Seventeen-year-old Amelia, the new, invisible transfer student, balanced her free-lunch tray and scanned the loud, chaotic, and intimidatingly crowded room of Westhill High. Her long, mousy brown hair was tied back in a simple, frayed ponytail, her second-hand school uniform was clean but slightly too large for her thin frame, and her expression was one of quiet, practiced neutrality. She had moved to the city just two weeks earlier, a ward of the state, hoping for a fresh start, a chance to finally, mercifully, just blend in after a series of difficult foster home placements. But high schools, especially high schools like Westhill, have a way of finding the quiet ones, the ones who don’t fit.
At the very center of the cafeteria, holding court like a young, entitled king, stood Logan Pierce. He was the captain of the football team, the son of the wealthy and powerful real estate mogul, Edward Pierce, and the self-proclaimed, undisputed ruler of Westhill High. His friends, Ryan, Cole, and Trent, followed him everywhere like a pack of loyal, smirking bodyguards, each one of them exuding the same, effortless, and unearned confidence that they already owned the world.
“Hey,” Logan said loudly, his voice cutting through the lunchtime chatter, as he pointed a mocking finger across the room directly at Amelia. “Who let the charity case sit all by herself? I thought this was the charity section, right?”
A few students at the surrounding tables chuckled nervously. Most of the other students, however, pointedly looked away, their own discomfort a palpable, silent presence in the room. Amelia didn’t answer. She lowered her gaze, carefully cut a small piece of her bland, government-issue sandwich, and, with a quiet, heartbreaking dignity, kept eating.