The Penalty Box Tutor

Taylor

The sharp buzz of my alarm ripped through the quiet, dragging me out of sleep.

I groaned, fumbling for my phone until I finally managed to silence it. For a second, I just lay there, staring up at the familiar white ceiling above me. Same cracks. Same faint shadow in the corner from the vent. Nothing new. Nothing different.

I pushed the covers back and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cold floor. A small shiver ran through me, more from routine than the temperature.

Out of habit, my eyes lifted to the sign hanging on the wall.

New Day, New Beginnings.

A quiet scoff left my lips.

Yeah… right.

I stared at it for a moment longer before shaking my head. One of these days, I was going to take that thing down. Rip it off the wall and toss it in the trash where it belonged.

Because it was a lie.

There was no reset. No magical restart when you closed your eyes at night. You didn’t wake up as someone new, didn’t step into a different life.

You woke up as you.

Same body. Same thoughts. Same problems waiting exactly where you left them.

Every day was just a repeat. A slightly altered version of yesterday, but never different enough to matter.

I dragged myself to my feet and shuffled into the bathroom, flipping on the light. It was too bright, too early, and way too honest.

The mirror didn’t hesitate to remind me of that.

Same face.

Same long brown hair that refused to cooperate, hanging dull and flat no matter what I did to it. I ran my fingers through it, trying to give it some kind of life, but it just fell right back into place—lifeless, stubborn.

Same body.

Definitely no overnight miracle there. No sudden transformation. No glow-up gifted by some imaginary fairy godmother while I slept.

I let out a small breath, my shoulders sinking.

Nope. Still me.

Which meant the sign was still a lie.

“New day, my ass,” I muttered under my breath, reaching for my toothbrush.

By the time I walked into my philosophy class, I already felt drained—and the day had barely started.

I slipped into my usual seat toward the back, dropping my bag quietly beside me. It wasn’t assigned or anything, but no one ever took it. Like it was unofficially mine.

Or maybe people just didn’t notice me enough to care.

That had kind of been my thing since high school—blending in. Staying just… neutral enough that no one really looked twice. It was safer that way.

Standing out required confidence.

And I had absolutely none of that.

I glanced around the room as more students filtered in, laughter and chatter filling the space. My eyes lingered on a group of girls near the front.

Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. Perfect everything.

They looked effortless, like they woke up that way. Like rolling out of bed for them somehow turned into stepping onto a magazine cover.

I couldn’t even imagine it.

If I tried to look like that, it would take hours. Maybe days. And even then… it wouldn’t look the same.

Because it wasn’t just the makeup or the clothes.

It was the body underneath it.

And mine didn’t exactly fit the mold.

I pulled my gaze away, focusing on the edge of my notebook instead—until movement near the door caught my attention.

And then… him.

Marco Jennings.

A quiet sigh slipped out before I could stop it.

Of course.

He walked in like he owned the place—like he owned every place. Confident. Relaxed. Completely aware of the attention that followed him.

Because there was always attention.

Girls glanced up. Some whispered. A few straightened in their seats like they suddenly cared a whole lot more about philosophy.

Marco was the guy.

Star of the hockey team. Good-looking in that annoyingly effortless way. Cocky enough to know it—and then some.

And, in my personal opinion?

A complete asshole.

He’d been that guy since high school. I knew that firsthand.

Not that he knew me.

We had gone to the same school, walked the same halls, probably even shared a few classes. But we lived in completely different worlds.

Him? Popular. Loud. Surrounded.

Me?

Invisible.

I doubted he had ever even noticed I existed.

Still… I wasn’t completely immune.

There was a tiny, stupid part of me that had a crush on him. Not enough to do anything about it—because I wasn’t delusional—but enough to notice when he walked into a room.

Enough to feel it.

Which was honestly kind of pathetic.

Because I already knew how that story went.

Girls like me didn’t get guys like Marco.

Not in real life.

He liked girls who were short, petite, athletic. The kind that looked like they lived at the gym and somehow still had perfect hair afterward.

The kind that weighed, what—maybe a hundred and ten pounds?

Yeah.

That wasn’t me.

I let out a slow breath, leaning back slightly in my chair.

Reality wasn’t a fairytale.

There were no surprise plot twists where the popular guy suddenly noticed the girl in the background and realized she was “the one.”

That kind of thing didn’t happen.

Which, once again, brought me back to that stupid sign hanging in my dorm room.

New Day, New Beginnings.

I almost laughed.

Yeah… I really needed to take that thing down.

Because nothing about this day felt new.

And nothing about it was going to change