Chapter 1 The Bully
My alarm went off at 5:47. Not 5:45. Not 6:00. I'd figured out the exact minute three years ago. The latest I could sleep and still catch the first bus.
I lay there for a second, staring at the water stain on my ceiling. Looked like a rabbit. Used to think that was cute. Now I just hoped the plaster wouldn't cave in and kill me before first period.
The floor was cold through my socks. Our landlord didn't turn on the heat until December. My mom said it built character. I said it built hypothermia. She laughed and handed me an extra blanket.
She was already gone by the time I got to the kitchen. Her coffee mug sat in the sink, rinsed but not washed. She never had time to wash it. Two jobs. Sometimes three. She never complained.
That was the worst part.
I wished she would scream. Just once. Throw something. Tell me how unfair this all was. But she didn't. She just kissed my forehead and said "study hard, baby" and walked out like Atlas with a smile.
I drank tap water standing up. All the chairs wobbled.
For lunch: rice and beans in a plastic bag. A bruised apple from the half-price bin. I wrapped it tight and shoved it in my backpack.
The uniform was secondhand. White shirt too big. Navy skirt too short. The blazer had someone else's initials on the inside collar. E.C. I didn't know who that was. I hoped they made it out okay.
I braided my hair with a rubber band from the kitchen drawer. No products. No time.
The mirror showed dark circles and tired eyes. I was pretty, I think. Not in the Kensington way. Just pretty like something still fighting.
First bus at 6:22.
I walked in the dark. Streetlamps broken on my block. Nobody fixed them. Nobody expected us to stay.
The bus smelled like coffee and cigarettes. I sat in the back and watched my neighborhood fall away. Check cashing places. Laundromats. Bars on windows.
Changed buses at 6:45.
Crossed the bridge and everything changed. Houses got bigger. Streets got cleaner. By 7:15 I was at Kensington Academy.
Iron gates. Stone walls. A parking lot full of cars worth more than my mom would make in her lifetime.
I walked with my head down. Invisible. That was the goal.
One year on a full academic scholarship. Some committee decided a poor kid from the east side would make them feel good about themselves. Diversity points. That's what they called me when they thought I couldn't hear.
"Watch it."
I looked up.
Liam Whitmore stood in front of me. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair falling across his forehead. Basketball warm-up shirt with his last name on the back. His teammates flanked him like bodyguards.
"I said watch it," he repeated.
"I wasn't—"
"You weren't what? Looking where you were going? You scholarship kids are all the same. Don't know how to act around people who actually belong here."
His teammates laughed. The crowd around us went quiet.
"I'm sorry," I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
"Sorry doesn't pay for the uniform you're wearing. Or the blazer with someone else's name on it."
He knew about the initials. He'd noticed. Of course he had.
"I'll move," I said.
"Yeah. You will."
He didn't step aside. He just stood there, making me squeeze past him, forcing me to brush against his shoulder. Someone snorted. Someone else whispered scholarship trash.
I kept walking. Didn't look back.
---
By lunch, everyone had heard.
Not about the hallway incident. About something else. Something worse.
I walked into the cafeteria and the whole room shifted. Eyes on me. Whispers that stopped when I got close.
Noa grabbed my arm. "Don't look at the wall."
I looked.
Someone had printed out my family's financial records. Big blown-up screenshots. Rent overdue. Utility shutoff notices. My mother's name. Our address. Taped to the wall near the scholarship table like a museum exhibit.
"She's actually poor," someone said. "Like, really poor."
Laughter. Sharp and mean.
I stood there. Frozen.
Then Liam's voice cut through the noise.
"This is what we have to look at now? Trash on the walls?"
He wasn't looking at the screenshots. He was looking at me.
The crowd laughed again.
I turned and walked out. Noa followed.
---
I found a bathroom on the third floor. The one nobody used because the lights flickered and the locks were broken.
The last stall. I sat on the toilet, knees to my chest, and cried.
Not pretty crying. The kind where you can't breathe. Where your chest hurts and your face gets hot and you can't stop even when you want to.
Noa climbed under the stall door. Sat on the floor next to me. Didn't say anything. Just put her arm around my shoulders.
"We're gonna get through this," she said after a while.
"How?"
"I don't know. But we will."
The lights flickered. The pipes groaned. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed.
I wiped my face with toilet paper. My mascara was ruined. My hands were shaking.
"I can't do this anymore," I said.
"You can."
"What if I don't want to?"
Noa looked at me. "Then we leave. Together. But not today. Okay? Not today."
I nodded. Didn't believe it. But nodded anyway.
---
The rest of the day was a blur.
I went to class. Sat in the back. Didn't raise my hand. Didn't talk to anyone.
People stared. Whispered. Pointed.
I pretended not to see.
By the time the last bell rang, I was running on empty. I packed my bag, walked to my locker, and found Liam there.
Again.
He was leaning against it, arms crossed, watching me walk toward him.
"You're in my way," I said.
"You're in my school."
"I have a scholarship. I have a right to be here."
"A scholarship they're probably gonna take away once they see those screenshots."
My stomach dropped.
"They can't do that."
"They can do whatever they want. You're not one of us."
He said it like a fact. Like the sky was blue. Like water was wet.
"I know I'm not one of you," I said. "You don't have to remind me."
"Someone should."
He pushed off the locker. Walked past me. Bumped my shoulder hard enough that I stumbled.
"Go home, scholarship girl," he said over his shoulder. "Back to the east side. That's where you belong."
I stood there. Bleeding from a cut on my palm I hadn't noticed. The jersey he'd been holding earlier was draped over his arm. Blue and gold. Freshly signed.
He didn't look back.
---
I took the bus home. Transferred at the bridge. Watched the mansions shrink into apartments. The lawns fade into cracked sidewalks.
The apartment was dark. Cold. My mom wasn't home.
I heated up rice and beans. Ate standing up. Did my homework at the wobbly table.
At 9:47, she walked through the door. Her uniform was wrinkled. Her hair falling out of its bun.
"Hey, baby."
"Hey, Ma."
She kissed my forehead. Her hands were cold. "How was school?"
"Fine."
"Liar."
I shrugged. She didn't push.
We ate in silence. Then she said it.
"Your father called."
I stopped chewing.
"He's in town. Wants to see you."
"He's been in town before. He never wants to see me."
"He's trying, Maya."
"He's been trying for sixteen years. How long does it take?"
She didn't answer.
"I lost the pharmacy job today," she said quietly.
The words hit me like a wall.
"They're cutting hours. I was the newest. So..."
She didn't cry. She never cried.
"How much do we have left?"
"Enough for a few weeks. Maybe."
I sat there. The table wobbled. The water stain on the ceiling looked down at me like a rabbit watching a fox.
I thought about Liam's words. Go home. That's where you belong.
Maybe he was right.
