I hate this hallway. Every time my shoes click against the floor, it feels like the whole school’s watching. They probably are. Whispering, staring, waiting for me to trip, waiting to bring something up again.

I keep my head high anyway, even if my stomach knots. When I catch the whispers, I wince before I can stop myself. God, I hate that. I hate giving them that satisfaction. I didn’t used to care what people thought — I was the one people looked up to. Now, I feel like I’m under a microscope. I clutch my books tighter against my chest and quicken my pace. I tell myself it’s just in my head, that they’ll forget, that things will go back to normal. But then I hear my name hissed behind me, followed by a laugh, and I know they’re not done with me. Not after Nevaeh made sure everyone saw me fall.

I grit my teeth, pushing through the crowd, trying not to show how much it gets to me.

"Whatever," I mutter under my breath, even though it doesn’t sound convincing.