Chapter 4
It’s Friday. Theo is back in school, and—no surprise there—Paige is glued to his side.
She’s so preoccupied with whatever she’s whispering into his ear that she doesn’t even notice me slinking past her desk, which is a small victory.
I keep my head down, clutch my books close, and ignore Rick’s gaze as he bites his pen, no doubt plotting his next ambush.
In History, I sit at my usual spot in the back corner next to Stephanie, avoiding the teacher’s gaze and praying he doesn’t call on me.
He’s so monotone when reading the textbook that I’d rather read the chapter on ancient Egypt at home, tucked away under comfy covers and sipping on hot chocolate.
My pencil taps an impatient rhythm against my notebook as Mr. Perkins drones on, somehow managing to make mummies, pyramids, and ancient curses sound as exciting as watching paint dry.
How does he do that? Ancient Egypt is literally filled with treasure, mystery, and people who believed cats were divine creatures. My shoulders slump as I stifle another yawn.
Frustration stirs within me. The clock on the wall seems to tick by at half-speed, each minute stretching into eternity, much like how Egyptians believed time worked in the afterlife. Except this isn’t the afterlife—it’s worse. It’s second period.
Stephanie hands me a note with a cartoonish drawing of our teacher wearing a crown labeled “King of Boring,” and I can’t help but smile. We both struggle to hold back laughter, earning us some eye rolls from the surrounding kids, but I need these little bits of humor to survive the day.
When the bell rings after third period, my spirits lift.
I’m at ease, having survived another class without becoming a target.
Navigating the school hallways today reminds me of tiptoeing through a minefield—one wrong step, and boom!
After yesterday’s humiliation, the last thing I need is another round of public mockery.
Lunchtime, however, is a whole different battlefield.
Stephanie, Ian, and I enter the cafeteria together, forming our own triangle of solidarity as we get in line for food.
The noise is deafening, laughter and chatter all around us as people slowly crowd tables, trading gossip and complaints about classes.
“Hey, Dorkella!” someone calls from behind me. I remain still, but my face flushes at the reminder of that stupid note on my back. I take a steady breath. It’s not worth getting riled up.
Stephanie isn’t as eager to let it go as I am. She turns around, her voice loud and clear. “Knock it off.”
The laughter fades, and the kids avert their gaze, pretending they never said a word.
Ian turns to me and offers a sympathetic shrug. “People suck.” He sounds like he’s delivering some profound universal truth. And honestly? He’s not wrong.
With our trays in hand, we scan the room for an open table—one far away from the center where the Queen Bees usually gather. Theirs is the biggest table surrounded by all their subservient friends. They’re like a mini monarchy, ruling over the lunchroom like it’s their kingdom.
In the tables orbiting them are the wannabes—the kids who aren’t that popular but hover close enough to maybe, one day, be invited to sit with them. They’re the ones who laugh too hard at their jokes, like it’s a competition to earn a golden ticket to join their popular circle.
By the windows, you’ve got the artsy types—kids who seem to live in their own world of sketchbooks, indie music, and coffee shop poetry readings.
I catch sight of one girl doodling in her notebook, probably sketching some deep, abstract piece no one else will get.
I admire them from a distance, but it’s clear they’ve carved out their own corner of the cafeteria, one they aren’t keen on inviting outsiders into.
And then, in the far back, you’ve got the gamers and anime fans.
They’re huddled together, likely swapping Dungeons and Dragons strategies and arguing over the latest anime plot twists.
I’d fit in with them if it weren’t for the fact that they value in-game rankings and niche knowledge as the key to entry.
Finally, there are the band geeks and theater kids, putting on a show as they rehearse lines. They’re loud and inseparable—a community all their own, where everything and anything becomes a performance.
The far corner, near the garbage cans, is all that’s left for us. I lead the way, and we snake through the crowded lunchroom, dodging elbows.
Halfway to our destination, someone behind us shoves Ian, who stumbles forward and crashes right into Paige, knocking her milk carton onto the floor, where it explodes into a brown puddle.
“Look what you’ve done, you idiot!” Paige stares in horror at the milk splashed all over her designer shoes.
She confronts Ian, fury burning in her eyes.
I glance at Ian, whose face has gone completely pale.
Is he terrified because Paige finally noticed him?
Or is it the spilled milk that’s making him look like he might pass out?
Hard to tell. Ian’s always had a weird thing for Paige—half afraid of her, half fascinated.
Or maybe he’s just like any other guy in school, mesmerized by her good looks.
Honestly, I don’t know what they all see in her.
Everyone in our immediate vicinity quiets down as they form a circle around us, and the students farther back crane their necks to see the commotion. Ian’s face turns beet red, and he stammers, “S-Sorry . . . I . . . someone pushed me.”
“He didn’t mean it,” I say, stepping forward. “Someone shoved him, and he accidentally bumped into you.”
Paige’s eyes narrow as she looks at me. “Oh, look. It’s Dorkella.” A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd, feeding off her every word, and her lips curl into a condescending sneer. “I’ve had just about enough of you.” Her hand snatches the unopened chocolate milk from my tray.
“Paige, come on,” Stephanie says. “That’s unnecessary.”
“Oh, I think it’s perfectly necessary,” she replies, holding the carton up. “Your friend here spilled milk on my shoes, so it’s only fair I get even.” She flips the carton open and, with a satisfied grin, tips it over my head.
The liquid drips down my scalp in cold trickles, sinking into my hair and spreading across my favorite cream-colored sweater—the one Mom gave me for my birthday last year—before the shock of it all wanes and I leap back.
