Walk In My Shoes

The hallway was packed. Shoulder to shoulder. The air smelled like coffee, floor wax, and the body spray of a hundred students trying to look fresh for Monday classes. It was a suffocating mix of expensive perfume and cheap deodorant. Posters were plastered on the walls. Midterms next week. Club fair. Scholarship forms. Announcements buzzed from the speakers, but no one was listening. The floor was shiny from the janitor’s morning mop, reflecting the fluorescent lights above. It was so slick Lexus had to be careful not to slip. Lexus Cruz was running on pure panic and borrowed time. His heart was in his throat. The diorama in his arms was due in ten minutes, and if he was late, Professor Dela Vega wouldn’t care that his jeep got stuck in traffic for an hour. The professor didn’t care about excuses. He only cared about results. The glue was already drying on the sides of the cardboard mountain. One wrong move and the whole mountain range would collapse. Two weeks of work. No sleep. All for this. “Ladies and gentlemen, the diorama project—” His name echoed from the PA system, crackling and too loud. It made him jump. He turned his head for half a second to look for Room 203. That was a mistake. BAM. Hot coffee and cold water exploded everywhere. The heat seeped through his white polo instantly, burning his skin. His shoulder slammed into someone hard. Pain shot down his arm. But the diorama stayed safe, clutched to his chest like it was a child. His fingers were white from gripping it too tight. The girl in front of him didn’t. “OH. MY. GOSH!” The scream cut through the noise like glass. High-pitched and furious. Students stopped. Conversations died. Some pulled out their phones already, recording. Lexus blinked, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. A girl in a perfectly pressed designer uniform stood in front of him. The white blouse was now stained with brown coffee down the center, spreading like a ugly flower. Her skirt had water splashes all over. Mascara was running down her cheeks in black rivers, ruining her perfect makeup. And she was holding the remains of a shattered compact in her manicured hands. Foundation powder dusted the floor like expensive snow. The scent of something sweet and pricey filled the air. Chanel? Dior? Something he could never afford. The girl’s name was Alison Pierre. Heiress. Campus queen. Her IG had 200k followers. And right now, she was furious. "Oh no. Oh no oh no." Lexus’s stomach dropped. "Not her. Anyone but her." he whisper. Lexus crouched instantly, knees almost hitting the wet floor. He ignored the sting of coffee on his own shirt. He picked up the broken compact with trembling hands. The gold case was dented. The mirror was cracked. He could feel everyone staring. Whispering. Recording. He held it out to her with both hands, like an offering. “Miss, I’m so sorry—” His voice was hoarse. “Look at this!” Alison snatched it from him, then threw her hands up. Coffee dripped from her sleeve onto the floor. “It’s ruined! Do you even know how much this costs? This is Dior! Limited edition!” Her voice was sharp. It made the people around them flinch. “Three thousand pesos! Do you even make that in a month?” "Three thousand." Lexus swallowed. That was his family’s grocery budget for two weeks. “I’m sorry, I was in a rush. I need to submit this—” Lexus glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:59. One minute left. His throat went dry. “Then watch where you’re going!” Alison cut him off, eyes blazing. She looked him up and down in one sweeping, disgusted glance. His worn-out shoes. His faded backpack with the broken zipper. His cheap polo. “Do your makeup in the bathroom, not while walking! Some of us actually have standards to maintain!” Lexus said angry. The words hit him like a slap. Lexus felt his face burn. Shame and anger mixed together in his chest, hot and heavy. "She thinks I’m nothing. Just another poor kid." “You weren’t looking either. You were doing your makeup while walking.” The words came out before he could stop them. Quiet, but firm. The hallway went quiet. Even the PA stopped buzzing. Alison’s jaw dropped. Her friends behind her gasped. “Wow. So it’s my fault now?” Alison stepped closer. She smelled like perfume that probably cost more than his monthly allowance. Jasmine and something expensive. “You bumped into me and you’re blaming me?” "Say sorry. Just say sorry and leave." A voice in his head screamed. But another voice was tired. Tired of being stepped on. “Miss, I really am sorry. I’m late. Please.” Lexus bowed his head once, the fastest, deepest bow he could manage. His back ached. The diorama couldn’t wait. His scholarship couldn’t wait. His little sister was waiting for his allowance to buy her medicine. He turned and bolted. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he muttered, pushing through the crowd. His face was burning. His hands were shaking. “What?! Hey! HEY! You b***h!” Alison’s voice chased him down the hall, echoing off the tiles. Lexus didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. If he looked back, he might cry. And he refused to cry in front of her. --- Lexus disappeared around the corner, and the hallway exploded into whispers again. “Did you see that, Rina?” Alison turned to her best friend, still fuming. Her hands were shaking. Not from sadness. From rage. Pure, hot rage. “The audacity. Like his apology can buy me a new foundation. This is more expensive than his allowance for the whole month! Probably more than what his family makes in a year!” Inside, she felt something else too. A flicker of guilt. "He looked so scared. And that box in his arms... he protected it like it was his life." She shoved the thought away. "No. He ruined my day." Rina sighed and handed Alison a tissue. She dabbed at the coffee stain but it only spread, turning into a bigger brown blotch. “That was Lexus, Ali. He’s on scholarship here. He has to work twice as hard just to stay. He delivers in the mornings, I heard. For his family.” “I don’t care who he is.” Alison snapped her compact shut. The broken pieces rattled inside like bones. “It’s not my fault he can’t afford to be here. Maybe he should go sell fishballs on the street instead of running around and ruining people’s things.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but she said them anyway. She tossed her hair. Even wet, it fell perfectly. “No wonder he has no manners. Poor people.” She walked away, heels clicking against the floor. Each step was loud. Deliberate. A performance. Behind her, the crowd parted. And on the floor, the Dior compact lay in pieces. Along with Lexus’s pride. Alison didn’t see it. But for a second, her chest felt tight. --- *END OF CHAPTER 1*