Ivory POV
Returning to school after being discharged from the clinic felt like stepping into a movie set where I had somehow been recast as the lead. My ribs still gave me a sharp, stinging poke if I breathed too deeply, and the fading yellow bruise on my temple was a grim souvenir from the bathroom floor, but the atmosphere in the hallways had shifted completely.
It wasn't just respect anymore. It was fear.
As I walked down the main corridor, the sea of students parted like I was carrying a contagious disease. Groups that used to snicker at my thrift store jeans or whisper about my shifts at the diner suddenly went silent, their eyes dropping to the floor. About the thrift store...even my mom used to complain about them. She literally begs me to get designer brands but I am too string
