Chapter 1
Lenard never gets a break.
The classroom smells like dry-erase markers and something fried from the cafeteria that never really left. It clings to everything. The air looks heavy, like it should be warm, like the AC gave up halfway through the day and no one bothered to fix it.
Mrs. Davy is at the board, writing too small for most people to bother copying.
I can read it.
I always can.
Kade flicks something across the room.
A crumpled piece of paper.
It hits Lenard in the shoulder and drops into his lap.
Lenard doesn’t react.
He just brushes it off without turning around.
A few people laugh.
Kade leans back in his chair like it’s nothing.
Blonde hair that I know he dyed. Brown eyes. A jawline he definitely spends too much time looking at in the mirror like it’s doing him favors.
Captain of the football team.
Popular.
Obnoxious.
Then he does it again.
This time it’s a pen cap.
It hits the back of Lenard’s head.
More laughter.
Lenard keeps writing.
But his grip tightens.
Just slightly.
I watch.
I’ve known Lenard since middle school.
He’s always been the same.
Quiet. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t bother anyone.
The kind of person people decide is an easy target just because he won’t fight back.
Kade is an asshole.
I don’t like what’s happening.
Not even a little.
But I also don’t say anything.
Because I’ve seen how this goes.
Kade gets bored.
And when he gets bored, he picks someone new.
I’d rather not be next.
I’d rather not have him—or Rhea, or Lila—decide I’m interesting.
The elite trio.
They move together.
Pick together.
Laugh together.
And once they decide you’re worth their attention, it doesn’t stop.
Lenard’s jaw shifts, like he’s trying to hold something in.
The bell rings.
Everything breaks open.
Chairs scrape against the floor. Voices rise all at once. Bags zip. People stand too fast, talk too loud, move like they’ve been waiting to escape.
I slide my notebook into my bag.
“Just leave me alone.”
Lenard.
I look up.
He’s standing now.
Kade stands too.
“Or what?” Kade says.
“I didn’t do anything to you.”
“So?”
Kade shrugs.
“I can do what I want.”
Mrs. Davy turns from the board.
“That’s enough. Both of you, sit down.”
Kade steps closer anyway.
Says something low.
Sharp. But it’s loud enough that everyone heard, “What’s a faggot like you going to do?”
The laughter is gone now.
Lenard doesn’t move.
Then—
his hand goes into his bag.
Quick.
Deliberate.
Someone near the door says, “Yo—”
Lenard pulls out a gun.
Everything pauses.
Then it shatters.
“Put that down—”
“Lenard—”
“Are you serious—”
People move.
Fast.
Desks slam. Someone trips. A chair falls over. A bag gets left behind.
Kade steps back.
“What—are you serious?”
Mrs. Davy moves forward.
“Put it down. Now.”
Lenard’s hand is shaking.
Someone bumps into him.
And the gun goes off.
The sound is too loud.
Too close.
People scream.
Drop.
Run.
I don’t move.
Something hits me.
Not pain.
Just—
pressure.
Hard. Sudden.
I look down.
Blood spreads across my shirt.
Dark.
Thick.
Too fast.
For a second, nothing makes sense.
Then it does.
That’s mine.
I press my hand against it.
And wait.
Nothing.
No pain.
I know I should feel something.
I don’t.
“She’s been hit—”
“Oh my God—”
Someone grabs my arm.
“Amara—look at me—”
I do.
Their face is panicked.
Eyes wide. Mouth moving too fast.
“I’m hurt,” I say.
“You got shot—stay with me—”
“I don’t feel anything.”
That’s when it changes.
The way they look at me.
Confused.
“Why isn’t she reacting?”
“That’s not normal—”
Something tightens in my chest.
Not physical.
Something else.
I know that look.
I’ve seen it before.
Just—
not like this.
The room tilts.
The lights blur.
I try to stay standing.
I can’t.
Everything goes dark.
Voices.
Low.
Close.
“…stable.”
“…lucky…”
“…no complications…”
I open my eyes.
The ceiling is bright.
Too bright.
Hospital.
There’s a doctor at the foot of the bed, flipping through a chart.
My mother stands beside him.
Too close.
Too focused.
“What are you giving her?” she asks.
Her voice is controlled.
But tight.
“She’s not reporting pain, so we—”
“I know she’s not reporting pain,” my mom cuts in.
A beat.
“I want to know what you’ve administered anyway.”
The doctor nods quickly.
Starts explaining.
I don’t catch all of it.
Everything feels slightly out of sync.
“She’ll be monitored overnight,” he says.
“When can she go home?” my mom asks immediately.
“Assuming no complications—tomorrow.”
She nods.
“Good.”
The doctor looks at me briefly.
“Glad you’re awake.”
Then he leaves.
The room quiets.
My mom turns to me.
And this time—
she doesn’t hide it fast enough.
Fear.
“You’re awake.”
I nod.
Her hand comes up, brushing my cheek.
I lean into it without thinking.
“You’re okay,” she says.
“I’m okay.”
“I left surgery.”
I look at her.
“…you didn’t have to.”
“Yes,” she says quietly.
“I did.”
Before I can respond—
The door bursts open.
Marcus.
He looks wrong.
Clothes don’t match. Hair a mess. Like he left without thinking.
His eyes find me.
And something in his face breaks.
He crosses the room fast—
then slows—
like his body gives out halfway there.
“Mar.”
He pulls me into a hug.
Careful.
But not careful enough.
I hug him back.
“I’m okay,” I say into his shoulder.
“Don’t—” my mom says lightly, “not too tight.”
He loosens immediately.
“Sorry—sorry—”
He pulls back, hands still on my shoulders.
“You good, Mar?”
His eyes are glassy.
I smile.
“Yeah.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that in all day.
“You’re such a crybaby,” I mumble.
He lets out a shaky laugh.
“Shut up.”
My mom watches us for a second.
“I’m getting coffee.”
She leaves.
The door closes.
Silence settles in.
Marcus pulls a chair closer.
Sits.
Still watching me like I might disappear if he looks away.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say.
He scoffs.
“Mar.”
“I’m three hours away, not dead.”
“You had class.”
“Amara.”
He leans forward slightly.
“Shut up.”
That makes me smile.
Then it fades.
“They saw,” I say.
His expression shifts.
“…yeah.”
I look down at the bandage.
“They were all staring.”
I can still see it.
“Like something was wrong with me.”
Marcus leans back.
“People stare at anything they don’t understand,” he says. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does.”
My voice comes out sharper than I expect.
He softens immediately.
“Hey.”
I look at him.
“Don’t think about that right now.”
I let out a breath.
“I have to go back.”
“You don’t have to think about that right now either.”
I look away.
But it’s already there.
The classroom.
The looks.
The shift.
And somewhere between what should have hurt—
and what didn’t—
something settles in.
Not pain.
But something just as hard to ignore.
