Charlie didn't say anything. He just gave me a cold glance before turning away as if my presence had ruined the atmosphere.

I lingered at the edge of the room. But my stomach grumbled; I hadn't eaten anything since last night.

The grumbling felt like a storm was brewing inside me, making breathing hard as I stepped forward.

"That's… my seat," I said quietly, my voice barely making it past the lump in my throat.

Ginny stared up at me with those huge, watery eyes like I'd just yelled at her or something. She shrank back, clutching her spoon like it would save her.

Charlie quickly straightened up, his expression hardening. "She's sitting here. Let her stay."

I swallowed, feeling the room close in around me. "But… that's always been my seat…"

Ginny flinched. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I'll move." She tried to stand, but her foot caught on the chair leg, sending her crashing to the floor.

"Ginny!" Mom shot out of her chair, rushing to pick her up.

And then Mom turned to me, her eyes full of blame. "Betty, what's the matter with you? It's just a chair! Does it really matter where you sit?"

I couldn't even answer. My throat was tight, my head spinning.

It wasn't just the chair. It was everything. But no one seemed to get it.

Before I knew it, Charlie shoved me to the floor.

"Ouch!" I cried. The cold tile stung my knees and elbow. But unlike Ginny, no one came to help me.

Charlie glared down at me like I deserved it. "Get up, you fat pig!"

I looked at Mom, silently begging her to say something—to stop Charlie from calling me names and scold him for pushing me.

But she was silent. She just held Ginny close, her expression unreadable.

The tears I'd held back for so long finally pushed them to the surface.

Why was it always me?! Why was I always the problem?

For the first time, I walked to school alone. No Mom holding my hand, no comforting words to help me manage the anxiety bubbling up inside.

It felt like the start of something bad, but I kept pushing forward. Maybe it was better than going back home, I thought.

When I finally got to class, I dropped into my seat, trying to blend in with the background.

But before I could even settle in, a sharp pain shot through the back of my head.

I whipped around, and there he was—a boy, grinning like he'd just pulled off the prank of the century. His nameplate read: [Angus Whitman.]