Klara
The library was empty, but it didn't feel like a sanctuary anymore. It felt like a tomb.
I packed my AP English binder into my denim backpack, my movements slow, mechanical, and entirely devoid of life. It had been four days since Ryan had dropped that twenty-dollar bill at my feet. Four days of surviving the snickers in the hallway, the vicious text messages from anonymous numbers, and the suffocating weight of my own humiliation.
I was sad, a deep, hollow ache in the center of my chest that made it hard to swallow, but beneath the sadness, the anger was solidifying into something permanent. I was done crying over a boy who used me as a stepping stone.
I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder and walked out into the main corridor. The school was mostly empty, the final bell having
