Anna walked the hallway like a queen lost in her own crumbling kingdom. Was she heading to her class? Probably. Hopefully. Maybe fate wasn't that cruel today. Unless—the school changed room numbers again. (Which, let's be real, it would.)
Then she saw her. A tiny girl clutching books like life depended on them. The Nerd. Siona.
Anna tilted her head and walked up—not like a bully, but not like a friend either. Just… Anna.
"Where's our class?" Her voice was low. Not sharp. Not soft. Just… real.
The girl flinched, squeaked, and pointed.
Anna blinked. Paused. Then—"Thanks."
Not out of habit. Out of choice. Because Anna wasn't always cruel. Not to the ones like her. The soft ones. The kind ones.
She found the classroom and stepped inside.
Desk hunt: initiated.
Back row? Enemy territory. Smelled like perfume and trauma. Middle row? Laughter zone. Home of the fake royals. First row? Ugh. Fine.
And there she was again—the Nerd. Now trying to blend into her textbook like camouflage.
Anna sighed. Dramatically. Loud enough for karma to hear.
She flopped into the seat like a queen exiled from her own throne. Eyes to the window. Face blank. Heart… not so much.
Her thoughts drifted—to her poetry book, to her sketchbook, to Pinky, to Leo the Poop King. (Don't ask. Royal reasons.)
She had no friends. Not really. But maybe that was okay. Or maybe she just stopped trying.
Because when people looked at her, they didn't see the girl who said "thanks" to nerds. Or the girl who used to outrun the wind. They saw: cold, rude, arrogant.
Instead of—never mind.
She turned from the window. And froze.
That gaze again. It wrapped around her like invisible hands. Watching. Studying. Chilling her to the bone.
She looked. Nothing. Just noise. Lights. Laughter.
But something inside her whispered—It's real.
And her mind hissed back—You're being dramatic again.
She shut her eyes and told herself not to shiver.
First period began like thunder. And Anna knew exactly what kind of storm it would be.
So, when the teacher paused, squinted at the attendance sheet, and called her name with that sharp, biting tone only teachers seem to master, she didn't flinch.
"Anna Walker."
The class turned. Heads tilted. Eyes gleamed—especially her enemy's—eager for the drama. She rose slowly, like time bent for her. Her face, unreadable. A statue in motion.
"Where have you been the last few weeks before vacation?"
She said nothing. Her voice was on leave, just like her heart.
The teacher sighed and handed her a file—her report from the last semester. Of course. She hadn't attended classes. But she had shown up for the exams. She took the file, opened it, glanced at the results.
Topped again.
Even with math weighing her down, she was still one of the best. But it didn't matter. No glow. No grin. No flutter in her chest. Because in her mind, she wasn't a student. She was a shadow. A ghost in a school uniform.
Her fingers pressed the edges of the file until the paper crinkled. It didn't hurt because of the grades. It hurt because something else—something softer, deeper—had torn again. And this time, she didn't know where she'd left it.
She turned slightly. The girl next to her scribbled away, like her pen was chasing a train that would leave her behind.
Why? Probably because she didn't have a choice.
Anna wanted to say something. One line. One honest question. But her promise echoed back like a chain around her heart: "No fake friends. No betrayal. Ever again." A promise she made to Pinky. To Leo. To the ones who never broke her.
Even if that girl seemed kind—even if she looked like safety—Anna wasn't reaching out. Not again.
So she looked away. And became the statue they all believed she was.