---
The girl toilet reeked of spoiled food and sour milk. Sarah stood at the sink, scrubbing her hair with trembling hands. No matter how hard she washed, the stench clung to her like a curse. Her throat tightened, tears mixing with the water she splashed against her skin.
Outside the locked door, Adrian's shadow hovered like a guard dog. "Do you need more water?" he asked, voice low but sharp with contained rage. "Just knock. I'll get it."
Sarah pressed her lips together. Even that small offer of kindness made her chest ache. She didn't want to need anyone—not after everything.
When she finally stepped out, damp hair tied back, Adrian's eyes flared with anger he couldn't hide. "Why do you let them do this to you?" he demanded in a hushed tone. "Sarah, you should stand up for yourself. You can't just keep—"
"Stop," Sarah cut him off. Her voice shook. "You don't understand."
Adrian's fists clenched at his sides, but she didn't meet his gaze. How could he ever understand? He hadn't felt the humiliation of years of torment. He hadn't lived with the whispers, the stares, the weight of being everyone's joke. The pain sat in her bones, too deep to explain.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his temper down. "Fine," he muttered. "If you don't want to talk now… then after class, let's go to the boba shop. My treat. I know your favorite flavor."
Something in his voice—gentle, almost pleading—chipped at the walls around her. For the first time that day, Sarah's lips curved into a faint smile.
---
The neon sign of the boba shop glowed warm against the evening. Sarah cradled her drink, sweet pearls sliding up the straw, a strange comfort in her throat. Adrian leaned back, studying her as if trying to read her heart.
"I used to like Kim," she admitted, staring at the cup instead of him. "But now… he just thinks I'm pathetic. A stalker. And Rose—she'll never stop. She lives to see me break."
Adrian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, letting her spill the words she'd kept caged.
"Rose had a friend once who also bullied me," Sarah whispered. "Ella. I don't even know if she'll ever come back. But if she do am done for. I just…" Her shoulders sagged. "I just want to be free. Calm. Not… crazy."
The quiet between them held more than any reply. Adrian only nodded, sipping his drink, like a promise unspoken.
When they parted outside the shop, the night air felt colder.
---
Home was silent. Sarah called her mom, who answered breathlessly from work, assuring her everything was fine. But the loneliness pressed heavier once the line went dead.
Her eyes drifted to the window. The field stretched beyond the house, the scarecrow a dark silhouette against the fading light. As if pulled by invisible threads, Sarah found herself walking toward it.
She stood before the scarecrow, the night wind tugging at its ragged clothes. "They're back," she whispered. "Kim. Rose. They'll never stop, and I'm so tired." Her voice cracked. "You're the only one who listens."
The words poured out of her like a confession, filling the cold air. She forgot, for a heartbeat, the promise she made to her mother—to never step into this field again.
A snap of twigs broke her trance.
"Sarah!" Her mother's voice sliced the darkness. She stood at the edge of the field, eyes blazing. "You promised me! You swore you'd never come here again!"
Sarah froze like a thief caught in the act, guilt flooding her chest. Her mother's grip was iron as she yanked her back toward the house.
"If I ever see you near that scarecrow again, I'll burn it. Do you hear me?" her mother hissed.
Sarah's lips parted, but no words came. She only nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
Upstairs, she shut her door and pressed her back against it, trembling. Her mother's fury still echoed in her ears—but deeper than that, beneath the fear, was something else.
The scarecrow's hollow eyes had seemed to follow her.
And when the wind howled, she could almost swear it whispered her name.
---