The sharp buzz of her alarm pierced through the silence of her bedroom. Imani Okafor groaned, burying her face deeper into her fluffy pink pillow before blindly slamming a hand down on the snooze button. It was the first day of junior year, and honestly? She wasn't feeling it. Not because she wasn't ready to run the school again imani lived for that but because home had a way of making even the best mornings feel heavy.
Sunlight filtered through her lavender curtains, casting warm streaks across the posters on her wall Zendaya, Megan Thee Stallion, and a "Girls Don't Cry, They Win" print that Kayla gave her last semester. Her room was her sanctuary. Beyond that door, everything felt… off.
Imani rolled out of bed with a practiced sigh, running her fingers through the long black curls she'd wrapped overnight. She padded across the carpeted floor toward her closet, humming a Doja Cat song under her breath. Outside, the California sun had already begun to heat the sidewalks, a reminder that summer hadn't quite given up its grip just yet.
From the kitchen downstairs came the faint clinking of dishes. That would be her stepdad, Marcus. He always made noise just to remind her he was there. Not helpful. Not kind. Just… present.
Her stomach twisted.
Her mom, Nina, would be gone already. She worked the early shift at a nearby hospital and rarely said goodbye anymore. No hugs. No "Have a good day." Just a trail of perfume and silence.
Imani pulled on her favorite ripped jeans and an off-shoulder crop top that said Too Smart To Care. She checked herself in the mirror, fluffing her curls and adding a swipe of gloss. She looked exactly how she needed to: untouchable.
At Roosevelt High, reputation was everything. Imani was the queen bee, not the mean kind, more like the stylish, confident, got-her-whole-life-together type. People wanted to be her. Or date her. Or hate her. Sometimes all three. And after what happened with Malik and Tasha last semester, she had no time to lose.
Grabbing her phone and bag, she steeled herself, opened her bedroom door, and walked straight into the smell of burnt toast.
Marcus stood at the counter, shirtless, a half-eaten piece of bread in his hand. His eyes flicked up when he heard her.
"Morning, sweetheart," he said, voice low and too smooth.
Imani kept her face blank. "Morning."
She moved quickly, grabbing a protein bar from the pantry and heading for the door.
"Looking good today. You sure you want to go to school dressed like that?"
Her grip on the doorknob tightened. She turned slightly, her voice cool. "You're not my dad, Marcus."
He chuckled, biting into his toast. "Just saying. That top's got attitude."
She didn't respond. Didn't give him the satisfaction. Instead, she walked out the door, letting it slam shut behind her.
The air outside hit her like a release. She exhaled sharply and made her way toward the sidewalk, slipping her earbuds in and turning the volume all the way up.
This year, she was reclaiming everything.
The whispers. The betrayal. The rumors. She'd survived it all.
Now, she was ready for the comeback.
And she wasn't going to let anyone not even Marcus mess that up.