My chest feels heavy as I struggle to breathe. In all directions, there are eyes on me, and the sound of my new nickname is like a chorus.
Stephanie emerges out of the crowd, her forehead creased with concern. “Chrissy, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice shaky. “Everyone keeps calling me that.”
Stephanie’s eyes narrow, and she steps behind me, yanking something off my back.
My lower lip trembles as she shows me a torn piece of paper stuck to my sweater. It reads, “DORKELLA” in big, bold letters.
Rick’s handiwork.
“Grow up!” Stephanie chides the crowd. She crumples the paper into a ball and throws it in the nearby garbage bin as the students break up, some rolling their eyes, others laughing, but at least they’re going away.
Stephanie turns to me and says softly, “You okay?”
I nod, but the tightness in my chest remains.
“Let me guess, it was that jerk Rick, wasn’t it?” Stephanie’s hand clenches into a fist. “You should tell him off.”
“It’s fine. I just . . . If I confront him, it’ll get worse.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t let him get away with this forever.”
“One day he’ll get bored,” I say, trying to convince myself that’ll be the case.
But I’m not so sure. From the stories I’ve heard, once he locks onto someone, he just keeps nagging them until the school year is over.
“Let’s do something about it,” Stephanie says.
“Let’s not.” I glance at her. She’s frustrated, but we’ve been here before. She knows it as well as I do that if we speak up, it could get worse.
***
That evening, I’m still feeling low, the events of the day replaying over and over in my mind like a horror movie I can’t turn off. The memory of those laughing faces is now forever seared inmy brain. The word “DORKELLA” flashes behind my eyelids every time I blink.
I slide the balcony door open, wincing at its familiar squeak. The cool mountain air rushes to greet me, carrying the crisp scent of pine. Pointed up at the sky, my telescope waits for me. I trace my fingertips along its smooth surface before taking a seat on my weathered folding chair.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean air. When I open them again, I look up. Above me, beyond the silhouette of trees and distant mountain peaks, the night sky unfolds in all its glory. In Maplewood Springs, the stars don’t just appear—they burst from the darkness, diamond-bright and impossibly numerous against the inky backdrop.
My hands move automatically, adjusting my telescope with practiced precision. The ritual calms my racing thoughts. As I peer through the eyepiece, the world of hallways and bullies and social hierarchies melts away. Here, I’m not the girl with the paper sign on her back. I’m an explorer of cosmic wonders.
I scan the heavens until I find what I’m looking for—the rust-colored disk of Mars. My breath catches as it comes into focus. The red planet hangs suspended in infinite darkness, so distant yet crystal-clear through my lens. My shoulders relax as I study its surface, my problems shrinking with each passing moment under the vast, eternal gaze of the cosmos. The crickets chirp in the garden below, and somewhere an owl calls out, but these sounds only deepen the sense of peace settling over me.
It must be so tranquil up there.
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.
The worst part is that I actually like this stuff. Last summer, I devoured a whole series on Egyptian mythology from the library, staying up until 2 AM reading about Anubis and Bastet under my flashlight. But here, trapped in this fluorescent-lit classroom with Mr. Perkins’ voice going on like a broken record, even the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb sounds about as thrilling as a grocery list.
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.