I dodge some of the milk, but the damage is already done.
Dark brown stains bloom across my shoulders like an ugly watercolor painting.
Once again, I’m on display for everyone to see. Some students point and whisper behind cupped hands, some gape open-mouthed, and others laugh at me. A few of the nicer kids wince in sympathy, but nobody—not a single person—steps forward to help. Shame crawls up my neck and sets my cheeks on fire.
“Hey, what’s your problem?” Stephanie says, stepping in between me and Paige, her shoulders squared and chin jutting forward like a boxer ready for a fight.
The laughers die down as everyone waits for Paige’s response. There’s my hammering heart again. Knowing her, this will only make things worse.
Paige cocks an eyebrow, her lips curling into that smirk I’ve grown to dread since freshman year. Her eyes flick from me to Stephanie, calculating and cold. “You must be thirsty, too.”
I grab Stephanie’s arm, pulling her back. “Don’t. She’s not worth it.” My cheeks flame with embarrassment, and I know full well if this escalates, it’s going to be us getting detention, not them.
“Oh, look who’s got a backbone now,” Paige taunts, poking me in the shoulder with one manicured finger.
“That was uncalled for,” Ian says, his voice small but defiant. He puts on a brave face, but his trembling hands betray his fear.
Paige’s eyes widen. “And you think your opinion matters?” She steps closer to Ian, tilting her head. “Aww, you’re kind of cute.”
Ian’s eyes fly wide. “I . . . I am?”
Stephanie elbows Ian on the side, and he winces. His gaze shifts to Stephanie, who’s glaring at him, then back to Paige. “Right . . . you shouldn’t have done that. You’re better than this.”
“Aw, what a gentleman.” Paige’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Tell you what. Since you’re responsible for all of this, why don’t you be a good sport and clean up this mess on my shoes?”
That’s it! I’ve just about had enough of her. “Leave him alone, Paige,” I say, and immediately regret it.
Oh-oh. She looks ready to pounce and scratch me with those V-cut French tip nails, but before anything extreme can happen, his voice cuts through the crowd.
“I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Theo says, as people move aside to let him through. Everyone quiets.
Paige’s face transforms from attack-mode to innocence so quickly I almost get whiplash. My blood boils watching her flip the switch like that—as if anyone would buy this sudden angel act. “You’re so right. They’re not worth our time,” she says to him.
Theo walks over to us and whispers, “I’m really sorry about this.”
Our eyes collide, and I’m feeling that rush of warmth again, but not because I’m angry. My heart does that ridiculous flippy thing it always does when he looks directly at me.
“Don’t apologize,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “It’s not your fault.”
My fingers fidget with the hem of my milk-soaked sweater as I fight the urge to smooth back my hair. What’s the point? He’s already seen me looking like a total disaster.
“Listen—“ Theo starts.
But then Paige tugs on his arm. “Theo, come on. Let’s go.”
He glances back at me as he’s walking away. “We’ll talk later.”
Somehow, I doubt it. Paige will make sure he’s as far from me as possible.
The moment they leave, Stephanie grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
She pulls me into the bathroom, and I immediately head to the sink. My ruined sweater clings to my skin, cold and sticky. The chocolate milk has already started working its way down my back, making my undershirt stick to me in the worst way possible. I’ll have to change into my gym clothes.
“This is never going to come out.” I grab paper towels and dab at the brown stains spread across the cream fabric. My efforts make almost no difference.
Ian hovers outside by the bathroom door. “Chrissy, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. Someone pushed me and—“
“And then you went all puppy-eyed the moment Paige called you cute,” Stephanie cuts in, clearly pissed at Ian.
She yanks more paper towels from the dispenser, movements quick and jerky.
“What was that about? One second you’re standing up for Chrissy, the next you’re practically drooling over Paige. ”
She’s not wrong. His obsession with her will not end well.
“I wasn’t drooling over her.” Ian retorts. “I was just surprised she said that.”
“Surprised? More like flattered.” Stephanie plucks more paper towels. “You completely folded.”
“That’s not fair. I stood up for Chrissy.”
“Yeah, for about two seconds.”
I can hear him sighing behind the door as I squeeze milk out of my hair. “I didn’t think—“
“That’s obvious” Stephanie doesn’t let it go. “Whose side are you on?”
“Since when are you the loyalty police? It was just a weird moment.”
“That’s an understatement.” Stephanie crosses her arms as she faces the door. “Paige dumped milk on Chrissy, and you looked ready to thank her for noticing you exist.”
Silence stretches between us like an elastic band ready to snap. The easy camaraderie we’ve always shared now feels strained, like we’re standing on different sides of a widening crack in the ground.
None of us utters a word as Stephanie and I walk out.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. By the time the last bell rings, I feel drained. Choreography practice will have to wait. I just want to relax in my bed and let BTS help me forget this day ever happened.
Stephanie and I separate at the intersection near our houses before she turns around and says, “We’ll have to stand up to Paige at some point, Chrissy.”
I know she’s right, but I’m not ready yet. Not today or any other day.
When I get home, I drop my bookbag onto the floor. “Mom, dad, I’m home.”
“We’re in the living room, honey.”
I walk in, and my stomach plummets to the floor. Sitting on our couch right next to my parents and Noah, are Mr. and Mrs. Pearson—and Theo!
Mom’s face lights up as she looks at me. “The Pearsons are going to stay with us for a bit. Their water pipe broke during remodeling, and there’s been some flooding.”
My mouth hangs open, but no words come out. I’m too busy staring at Theo, who casually waves a hand at me.
“Hey, Chrissy,” he says.
This can’t be real.