But it was yours. One of the few things that was yours. And now it is gone, ripped apart by an Alpha who will never understand what it means to only have one bag.
Etienne drops to his knees beside me, his hands reaching for the scattered books with the gentle efficiency that defines everything he does. He stacks two textbooks, tucks a pen behind his ear, and gathers my folder with care.
"Maybe we should do the shopping a little earlier," he says quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. "Before the race. Before anything else. Just get you what you need."
I cringe, shaking my head as I shove my crumpled schedule into my blazer pocket.
"Nah. I will beat Rafe in a race first. Earn it properly."
"You do not have to earn it, Mae. I offered it freely."
"I know. But I want to."
My voice is firmer than I expected. More certain.
Because I am done accepting handouts. Done taking pity. Done being the Omega who survives on scraps and gratitude. If I am getting a new bag, I am getting it because I won. Because I proved I am more than what people assume when they look at my ancient phone and my pin-held bag and my communal housing history.
Rafe's voice rises above the hallway noise.
"Beating me in what? What the hell are you talking about?"
I look up from my crouch on the floor, my scattered books in my arms, the remains of my bag in pieces around me.
"A race," I say calmly. "On the ice. I can probably skate faster than you."
He literally laughs.
Not a chuckle or a huff or a sarcastic snort. A full-bodied, head-thrown-back laugh that echoes down the hallway and turns every remaining head in our direction. The sound is surprisingly rich, surprisingly warm, and it catches me so off guard that I almost forget to be offended.
Almost.
"You?" He wipes his eye with the back of his hand, still shaking with laughter. "You are going to outskate me? I am the captain of the fucking hockey team, NerdyMae. I have been on the ice since I was four years old. You are not faster than me. You are not even in the same stratosphere as me."
He crosses his arms, his gray eyes gleaming with condescension.
"Can you even skate?"
I rise to my feet, books clutched against my chest, hair falling across my face from crouching on the floor. I probably look ridiculous. I probably look like a disaster. A girl with no bag, no money, no status, standing in a hallway full of designer uniformsand trust fund Alphas, claiming she can beat the hockey captain in a race.
But I look him dead in the eyes.
And I smile.
"A little."
The two words land with more weight than a full speech. I can see the flicker of confusion in Rafe's expression, the momentary crack in his confidence where uncertainty slips through like light through a keyhole.
He recovers quickly, because he always does.
"Whatever." He waves a dismissive hand. "Let the ice get resurfaced and we can see what you are all about. I have got to burn that cocky ego of yours before it becomes a bigger problem than it already is."
"Funny," I say sweetly. "I was going to say the exact same thing about you."
His jaw tightens, but he says nothing. Just turns on his heel and walks toward the exit, his broad shoulders rigid with a tension I am starting to understand has nothing to do with me and everything to do with himself.
Cal follows, pausing just long enough to give me a grin and a thumbs-up that he hides behind his back so Rafe cannot see it.
Sage is vibrating with excitement.
