I Dumped the School Heartthrob, and the Back-Row Boy Claimed Me

"Say yes! Sienna! Say yes!"

A crowd had formed a circle, and in the middle of a sea of pink balloons, Kane Ward—the boy I'd been chasing for three years—stood there smiling at a rich blonde girl with blue eyes.

Sienna covered her mouth shyly, but the smug look in her eyes gave her away.

My nails dug deep into my palms as countless malicious stares swept over me.

Everyone was waiting for the foster girl who had spent years trailing after Kane to finally break down and cry.

Expressionless, I slowly unclenched my fists, then turned and walked away from the noisy plaza without looking back.

But when I pushed open the front door of the Foster house, I realized something even more absurd was waiting for me.

"Oh, look who's back. Our family's big star."

Mrs. Foster sat on the couch, looking at me with a cold sneer.

"You made a fool of yourself again today, didn't you? Take a look at this."

On her phone was a short video already going viral on Instagram. The camera was aimed at Fountain Plaza, and in the corner of the frame, someone had deliberately circled my face in red. The moment Kane held out the rose, I was standing in the shadows, looking like a stray dog. The comments below were refreshing by the second, and every single one of them was mocking me for not knowing my place.

"I honestly don't understand why you can't do one thing that makes me proud," Mrs. Foster snapped. "If our family hadn't been charitable enough to take you in and collect that pathetic little foster care check every month to help with the bills, you'd already be dead in a ditch just like your useless drunk of a father. Trash runs in your blood. A girl from the gutter like you actually thought you could cling to a boy like Kane?"

I stared at her twisted face and suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

For three years, I had washed their clothes, cooked their meals, endured their constant verbal abuse, and let Kane grind my self-respect into dust at school, all for the illusion that maybe, somehow, I was needed.

"That's enough—"

I grabbed the teacup off the coffee table and hurled it at the wall beside the fireplace.

Crash.

The living room went dead silent. Mrs. Foster shot up from the couch. "Are you insane?! You ungrateful little bitch!"

I met her eyes calmly. "I'm moving out. I've had enough of all of you."

"Moving out?" Mrs. Foster froze for a second, then burst into laughter. "And where exactly do you think you're going? You're seventeen. You don't even have a hundred bucks to your name. The second you walk out that door, you'll end up selling yourself on the street. Who would ever want a piece of trash like you?"

I ignored her cursing and ran straight up to the attic, locking the door behind me. I slid down against the door, and exhaustion dragged me into darkness.

In my dream, I saw my future self.

Because of my unhealthy obsession with Kane, I ruined my education and got thrown out by the Fosters. With nowhere else to go, I was forced to return to the home I came from—a place filled with violence and alcohol—and I sank all the way to the bottom.

The final image in the dream was of me dying alone in a low-income apartment.

At the cemetery, only one tall, gaunt figure stood in front of my cheap coffin.

It was Eli.

The boy who always wore a black hoodie, sat in the back row of the classroom, and hardly ever spoke.

"Hah—"

I jolted awake and sat up on the narrow bed.

I was breathing hard, but my mind had never been clearer.

I would never be anyone's stepping stone again.

And I would never let that nightmare ending become real.

Late that night, my trembling hand lit up my phone screen. Ignoring the flood of mocking Instagram notifications, I went straight to my contacts.

My thumb hovered over one painfully short name for a long time.

Eli.

The boy who had silently handed me a tissue three different times—when Kane's admirers dumped cold water on me, when I was isolated in the locker room, and when I cried alone in the library.

I bit down on my lower lip, but didn't press call.