The late afternoon sun dipped lazily over the rooftops of Eastwood Estate, a rough corner of London where broken fences leaned tiredly against houses that had seen better days. Kids chased after a flat football in the dust, mothers shouted for their children from balconies, and the smell of fried plantain mixed with the sharp scent of exhaust fumes.
Amelia Johnson balanced a tray of peanuts, bread, and sausage rolls on her head as if she had been born to it. Her mother's voice still echoed in her ears, reminding her to smile at customers and never let anyone cheat her out of change.
"Hot bread! Fresh groundnuts!" she called out, her voice steady and clear, drawing a few glances from the men sitting idly by the park benches.
The park was always busy at this hour—commuters stopping to grab snacks before heading home, children pestering their parents for treats, lovers strolling hand in hand. Amelia wove through them all, her eyes sharp, her tone polite but firm.
To strangers, she was just another girl hustling to make ends meet. But to those who knew her from Eastwood Community School, Amelia was the girl who always had the answers. Teachers called her brilliant; classmates called her arrogant. And maybe she was. After all, in a school where students often came to class without textbooks, Amelia carried a small secondhand dictionary in her bag like a crown jewel. She knew she was destined for more than hawking snacks in the park.
As she handed a pack of peanuts to a middle-aged man in a grey suit, she caught her reflection in the tinted glass of his car. Her braids were neatly packed into a bun, her eyes sharp, determined. She smiled faintly.
"No one's topping me in school," she muttered under her breath. "Not now, not ever."
Her mother's tired voice called from the stall near the bus stop, "Amelia, hurry up with those sales o, we need to close before it gets dark."
"Yes, Mum!" she replied, weaving back through the crowd.
The park lights flickered on as dusk settled, and Amelia felt the weight of her dreams pressing against the simple tray on her head. She wanted more. She deserved more. What she didn't know yet was that fate was already arranging her path—one that would carry her far from Eastwood and into the polished, intimidating walls of Preston High, where her pride would be tested like never before.