Before I met you

My mother’s hands were rough—sandpapered by years of scrubbing other people’s floors and wringing out washcloths. But when she smoothen it down the collar of my blazer, her touch was the softest thing in the world. You look like a queen, Maya,” she whispered, her eyes shining with a pride that made my chest ache. “You show them. You show them you belong there just as much as they do. I forced a smile, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. I couldn’t tell her that to them, I wasn’t a queen. I was a trespasser. I was the scholarship kid. The girl with no father and a bank account that hovered near zero. But for her? For those rough hands? I would walk into the lion’s den and let them bite. The commute was a forty-minute transition between realities. I sat in the back of the rattling city bus, my knees pressed against the graffitied plastic seat in front of me, clutching my backpack like a shield. With every stop, the neighborhoods changed. The cracked sidewalks and laundromats of my district faded, replaced first by tidy suburban lawns, and finally, by the towering iron gates of Crestwood Academy. I waited until the bus hissed away before I turned toward the entrance. Crestwood didn’t look like a school; it looked like a fortress built to keep the world out. The driveway was a sea of polished chrome and matte black paint. Students spilled out of luxury SUVs, their uniforms tailored to perfection, their laughter ringing out with the easy confidence of people who had never worried about a utility bill in their lives. I took a breath, smoothed my skirt—which I had ironed three times the night before—and walked through the gates Careful, you’re blocking the view.” The voice was low and lazy. I froze, stepping aside just as a silver convertible pulled into the spot I had been standing in. The driver killed the engine, and a girl stepped out. I knew her face from the school website: Vanessa Sterling. Her father owned half the skyline downtown. She didn’t look at me. She looked through me, adjusting her silk headband. The service entrance is around back,” she said to her friend, her voice loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. “I swear, the staff is getting younger every year.” Heat rushed up my neck, hot and prickly. It wasn’t a mistake; it was a calculated strike. She saw the fray on my backpack strap. She saw the scuff on my second-hand loafers. “I’m a student,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. Vanessa paused, finally turning her gaze to me. Her eyes swept me up and down, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Oh. Right. The charity case My dad mentioned the board was trying to look more… inclusive this year.” A ripple of snickers moved through the crowd. I gripped my bag tighter, remembering my mother’s rough hands smoothing my collar. Show them, Maya. I was about to retort—to say something sharp that would probably get me expelled on day one—when a car door slammed shut nearby. The sound was heavy, final, and it silenced the group. Leaning against a vintage Mustang was a boy. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even looking at Vanessa. He was looking at me. He had dark hair that fell messy over his forehead and a tie that was loosened at the collar, as if he found the uniform just as suffocating as I did. He looked bored, tired, and distinctly unimpressed by the display of wealth around him “Vanessa,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chatter like a knife. “You’re blocking the walkway. Move.”Vanessa’s smirk faltered. “I was just—” “Boring me,” he finished, pushing off the car. He walked past her, and for a split second, he paused in front of me. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t offer pity. He just looked at my shoes, then up to my eyes. “Nice comeback back there,” he murmured, so low only I could hear. “Don’t let them see you bleed. It attracts the sharks.” And then he was gone, disappearing into the building, leaving me standing in the driveway with my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs