Fine. I almost laugh at that. Instead, I turn to face them, my eyes burning, my voice sharper now. “Well, in that case, you can take care of yourselves. You’re the older ones, after all.”
I don’t wait for their responses. I don’t care to hear them. Not until they bother to do something useful around here.
***
Breathless and feeling incredibly foolish, I sprint through the hallways, my backpack bouncing against my back, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. I fell asleep on the bus, and now I’m paying the price for my carelessness. Late. Again. Stupid.Why can’t you just be on time for once?I scold myself silently.
Somehow, my steps quicken even more as I manoeuvre through the empty hallways. I don’t think things can get any worse until I find myself colliding with someone, a girl who seems to materialize out of nowhere. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I splutter in a rush, immediately recognising her as Berlin’s sister, Paris Brooks.
She looks at me with wide, frightened eyes, freezing in place as if struck by fear. I hesitate, feeling a pang of confusion. “It’s Paris, right?” I ask, and Paris nods quickly, before she turns and darts away with astonishing speed. I’m left standing there, baffled. What was that?Am I scary now? Intimidating? Really?A furrow forms on my brow. Why was she so frightened?
But the realization of my lateness jolts me back into action. I sprint to the classroom and stumble through the door,breathless. The whispers start immediately—stifled laughter, side-eyes. I ignore them.
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Anderson,” I pant. “I was just —”
He cuts me off with a raised hand. “On the contrary, Adeline, you’re right on time. For the test.”
Test? My stomach drops, and my eyes widen in shock. We weren’t told about a test. I glance at Kym, already flipping through her textbook, calm as ever. Of course she’s ready.
“Hey, Kym,” I whisper as I slide into my seat, still not recovered from the shock I’ve just experienced.
She doesn’t look up. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
“Um,” I try again, lowering my voice. “Did you know about the test?”
Finally, she glances at me, but her expression is blank. “No one did,” she replies curtly before dropping her gaze back to the page.
The silence hangs between us, and I feel an inexplicable need to fill it. The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Do you think I’m intimidating?”
That gets her attention. She looks at me, blinking, like I just asked her if the sky is purple. Then, she snorts. “That’s funny.”
“I can be intimidating,” I grumble.
Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a laugh. “Sure,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, before turning back to her book.
Fine. Whatever.
I slump back in my chair, my hands covering my eyes, trying my best to accept the fact that nothing I can do now will change the fact that I’m going to fail. Because let’s face it, I can barely focus on my feet right now. How the hell am I supposed to focus on a test? My eyes scan the room as I try to gather my thoughts. The test papers are being handed out. My stomach tightens. I just need to get through this. But my head is pounding, my bodyfeels like it’s running on fumes, and I can feel my eyes getting heavier by the second.Just rest your eyes for a second, I think.
When Mr. Anderson drops the test paper on my desk with a thud, I jolt awake.
Right. No time to waste. I blink at the questions. But the moment my vision clears and I see the first question, I know this is going to be a disaster.
***
I stumble through the lunchroom that seems even louder than usual, my hunger gnawing at my insides. I think about Rick’s coins in my pocket, change from the cab fare. It’s not much, but it’s something.
I spot Bea and Lilia waving from the line. “Addie! We saved you a spot!” Bea calls out.
“You okay?” Lilia asks, squinting. “Did you eat the school’s chicken or something?” she asks, making a face like she’s about to throw up at the thought of it. “It’s seriously, horrifyingly bad.”
“Uh, no. Thanks for the heads up though,” I say with a smile.
I eye the sandwich on the counter—simple, attainable. Maybe, just maybe, I can scrape enough together to buy it. As I inch closer to the cashier, my stress builds. The line moves quickly, and before I know it, it’s my turn to pay.
“Name, please?”
