Under His Roof

SARAH

Standing before the mirror on my closet door, my uniform still looked perfect from my obsessive ironing.

My hair was next. For a moment, I considered trying to straighten the natural waves our, but decided against it. New school, new me. Maybe here, I could just be myself.

I opened the small wooden box on my dresser and selected a few simple hair clips and pinned back sections of my hair.

By 6:15 AM, I was ready. My newspaper route started at 6:30, giving me just enough time to grab a quick breakfast, assuming I had anything in the fridge. I found a half-empty carton of milk and the last drop of cereal, which I devoured standing at the counter, because it was too small to use a cup for.

The bundle of newspapers waited at the corner drop-off point, secured with plastic twine. I loaded them into my canvas delivery bag. This job wasn’t glamorous, but it was something.

I pedaled faster than usual, determined to finish my route with enough time to spare.

First day, first impression, I couldn’t afford to be late.

As I rounded the corner onto Maple Street, my mind wandered to what might await me.

I was on my last delivery when a black Jeep rolled through the stop sign just as I was crossing. I had a split second to register the driver’s shocked expression before I swerved sharply, my front wheel catching on the curb. My bicycle tipped, sending me sprawling onto the pavement with my newspapers scattering across the road.

Pain shot through my elbow and knee as they scraped against the rough surface. The driver slammed on his brakes and jumped out. A middle-aged man in an expensive three-piece suit.

“My God, are you alright?” he asked, kneeling beside me. “I didn’t see you, I was checking my GPS. I’m so sorry.”

I assessed the damage: a bloody knee and dirt smudged across my white shirt. My heart sank as I looked at my uniform, the uniform I had spent hours preparing, now ruined before I even set foot in my new school.

“Young lady, you need to go to the hospital,” the man insisted, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance—”

“No, thank you,” I said, struggling to my feet and brushing dirt from my skirt. I forced myself to stand straight. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

“It’s just a scrape.” I gathered the scattered newspapers quickly, ignoring the sting in my palms. “I need to get to school.”

The man looked conflicted. “At least let me drive you. It’s the least I can do.”

“No!” The thought of arriving at Vale Mount in a stranger’s fancy car, and appearing at school every other day on a bicycle would be too much to explain. “I mean, no thank you. I prefer my bicycle.”

Before he could protest further, I hopped back on my bicycle, wincing as my knee bent. The man watched helplessly as I pedaled away. The clock on the bank I passed flashed 7:50 AM. School started at 8:00, and I still needed to somehow fix my appearance.

I completed my route in record time and raced to use a public toilet. My white shirt had a smear of dirt across the front, and my popsocks were torn at the knee, blood seeping through the fabric.

“No, no, no,” I muttered, dabbing a tissue paper at the stain. It only seemed to spread the dirt further. This uniform had cost more than I made in a month. There was no time to wash and dry it.

In desperation, I changed tactics. I stripped off the tights, wincing as the fabric pulled away from my scraped knee. The injury wasn’t as bad as it looked.

The shirt was a bigger problem. After a few more futile attempts to clean it, I settled for buttoning my navy blazer over it, hoping it would hide the worst of the stain. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed I looked presentable, or a bit formal with the blazer fully buttoned.

The clock read 8:02 AM. I was late, but if I rode faster, I might not be very late.

The remaining mile to school felt like a marathon.

I slowed my pace, trying to catch my breath as I chained my bicycle. The place was eerily quiet, classes must have already started. So much for not being late on my first day.

My eyes landed on someone and my mouth went dry. All thoughts of my late arrival, my scraped knee, and my stained shirt vanished. I stood frozen, unable to form words or even remember how to breathe properly.

He stood by the lockers like some kind of mythical creature with his dark curls. And God, the way he smiled at something in his locker? I swear, angels took notes.

I froze.

I couldn’t wave or speak. I just stood there with my hands clutching my backpack straps.

He turned toward me briefly and I panicked, looking away. Then peeked back when he wasn’t looking. Yep, still disgustingly beautiful.

And the smell. Oh my days. It wasn’t just a cologne, it was an experience to remember.

When I finally managed to unfreeze my limbs, I made my way to the front office. They handed me a class schedule and a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

I hobbled to my class and several pairs of eyes swiveled to look at me as I entered the classroom.

“Class, this is Sarah, joining us for her senior year,” the teacher announced. “Sarah, would you like to introduce yourself?”

This was the moment I’d been dreading. At my former school, public speaking had been an invitation for later mockery.

“I’m Sarah,” I said, my voice stronger than I expected. “I, um, like to read. And write.” I couldn’t say much.

“No wonder you forgot to dry clean your uniform,” someone yelled.

“Be quiet,” the teacher declared.

By the window. He looked bored in the most poetic way. Like nothing here could possibly interest him, but maybe I could.

Okay, maybe that was wishful thinking.

I scanned the room. There was an empty seat not too far from him. I took it, sat down and pulled out my notebook, pretending to be busy while sneaking glances.

He didn’t even look my way.

But that was fine. I didn’t need him to. Just seeing him was enough to make me forget that my knee throbbed or that my white shirt was dirty. His presence was like caffeine for my soul. A happy pill in human form.

I hadn’t expected to find a reason to smile on my first day. Not this kind of reason.

Maybe this school wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, I wouldn’t be hated.

One glance at his face and I already knew I had finally found my happy pill in this new school, and a reason to never miss a single class.

****

My stomach growled so loudly I was afraid the people at the next to me might hear it. Free school lunch was my only guaranteed meal of the day and I couldn’t afford to lose the school’s free lunch if I didn’t want to starve.

