If stares could kill, I’d be a pile of ashes before my foot even touched the first step into school.
It was suffocating—how eyes just latched onto you when you weren’t actively trying to be seen. I could feel them crawling up my back, sliding across my skin, all that silent judgment smearing over me like wet paint that wouldn’t dry. I didn’t look up. I didn’t have to. I could already hear the whispers behind the fake coughs and the passive-aggressive gasps.
Whatever. Let them stare.
My life was already a mess.
Mom was marrying Greg in a few days, which meant I was basically starring in the world’s most twisted drama. My name was already being written in the book of scandal. Might as well get used to the spotlight, right?
Still, I hated the way my hands tightened around the strap of my
