Isla slipped through the academy gates that morning like a shadow trying to disappear into sunlight. She kept her head down, shoulders hunched, blazer buttoned to the throat as if the fabric could shield her from the stares. The hallways were worse than she remembered—every turn brought fresh glares, every whisper felt aimed at the space between her shoulder blades. She didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe too loudly. Invisible. That was the goal.
She reached the cafeteria last, waiting until the initial rush had thinned. The double doors were still propped open, the smell of overcooked pasta and fryer oil hitting her like a wall. She kept her tray low, eyes on the floor, and moved straight to the serving line.
The lunch lady—Mrs. Hale, who had always slipped her extra r
