Clara
I ran through the alley, my legs getting a little bit weak.
But I couldn't stop.
It was already 7:00 a.m. and I had to be in school by 8.
"Hello, Clara!"
"Hey, Mrs. Alphonso," I greeted without stopping.
It wasn't my first rodeo, so I'm sure she and the others I had ignored earlier understood.
I couldn't afford to be late to school.
When I got to the house, I pushed the door open and ran in.
Shit!
The twins—Lucas and Lola—were still sleeping on the mat in the parlour.
"Lorenzo!" I called out to that idiot as I undid my shoes. "Lorenzo!"
I heard the door to the back open, and watched as someone strolled in sheepishly.
A yawn escaped his lips as he used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes.
I frowned.
"You know, you don't always have to yell in the morning every time you get back from your night shift."
I ignored his words, observing him—his looks and movements.
My frown deepened.
His lips had lost their color, and his eyes were red. Plus, his speech was slow too.
He must have taken that trash again.
I let out a sigh. I couldn't deal with him. Not now anyways.
I picked up my shoes and stormed towards the door.
"I'm already late, so make sure they—" I pointed towards the little ones still sleeping peacefully. "Get to the class early. Understood?"
Lorenzo nodded without saying anything.
Ignoring him, I shook my head and headed for the room. I'm sure he couldn't even say anything meaningful if he wanted to.
My eyes glanced at the clock. It was already a few minutes past seven.
I dived into the bathroom.
In less than a few minutes, I was out, in my uniform, on my bike, and on my way to school.
Getting this bike a few months ago was the best decision I have ever made. In times like this, it came in handy.
After miles of riding, I was almost there. I turned a corner, next to a Cafe, and chained my bike to the tree next to it.
It was my first day, and I didn't want anyone to know the kind of life I lived.
I went back to the main road and fastened my pace towards the school gate.
I didn't need anyone to tell me to know that this was the road leading to the best school in town.
As I neared the gate, sleek cars rolled past me one after the other—shiny black SUVs, low sports cars with tinted windows, polished sedans that probably cost more than the house I lived in.
I could imagine drivers in tailored suits dropping off students dressed in flawless uniforms, some stepping out as if the ground itself owed them respect, like in movies Lorenzo and I used to watch when we were kids and things were different.
Laughter drifted from open windows, careless and loud, the kind that came from people who had never worried about rent or empty cupboards.
I kept my head down and walked faster.
When I finally lifted my head, I saw it.
The school loomed behind tall iron gates, its name engraved in gold lettering across a white stone archway:
St. Armand Academy.
I stopped in my tracks and stared—more like admired— the world before me.
The building itself was massive—three stories of cream-colored walls and wide glass windows that reflected the morning sun. Neatly trimmed hedges lined the walkway, and a fountain stood proudly in the center of the courtyard, water glistening like diamonds as it spilled over marble edges. It looked less like a school and more like a private estate.
A place for kids born into money. And lots of it.
I still remember the day the acceptance letter arrived. Even the envelope looked like it was a lot more expensive than the house we lived in.
I hadn't even wanted to come. I didn't want to accept the invitation. Places like this weren't meant for people like me—people who ran through alleys at dawn after working late into the night and then worried about getting siblings to class on time.
But the scholarship they offered changed everything.
Graduating from St. Armand Academy, a school reserved for elite families and powerful names, meant opportunities and possibilities. It meant doors opening—to a good college, then a better job, and eventually a life far away from the one I was trying so hard to survive.
So I swallowed my pride and stepped forward.
I was just about to walk through the gate when a car sped past me, stopping abruptly near the curb.
"Watch where you're going!" someone yelled from inside.
I clenched my jaw, heat rushing to my face, but I didn't respond. People like that weren't worth my breath. I took another step forward and suddenly slipped.
"Argh," I exclaimed, my shutting.
My foot had slid on the smooth pavement, my balance giving way as the world tilted sideways.
I braced for the fall.
But it never came.
A strong hand caught my arm, steadying me before I could hit the ground. My heart slammed against my ribs as I opened my eyes and looked up.
A guy stood in front of me, his grip firm but careful, dark eyes locked onto mine. He was tall, dressed in the same pristine uniform as everyone else—but somehow he stood out. Like he didn't belong to the crowd either, even though everything about him said he did.
For some reason, he looked familiar.
Then a picture hit me, one I had tried to push away for weeks.
My breath caught and my eyes widened.
"It's you," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.