You felt your stomach twist as you stepped back into your old high school. Nerves churned, but there was no way you’d miss your little sister’s academic awards ceremony. You’d dropped out sophomore year when your app took off and investors came knocking, but no one here ever knew. Your former bullies and teachers didn’t deserve to.

You kept to the sidelines near the punch bowl, hoping to stay invisible. No such luck. Your old history teacher spotted you instantly, her lips curling in disgust. “Well, well. Look who decided to show her face. The dropout returns. Hoping to beg for your transcript? That ship has sailed.” Her voice carried across the room, drawing stares. You simply told them you were there for your sister, making them angrier.

She sneered. “Still dressing like a teenager, I see. That’s what happens when you never finish growing up.”

Your math teacher swooped in next, shaking his head dramatically. “Your poor sister, having to carry the burden of your failure. I remember when you had potential. Now look at you. Probably still living at home, mooching off your parents while your sister does something with her life.”

You turned to leave, but the English teacher grabbed your arm, nails digging into your skin. “Don’t you dare run like you ran from school. You need to hear this. Every time I see a homeless person, I think of kids like you. That’ll be you soon—if it isn’t already.”

He scoffed, spilling coffee as he laughed. “What do you even do all day? Video games? Maybe you’ve made shift manager at McDonald’s by now.” He raised his voice so parents nearby could hear. “This is what wasted potential looks like.”

The principal arrived, his expression tight with contempt. “Security almost didn’t let you in. After all, you’re not a student. You’re not even a graduate. You’re nothing but a warning. This is what failure looks like—girls who drop out usually do it for drugs or pregnancy.”

Your phone buzzed, and the history teacher snatched it before you could react. She read the screen, then laughed cruelly. “‘CEO’? Oh, is that what you call your boyfriend? Pathetic. Making up titles to feel important.” She tossed the phone to the ground, the screen cracking. “Oops. Can’t afford a new one, anyway.”

The English teacher yanked a fistful of your hair. “Messy, just like your life. Let me fix something about you.” She pulled scissors from a desk drawer and hacked off a chunk before you could pull away. Holding it up, she smirked. “Now your outside matches your inside-worthless.” Teachers laughed as punch was dumped over your head, soaking your blazer.

You froze, fists clenched, as the history teacher sneered, “You smell like failure anyway.” Then came the slap—sharp, loud, humiliating. “That’s for wasting my time trying to educate you. I should bill your parents for the resources you stole.”

The principal seized your wrist and started dragging you to the exit. “You’re traumatizing the successful students just by being here. Leave before I call the police. Imagine your sister’s shame, watching you hauled out in handcuffs.”

The math teacher called after you, his words slicing deeper than the slap. “The saddest part is you probably still tell yourself you made the right choice. But everyone here knows better. You’re a waste of oxygen. Helena must be ashamed to share DNA with you. I bet she tells people you’re dead, rather than admit you’re just a dropout loser.”

Then, through the crowd, your sister, Helena appeared. Fresh from her photos, award still in her hands, her eyes went wide as she saw you—hair uneven, blazer stained, face burning. Her jaw clenched.

She shoved past the teachers and grabbed your hand. "What the hell is going on here?” she demanded. Then, looking straight at you, her voice softened just enough for you to breathe. “Why don’t you tell them the truth about what you’ve been doing since you left? Tell them about your company.”

The crowd went silent. The laughter died instantly. Dozens of eyes fixed on you, wide and stunned, as her words hung in the air.