. What, is she crazy? I blurted it out before I could stop myself. He just laughed, bitter and tired.

Mason Carter gave a helpless smile. “She always finds a way to blame others.” He looked at me, eyes hollow. “Nothing’s ever her fault.”

“I saw her make the teacher blush with anger. She’s great at arguing—whatever the teacher says, she’ll twist it. ‘Teacher, you’re so old and unmarried, you must not understand a mother’s heart. For our child’s excellence, we’ll do anything.’” He mimicked her voice, high and mocking. I winced.

“Evan, honestly, I like being Evan.” He said it so quietly, I almost didn’t hear. My heart ached for him. This kid! I wanted to hug him, to promise things would get better. But I just nodded.

Who wouldn’t want to be Evan! I thought of my own life—messy, chaotic, but mine. I missed it.

“Don’t worry, Mason Carter, I’ll help you!” I grinned, determined. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

I completely let myself go. That night, I decided I was done playing by their rules. If they wanted chaos, I’d give them chaos.

Back home, I didn’t do homework or study—just sat in front of the computer playing Fortnite. I cranked up the volume, blasting music, yelling at the screen. It felt good to let loose.

Dad wanted to ground me. “How can you still play games?” He stormed in, face red, ready to lecture me. I put down the mouse, suddenly leaned close to his ear, and breathed out,

“If I don’t play games, what should I do? Play with you? My dear dad~” I watched his face go from red to purple. I almost laughed. Dad’s 180-pound body shuddered.

He raised his hand to hit me. I jumped up, dodging. “Not today, old man!”

I jumped up and ran, yelling as I went, “If you hit me again, I’ll call the cops! I’ll jump off the roof! You’ll have no one left to carry on your name!” I ran through the house, slamming doors. Mom chased after me, yelling.

Mom hurried to stop him. She grabbed his arm, whispering urgently. I could see the panic in her eyes. She’s really good at being a smiling tiger. “Evan, if you don’t study hard, what will you do in the future? Mom and Dad can take care of you now, but how will you live when you grow up?” She tried to sound sweet, but I could hear the threat underneath.

“Easy, you raise me now, I’ll freeload off you when you’re old!” I grinned, arms crossed. She stared at me, speechless.

They tried to play nice and took me out to eat. They dressed up, acting like nothing was wrong. I wasn’t fooled.

But used the same old tricks on Mason Carter. I could see it in their eyes—the disappointment, the judgment. I braced myself.

At the restaurant, I wanted chicken tenders. Mom said it was too greasy, bad for my skin. She didn’t even look at me, just ordered a salad and grilled fish. I rolled my eyes.

I wanted spicy tacos. Dad said it was too spicy, bad for my stomach. He shook his head, ordering for me. I clenched my fists under the table.

I stopped talking. I stared at my plate, refusing to eat. They pretended not to notice.

I watched them finish ordering, pretended to eat. I picked at my food, sneaking glances at the other tables. I spotted a plate of chicken tenders next to us and my mouth watered.

Actually, I kept my eyes and ears open. Finally, I saw the table next to us get a plate of chicken tenders. My stomach growled. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I jumped up, rushed over to their table, “Sorry, I’m a seagull! Move!” (flapping my arms, slapping people’s faces) I flapped my arms, cawing like a bird, and snatched a chicken tender right off their plate. The whole restaurant went silent.

Before anyone could react, I grabbed the chicken tenders and stuffed them in my mouth. Grease dripped down my chin. I didn’t care. It tasted like freedom.

Honestly, the freshly made tenders were crispy, hot, and delicious. Best thing I’d eaten in days. I grinned, licking my fingers.

Someone tried to grab me. A waiter lunged, but I dodged, cackling. It was chaos.

I howled, flapped my arms, and wildly slapped at people. I spun in circles, yelling, “Mine! Mine!” like that scene from Finding Nemo. It was hilarious. My parents’ faces turned green.

They looked mortified, mouths open. I winked at them, daring them to stop me. For the first time, I saw that look on their always-fake-loving faces—the look of “I don’t know this person.”

They shrank in their seats, glancing around, pretending they didn’t know me. “Seagull Daddy! Seagull Mommy! Seagull Baby is here!” I cawed, flapping my arms, making a scene. The whole restaurant burst out laughing. For once, I felt alive, even if it was just for a moment.