Chapter 2
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One day at lunch, she loudly asked, "Evelyn, why do you always eat those sad little instant noodles?" She thrust a twenty-dollar bill at me. "Here, buy something with actual nutrients. You're practically a skeleton."
For a split second, I thought she might actually be kind. I looked up, ready to politely decline, when she smiled and added, "Oh wait, I forgot—you've probably never handled real money before. Do you even know how to spend it?"
My half-formed smile died on my lips.
I wanted to tell her exactly where she could shove her twenty dollars, but I couldn't. I needed perfect grades. I needed a drama-free environment. I needed that scholarship.
I couldn't afford enemies—especially not one whose daddy built the school's new science wing.
When midterm results posted that semester, my name sat at the very top of the list.
Sophia's name appeared at number five.
When the rankings went up, her perfect smile cracked.
She stared at the board for a full minute before turning to me, eyes narrowed.
"Wow, Evelyn," she said, her smile tight as a drum. "You're so smart."
"Thanks," I mumbled, already sensing danger.
"How'd you do it? Maybe you could tutor me?"
I hesitated, then nodded cautiously.
After school, I walked her through the test problems, explaining each step carefully.
Halfway through my explanation, she abruptly stood up.
"This is useless," she snapped. "Just go. I need to review this alone."
I gathered my worn textbooks and left, relieved to escape.
The next morning, my homework notebook was gone.
I tore through my backpack twice, panic rising in my chest.
Minutes before the bell, I found it in the classroom trash can.
It had been ripped to shreds.
I knelt beside the garbage, frantically gathering the fragments, trying to piece them back together like a pathetic puzzle.
But it was too late.
When Mr. Peterson collected homework, I stood empty-handed. He made me stand at the front of the class for the entire period.
From her front-row seat, Sophia watched me, her eyes dancing with triumph.
That night, my mother noticed my red eyes. "What's wrong, Evie?"
I shook my head. "Nothing, Mom. Just tired."
I couldn't tell her the truth. She'd tell Dad, and Dad would either call me worthless or worse—storm into school drunk, screaming about justice while reeking of cheap whiskey.
Either way, I'd be finished.
So I swallowed my humiliation.
I spent hours gluing those torn pages together, then rewriting every single problem.
When I finally crawled into bed, it was 3 AM.
The next day, exhaustion hit me like a truck. I dozed off during calculus.
Sophia walked by my desk and "accidentally" knocked her water bottle over—right onto my face.
I jerked awake, sputtering, water dripping from my chin.
The class howled with laughter.
