Mira Chen POV
I walked into the dining hall still burning from what happened in Literature class.
My right answer. Sebastian's cold stare. Victoria's laughter cutting through the room like a fire alarm — sharp, sudden, designed to make everyone look.
Everyone had looked.
And in the ten minutes between that class and lunch, somehow the entire school already knew. I could tell by the way heads turned as I walked in. By the whispers that followed me like a shadow I couldn't shake. By the way a group of girls near the entrance took one look at me and leaned together, giggling behind their hands.
I kept my face blank. Mom always said the worst thing you can do is let people see they've hurt you. "Give them nothing," she'd say, wiping down the restaurant counter at midnight. "Let them wonder."
Fine. I could do that.
I grabbed a tray and scanned the room for a seat.
The dining hall was loud and packed, and finding a place to sit felt like navigating a minefield blindfolded.
I spotted an empty chair at a table near the window — two girls I didn't know yet, a boy reading something on his tablet. Normal-looking. Safe.
I walked over. "Is this seat taken?"
One of the girls opened her mouth — she was actually going to say yes, I could see it, she had a kind face —
"Oh, sorry." Victoria's voice, smooth as oil. "We're saving that for someone."
I hadn't even seen her sit down.
She was there now, though — at the end of the table, perfectly positioned so I'd been walking toward her without knowing it. The two girls immediately looked away from me, suddenly very interested in their food. The boy with the tablet put in earphones.
Just like that, the table closed.
Victoria tilted her head, eyes bright with something that wasn't kindness. "You understand. Don't you, Mira?"
She said my name like it tasted wrong in her mouth.
"Of course," I said. My voice didn't shake. I was proud of that.
I walked away.
I found the most isolated spot in the entire room — a small table near the back wall, half-hidden by a support pillar. I sat down alone and stared at my tray.
Pasta. Salad. A bread roll.
Mom's dumplings would have been better.
I picked up my fork and told myself this was fine. This was survivable. I'd eaten alone before. Alone wasn't the worst thing in the world.
Then I heard the laughter.
Not from the window table. Closer.
I looked up.
A boy was walking past — tall, with thin-framed glasses and an easy, lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes. He had his phone out, angled low, like he was just scrolling. Casual. Normal.
Except the camera was pointed at me.
I didn't realize it until it was too late.
His shoulder turned — just slightly — and then his tray tilted, and the large cup of coffee sitting on its edge went flying.
It hit me dead in the chest.
The heat was the first thing — a wall of it, soaking through my blazer, my shirt, burning my skin underneath. I gasped, jumping up, knocking my chair back. My tray clattered. My pasta hit the floor.
The dining hall went quiet for exactly one second.
Then exploded with laughter.
"Oh no," the boy said, and his voice was so perfectly fake-concerned that I wanted to scream. "I'm so clumsy."
His phone was still up. Still filming.
I stood there dripping, coffee spreading dark and hot across my uniform, the whole school watching. My face was burning hotter than the spill. I scanned the room without meaning to — found Sebastian's table near the center, found his eyes already on me.
He looked away first.
"Marcus." Victoria's voice carried from across the room — warm, approving. Like a teacher praising a student. "Goodness. Be more careful next time."
More laughter. Someone near the door said "scholarship girl" just loud enough to hear.
I didn't cry. I picked up what was left on my tray. Set it on the nearest counter. Walked to the door.
Head up. Face blank. Give them nothing.
I made it to the hallway before my hands started shaking.
The bathroom was empty when I pushed through the door.
I ran cold water over my wrists first — Mom taught me that, when the restaurant got overwhelming she'd run cold water over her pulse points and breathe. I did that now. Breathe in, breathe out.
The coffee had soaked through everything. My blazer was ruined. My shirt underneath was stained brown and still warm. I blotted at it with paper towels, watching the mirror — watching myself — pale-faced, dark circles already forming under my eyes from last night's destroyed room and zero sleep.
You are the smartest person I know.
Mom's voice in my head. Steady. Sure.
Then why does it feel like everyone here is smarter about how this world works than I am?
The bathroom door opened.
I didn't look up from the sink. I assumed it was just another student.
Then I heard the lock click.
I spun around.
Victoria stood at the door, her hand still on the lock. Behind her, two other girls — the same ones from last night, I recognized them now. Three faces, three smiles that had absolutely nothing warm inside them.
The locked door between me and the rest of the school suddenly felt very loud.
"We just want to talk," Victoria said pleasantly. "Girl to girl."
My back hit the edge of the sink. Nowhere to go.
"I don't have anything to say to you," I managed.
"That's okay." Victoria stepped forward, slow and unbothered, like she had all the time in the world and nothing to worry about. "We'll do the talking."
She stopped two feet from me. Close enough that I could see her mascara was perfect. Close enough that I could see her smile never flickered, not even a little.
"Marcus's video from lunch is already in the group chat," she said softly. "Four hundred and twelve students, Mira. They've all seen it. They're all laughing."
My throat tightened.
"Here's the thing about Ashford," she continued, her voice dropping lower. "You can study hard. You can answer questions correctly. You can do everything right." She tilted her head. "And none of it will matter. Because in this school, what matters is who you are. And you are nothing."
One of the girls behind her moved — stepped to my left, cutting off my angle to the door.
The other one moved right.
I was flanked. My pulse was loud in my ears. My hands were still damp from the sink.
Don't show them fear. Give them nothing.
But Victoria leaned in close, close enough to whisper, and what she said next made every thought in my head go completely silent.
"By the way," she murmured. "I reviewed your scholarship application this morning. The original one. And I found something very interesting." Her smile was the most dangerous thing I'd ever seen. "Something that could get you expelled."
She reached into her pocket and held up her phone — a document on the screen, my name at the top.
"Still think you earned your place here?"