Bullied, But I Have Five Alphas Doting on Me

"Move, trash."

A sharp elbow dug into my ribs. I stumbled, my shoulder slamming against the grey metal of locker 402.

"Watch where you're going, Omega." A tall Beta boy sneered, not even breaking his stride.

"I was just standing here." I muttered to his retreating back.

"Did you say something?" He stopped and pivoted on his heel.

"Nothing, Brad." I gripped the strap of my backpack.

He scoffed. "That's what I thought. Keep your mouth shut."

Standard morning at St. Arlan High.

I spun my combination lock. The door popped open.

A pile of rotting orange peels, soggy napkins, and crumpled notebook paper spilled out, landing directly on my scuffed loafers.

"Oh, gross." A passing girl pinched her nose. "Who let the Omega bring her garbage to school?"

"Maybe it's her lunch," her friend mocked.

I kicked the mess aside. I didn't have the energy to clean it up today. I smoothed down my off-the-rack uniform skirt. The stiff polyester scratched my thighs. Every thread of it screamed poor Omega, a neon sign inviting the elite to take their best shot.

"Did you see her at lunch yesterday?" a voice whispered from the next row of lockers.

"Yeah." Another girl laughed. "Leah flipped the entire tray right onto her lap. Mashed potatoes everywhere."

"Serves her right. Omegas should eat in the basement. Or outside with the strays."

I slammed my locker shut. The metal clanged loudly. A few heads turned, but I ignored them. I just needed to survive until the final bell.

Fast forward to the lunch break.

The main corridor hummed with vicious gossip and the clinking of expensive jewelry