Nothing was stolen.Nothing broken.But it feltwrong.Used.Violated.
What could they possibly want?
I don’t have anything valuable.
No jewelry.No secrets.No family heirlooms or piles of cash under the floorboards.
Hell, I don’t even have much family.Not really.
Just a brother who can’t be bothered to call once a year to say Merry Christmas.
The moment I think about him sadness slams into me like a punch to the ribs.
Marco.
The last time we spoke was at Ma’s funeral.
And even then, all he wanted was his share of the house sale.
Six thousand three hundred and eighty-four dollars.
No more, no less.
That’s all it came to after taxes and medical bills.
Not exactly the windfall he was hoping for.
But what did he expect?
That house was already falling apart when Ma got sick, and once the hospital bills rolled in, it was over.
He didn’t even pretend to be there for anything but the money.
Didn’t stay.Didn’t look back.
And now?I haven’t heard from him since.
So no.
I don’t have any family.
I don’t have enemies.
I don’t have anything anyone would want.
The police said it was probably some unhoused addict looking for money, which—honestly?Rude.And probably racist.
Just because my school is in a quiet part of Jersey doesn’t mean bad things can’t happen here.
And just because I don’t have diamonds or designer bags lying around doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t think I had something worth stealing.
Still, the feeling won’t go away.
That tight little knot behind my ribs.
That low-grade hum under my skin.
That something is off.
