hroom; it was fancy, like a very expensive restaurant. Big, sparkly lights hung from the ceiling, shining like the sun. The long, s

s she talked, and everyone around her laughed at just the right time, enjoying her stories. The middle tables were for kids who had money but not as much power. They were rich, but not rich e

ges dug into her skin. She hadn't wanted to come here; she'd told herself she could just stay in the library during

e talking didn't stop completely, but it got quiet enough for her to feel everyone looking at her. She tri

another student, stopped. For a second, the cashier seemed to hesitate, maybe wanting to say something

as if serving Elara was a huge problem. Then it happened. The laughter. It started as a small giggle fr

led. "Water! That's all she can afford," ano

dy been through too much today. Someone had dragged her, made her feel small, and forced her to stand outside her own class for hours. She was not

d from her hand and rolled away. She barely felt the pain in her hands before she heard the sharp sound of liquid spilling, and a gasp that wasn't hers. It was Bianca

m the corner of her eye, she saw the new boy, Damien, stand up from his seat. For a quick second, she thought someone was finally going to help her. But that wasn't true. He d

think this is funny?" Bianca's voice was strangely calm, but the dangerous look in her

y shoes, can you pay for them?" Elara stiffened. If Bianca asked for money for that shirt, Elara would have

ut warning, Bianca bent down, grabbed one of Elara's shoes, and pulled

d her. She held up the shoe, looking at it with disgust before laughing. "Look at this thing!" she said, waving it so everyone could see. "No bran

of her keychain, the kind for emergencies, with a comb on one side and a knife on the other. The laughter stopped as students leaned forward, eag

material, tearing it slowly and carefully. Elara gasped. Bianca tore the shoe apart easily, her

n the room on her, waiting to see how she would react. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the ruined s

the cafeteria and walked away. She didn't look back; she knew she would start crying if she did. Her steps

tears almost falling. But she refused to cry. The pain, the shame, the anger – it was all stuck inside, pushing against her

ught. Then she saw him: Damien, the new student. He was sitting at his desk, one arm resting lazily on the back of his chair, his other hand

hard enough to fall, but just enough to make a noise. Damien's pen stopped spinning. His lips pressed into a thin line, and with a sigh, he leaned back slightly, giving her a look that showed only disinterest. His eyes slowly l

m the window. "I'll be the one to leave," he added. His voice showed no emotion. And without another word, he walked past her, leaving