Students lined up with their designer bags slung carelessly over their shoulders, chatting about holiday plans at country clubs and vacation homes, I could only imagine.

I clutched my tray of food with the impatient worms in my belly dancing.

I doubt he will ever disappear from my face.

He sat with a boy sitting across him almost as dangerously looking as him too. With some good-looking four girls. To be sincere, I felt it but that won’t make me feel bad.

I mentally slapped myself. Focus, you are staring too me, Sarah. First day. Food. Seat. Don’t stare at random cute boys when you haven’t even found your place in the school.

Still, I moved slowly. Not toward them directly, of course, that would’ve been suicidal.

I spotted an empty table two seats away diagonally behind them. Perfect, close enough to steal glances without being obvious.

Carefully balancing my tray, I made my way over and slid into a seat. The position gave me a perfect side view of him without having to turn my head too obviously.

I realized I was staring and quickly looked down at my food. The last thing I needed was to be labeled as the weird new girl with a creepy staring problem. I took a bite of rice, savoring the warm food.

What was wrong with me? Crushing on a boy whose name I didn’t even know, on my first day? I hadn’t come here for romance. I came here to study because this scholarship was my only ticket to a future beyond the endless cycle of minimum wage jobs.

Suddenly, the four girls who shared a table with him stood up with their hips swaying excessively, and their uniform skirts clearly altered to sit higher than regulation allowed.

The cafeteria seemed to change course as they walked. Conversations paused, eyes followed their procession. Even the lunch servers stood a little straighter. I immediately recognized the type, every school had them. Queen bees or the untouchable elite.

At the center walked a blonde with shoulder-length hair who pecked him before leaving; everything about her screamed money from her perfectly manicured nails to the designer Louis Vuitton logo on her bag. She was clearly the leader.

Another with a pixie cut and designer glasses, and two others who somehow managed to make the school uniform look like runway fashion.

I put a spoonful of rice in my mouth, trying to mind my business. My instincts told me to stay invisible. New girl plus scholarship student equaled target practice for girls like that.

“Hey pig,” the blonde called out, her voice cutting through the cafeteria noise.

I kept eating, certain she wasn’t talking to me. I wasn’t overweight, if anything, the opposite after months of irregular meals.

“Can’t you hear?” another girl yelled, her voice sharper.

I felt stares turning in my direction with uncomfortable prickles dancing across my skin. I wasn’t fat, so I couldn’t be regarded as a pig. I glanced around, confused, but found no obvious target for their taunting.

As they stopped in front of my table, with their painted pretty nails sitting pretty on my desk, I realized they were talking to me. But why? What had I done to attract their attention on my very first day?

I swallowed the food in my mouth, the rice suddenly became dry and difficult to get down. “Me?” I asked, placing my hand on my chest, my eyes darting from one made-up face to another in confusion. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my mouth went dry. Being the center of attention was the last thing I wanted, especially with him potentially watching.

“Don’t you know you stink?” the blonde fired at me, her blushed cheeks turning extra red. I hated that they were drawing attention and hated the curious stares I could feel from surrounding tables. This can’t be happening on my first day.

“Please, let’s do this somewhere else,” I said very low, trying to keep my voice level despite the fear drumming through me. Never let them see you’re scared.

“So you want to start telling us what to do now?” the girl with the short pixie cut spoke, then suddenly poured the food on my body. Rice and sauce cascaded down my uniform, with a bit sticking to my hair.

The cafeteria fell silent for one horrific moment before scattered laughter broke out. I sat frozen, unable to process what had just happened.

‘God please, it’s too early to start dealing with this. Why do I always attract bad people?’

“And even if you don’t know, don’t you have a mirror in your house? Can’t you see you look dirty?” the blonde continued, her perfect nose wrinkling in disgust as she looked me up and down.

Hot and humiliating tears that made me feel weak and exposed dropped from my eyes before I could stop them. They wouldn’t understand what it meant to be in an accident and still not miss class.

“I was in an accident on my way to school,” I stammered, thinking that would make them have mercy on me. The words came out wobbly, revealing more vulnerability than I’d intended.

They laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the now-silent cafeteria. “Accident?” the blonde repeated, as if the word itself was hilarious.

“Do you trek to school or what?” she asked, blowing bubbles with her gum at my face. The pink bubble expanded, nearly touching my nose before she sucked it back in.

“No,” I replied softly, scared to say how I got to school. I knew it would give birth to another question, another avenue for ridicule.

“No, what?” the girl with the dark, long hair demanded, crossing her arms.

I swallowed hard, knowing there was no escape. “I rode a bicycle to school.”

“Bicycle? Are we in the 80s?” one of them asked, and they all laughed again, the sound like shards of glass against my ears.

“How on earth did you get into this school?” the blonde asked, jamming her hands together and throwing me an irritating glance. Her question wasn’t really a question but an accusation.

“Girl, you should already know it’s obviously through scholarship. She’s no one’s match here,” the one with glasses said, her tone dismissive as she examined my nails, as if I wasn’t worth looking at directly.

I just knew I had gotten myself in trouble. Not by anything I’d done, but simply by existing in their world.

I risked a glance toward his table, and my heart sank when I saw he and the other boy was laughing over something.

My love at first sight was witnessing my complete humiliation.

“Look at her,” the blonde sneered, “she can’t even defend herself.”

“Maybe she doesn’t speak English,” another suggested mockingly. “Do you understand us, charity case?”

“You, this low-life, have the gut to even stare at her man?” the girl on the pixel cut spat, landing a hot slap on my cheek.

I had just gotten myself in trouble.