BEATRICE
The pain in my nose has dulled to a throb, but the shame… that's a wildfire, burning long after the match is out.
I keep my head down for the rest of class, hoping no one notices the dried blood on my top or how swollen the side of my face has become. But eyes still follow me. Whispers don't need volume to sting.
I spot Stella during break, sitting near the courtyard steps with her lunch. I almost pretend I don't see her, but it’s too late—her eyes catch mine, and she's already standing.
"Beatrice?" Her voice tightens the second she sees my face. "What happened?"
I shrug, trying to play it down. "It’s nothing. Just a ball to the face."
She steps closer, frowning. "Are you serious? Who threw it?"
"Stella, let it go--"
"No. Tell me. Was it Shayla? That Shannon girl?"
"I don
