HOPE
When my alarm blares the next morning, dread settles low in my stomach like something heavy and rotten.
I lie on my bed there for a moment, staring at the ceiling,and the chandelier trying to pinpoint why I feel like someone's sitting on my chest.
There's no fucking reason I should feel this weighed down. I rack my brain but there's no immediate threat, no looming deadline. It's just an ordinary, shitty day at Brookshigh.
Still, the unease clings to me like wet clothes, and eventually I shove it down and drag myself out of bed.
I've learned to tune out the whispers, the sideways glances whenever I walk past the too-loud laughter designed to sting and mock me from the Queensking residents.
Most of the girls pretend I don't exist. A handful don't bother hiding their disgust—like I'm contagious or something, like I broke a sacred rule by being at the highest-ranked hostel.
Well, I let them. I've survived worse.
