It had been a week since Emily's notebook was vandalized and her lunch knocked to the floor. A week since she first realized something was shifting in the hallways of Cresthill High — not in her favor.
By Thursday, it was no longer whispers behind her back. It was direct.
Her locker had been defaced that morning. Red marker scrawled across the metal:
"CHEATER."
"ENGINEER MY A."**
She stared at it in silence.
Students passed behind her, most of them pretending not to notice. Some paused to glance, nudging their friends. No one helped. No one said a word.
Emily cleaned the mess herself with a few tissues and sanitizer from her bag. Her hands trembled, but she made sure no one saw it.
That same day during gym class, she changed into her uniform and stepped into the gym, only to find her sneakers missing. In their place was a pair of ragged old slippers that reeked of sweat.
"Looking for something?" Brooke called from the bleachers, tossing Emily's shoes back and forth between her hands like they were a joke.
Emily approached, reaching out. "Give them back, Brooke."
"Why? You want them so bad?" Brooke's grin widened. "Say please."
Vanessa laughed from behind. "Or maybe she could build new ones. You're an engineer, right?"
Emily grabbed the shoes and walked away, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. She said nothing. Not to the coach, not to anyone. No one would help her anyway. She knew that now.
At home, things were no better.
She sat quietly at the dinner table, across from her five-year-old sister Lily who was humming to herself as she drew with crayons. Their mother scrolled through her phone, barely touching her food. Mr. Clarke hadn't come home in two nights.
Emily cleared her throat. "Mom?"
Her mother didn't look up.
"There's something going on at school. Some girls have been—"
"Emily," her mother cut in. "Not now. I've had a long day."
"But it's—"
"You think you're the only one with problems?" she snapped. "I work two jobs. Your father's hardly around. Your sister needs attention. I don't have time for school drama."
Emily stared at her plate. "It's not just drama."
Her mother stood. "Then fix it. You're smart, aren't you?"
The next day, bruises.
She had been cornered in the girl's bathroom during break. Madison and Chloe. Laughing. Pushing.
"You think you're better than us?" Chloe sneered.
"No," Emily said. "I never said that."
"But you think it," Madison hissed, shoving her shoulder hard into the tiled wall.
It wasn't enough to leave lasting damage. But it was enough to make her breath hitch.
Later, when she looked in the mirror, there was a faint purple mark beneath her collarbone. She covered it with her sweater and said nothing.
By Friday, Emily found herself eating lunch in the library, tucked behind the last shelf near the windows. No one came there. It was quiet. Safe.
But inside her, something was changing.
she was just quite and bearing all the pains alone.
She was watching.
And somewhere deep inside her — under the bruises and silence a fire had started to burn.