Becoming Dawn

Dawn’s POV The first thing you learn about Veridian Academy is that it wasn’t built for people like me. The gates alone prove it–black iron polished so carefully I can see my reflection: wide cheeks, nervous brown eyes, the outline of a body that never seems to shrink, no matter how many diets Mom makes me try. The gold crest at the center of the gate gleams like a crown, as if announcing to everyone who walks through it: Only the best belong here. Beyond the gates, the school rises like a palace. Wide courtyards. Marble steps. Windows that gleam like they’re scrubbed by magic every morning. Even the air feels different here, cleaner somehow, touched with the scent of polished wood and expensive perfume. And then there’s the students. Cars glide in one after another–sleek, expensive machines I’ve only seen in magazines. Drivers open doors and girls step out like models, hair catching the sunlight, uniforms perfectly pressed. Boys swing their backpacks over their shoulders with easy confidence, laughing like the world is theirs and always will be. I climb off the city bus. My skirt is neat, ironed by Mom’s tired hands this morning, but the hem shows its age. My shoes are scuffed, the polish rubbed thin. My bag is sturdy but faded, the leather soft from years of use. Every detail screams different. I grip the strap so tightly my fingers ache. If I keep my head down, maybe no one will notice me. That’s always been my strategy: walk small, speak less, stay invisible. But invisibility doesn’t exist here. I feel the stares almost instantly–sharp, slicing glances that start at my waist, skim my hips, pause at my thighs. Some linger a little longer, eyes narrowing like I’m a puzzle piece forced into the wrong box. Others flick away quickly, lips curling as though they might catch something if they look too long. No one says anything. Not yet. But I hear it anyway. The same things I’ve heard my whole life, floating around me like poisonous smoke: "She’s huge. How did she even get in here?" "Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe charity." "Fat girls don’t survive at Veridian." I lift my chin, though my chest burns. I belong here. Because the truth is, I do. That letter last spring–the one I almost tore in half, convinced it was a prank–still feels unreal. Veridian Academy, offering me a full scholarship. Top of my class. Highest scores in the state. For once, my brain carried me farther than anyone expected. When Dad hugged me that day, he whispered, "See, Dawn? Hard work makes its own luck." Mom cried and pressed her forehead to mine. For weeks after, every time she looked at me, her eyes filled with pride instead of worry. I remind myself of that now as I cross the courtyard: I earned this. I earned this. I earned this. But my confidence crumbles the second I step into my first classroom. It’s too beautiful– arched windows spilling golden light, polished wooden desks arranged in perfect rows. The air smells faintly of lavender and expensive textbooks. Students already sit in little clusters, their chatter low and controlled, like they’ve rehearsed even the way they breathe. The only empty desk is near the middle. Of course. I clutch my bag like a shield and weave through the rows. My heartbeat drums so loud I can barely hear the chatter anymore. And then –her. "Wow." The voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the room like a blade. She sits in the center row, surrounded by three other girls who orbit her like planets. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders in perfect waves, catching the light like spun gold. Her nails, glossy pink, tap against her notebook in a rhythm only she can hear. She tilts her head, studying me with a smile that makes my skin prickle. Vanessa Kingsley. I don’t know her personally, but I’ve heard of her. Everyone has. Daughter of one of the city’s wealthiest families. Captain of the debate team. Crown jewel of Veridian Academy. And apparently, queen of cruelty too. "Didn’t know Veridian was taking… charity cases now," she says. The room ripples with laughter. Soft at first, then louder as the words sink in. My throat tightens. My cheeks blaze. But I keep moving, squeezing past desks, eyes glued to the floor. Don’t react. Don’t give her the satisfaction. Survive. Vanessa isn’t finished. Her smile widens. "Careful," she adds, her voice silkier now, more dangerous. "The desks aren’t reinforced. We wouldn’t want any accidents." The laughter bursts this time–bright and sharp, stabbing at my ears. I grip my bag strap so hard the leather edge digs into my palm. The sting grounds me. Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Crying is blood in the water, and sharks like Vanessa never stop circling once they’ve had a taste. But before the teacher can walk in, before my silence can seal my fate as the day’s punchline, another voice cuts across the room. "Knock it off, Vanessa." Everything stops. The voice is male, steady, deep. I turn instinctively–and nearly trip over my own feet. Adrian Carter. Even I know him, and I don’t follow school gossip. Everyone knows him. His face is on Veridian’s sports website, smiling with a trophy in hand. Star striker for the football team. Son of the city’s number one tech company’s CEO. Tall, broad-shouldered, every feature sharpened into perfection. And right now, his eyes—gray-blue, piercing—are fixed on Vanessa. "She’s here because she earned it," he says, calm but firm. "Can you say the same?" The words hang in the air like smoke. For one breathless moment, no one moves. Vanessa’s smile flickers, falters, but she recovers quickly, flipping her hair with a laugh that sounds more brittle than before. "Relax, Adrian. It’s just a joke." But the edge in her eyes is sharp, and I know she doesn’t forgive, not in her world. The teacher sweeps in then, commanding silence. Books open, pens scratch, and the rhythm of school resumes. But I’m frozen in my seat, hands trembling under the desk, face still hot. Because no one has ever stood up for me like that before. Not once. Not at Riverside High, not anywhere. Usually, I’m the background character and the punchline all at once—invisible when it suits them, too visible when it doesn’t. But Adrian Carter—golden boy, prince of Veridian—looked at me and decided I was worth defending. It should make me feel safe. It doesn’t. Because if Adrian Carter noticed me today, Vanessa Kingsley will make sure everyone notices me tomorrow. And that is the last thing I want.