They say stars are born glowing.
That's a lie.
Stars are born burning—too bright, too loud, too impossible for people who live in the dark to ignore.
I learned that the day I walked into Southside Arts High with a record deal in my backpack and hatred following me like a shadow.
My name is Nyra Jones, and by Monday morning, everybody knew it.
Not because I wanted them to.
Because my face was already plastered on blogs, my voice already floating through earbuds, and my future already decided by people who never asked what it cost me.
I pushed through the school doors with my hood up, headphones on, bass low enough to hear footsteps but loud enough to keep the whispers out. Or at least I tried.
"Here she go."
"That's her?"
"She thinks she famous for real."
The words slipped through anyway, sharp and careless, like broken glass under sneakers.
Southside smelled like cheap perfume, floor cleaner, and old drama. Lockers slammed. Girls laughed too loud. Boys stared too long. Same building I'd walked into my whole life—except now it felt like a stage I never auditioned for.
I stopped at my locker and spun the combination with shaking fingers.
Don't react, Nyra.
Don't give them the satisfaction.
But hatred has a way of demanding attention.
"Must be nice," a voice said behind me. Sweet tone. Sour meaning. "Skipping class to record songs while the rest of us gotta actually work."
I didn't turn around. I already knew the voice.
Kiyah Monroe.
Queen of Southside. Perfect hair, perfect lashes, perfect smile that never reached her eyes. We used to be cool—before my song went viral, before producers started calling, before jealousy crept in and made a home out of her heart.
"I don't skip class," I said calmly. "I just don't post my schedule online."
A few laughs popped off around us. I felt the heat immediately.
Kiyah stepped closer. I could feel her presence like humidity before a storm. "Careful, Nyra. Fame don't last. Especially not for girls like you."
Girls like me.
Black. From the Southside. No rich parents. No safety net.
Just talent and hunger.
I finally turned to face her. "I'm not famous. I'm just working."
Her eyes flickered—just for a second. Then she smiled wider. "Sure you are."
The bell rang, saving both of us from saying something we couldn't take back. Or maybe it didn't save us at all—just delayed the explosion.
I walked away with my chin up, even though my chest felt tight.
By second period, the rumors had already evolved.
She thinks she better than us.
She probably slept her way into the studio.
She ain't even that good.
I stared at my notebook while the teacher talked about something I didn't hear. My phone buzzed in my pocket—three missed calls from my mom, one text from my manager.
Don't let school drama mess up the momentum. Big things coming.
Momentum.
Funny word for something that felt like I was standing still while the world pulled me apart.
At lunch, I sat alone.
Not because I wanted to—because nobody wanted to sit with me anymore.
My best friend, Lena, slid into the seat across from me anyway, dropping her tray like she owned the table. "Ignore them," she said, popping open a juice. "They mad because you shining."
"Feels more like I'm being hunted," I muttered.
She leaned in. "That's what happens when you glow in a dark place."
I laughed, but it didn't reach my eyes.
Across the cafeteria, Kiyah watched me. Her friends laughed too loud, phones angled just right. I knew what was coming before it happened.
A post went up.
"Some stars burn out quick."
No name. No tag.
But everybody knew who it was about.
My phone buzzed nonstop—DMs, comments, opinions from people who didn't know me but felt entitled to judge me.
I stood up.
Lena grabbed my wrist. "Don't."
"I'm tired," I said quietly. "I'm tired of being quiet."
I walked out of the cafeteria, heart pounding, not sure if I was running toward my future or straight into a war I wasn't ready for.
Outside, the sun hit my face, warm and unforgiving.
I closed my eyes and breathed.
They hated me already.
And I hadn't even begun to shine yet.