Chapter 4: Shadows in the Schoolyard

"Ms. Harper, Jamie and the others poured dirty water on me. Look at my clothes—they’re all filthy. They said they’d beat me up after school..."

Ellie’s voice trembled, thick with tears, as she hugged her knees in the shadow of the bookcase. Her shirt clung to her, still damp, and her sneakers squished as she shifted.

If this were my previous life, I would have immediately called those students in and really laid into them.

I’d have been the crusader, ready to dole out justice. I’d have stormed out into the hallway, anger painting my face for everyone to see. Not this time.

But now, I won’t do that.

No, this time I let the moment stretch out. I kept my hands steady and my voice neutral. My trust was spent.

Kids who cry get candy—that trick doesn’t work on me anymore.

The phrase came to me from my grandmother, who grew up in a coal town. She’d say it whenever I brought her a scraped knee or crocodile tears.

I glanced out through the smudged classroom window.

The sun glinted off the playground’s old swing set, casting long shadows across the patchy grass. A couple of boys in faded flannel ducked behind a scraggly pine, sneaking nervous glances in my direction.

Jamie and a few other kids were hiding behind a tree, peeking anxiously this way.

Their faces were red from running, freckles standing out stark in the afternoon light. You could practically feel the tension in the air.

I called them in and asked what happened.

They shuffled into the classroom, dragging their feet, eyes darting to Ellie and back to the scuffed floor.

Jamie immediately raised his hand and told me:

"She took our notebooks, Ms. Harper! Swear to God!"

He said it in a rush, like he’d been holding it in for hours. His hands balled into fists, face flushed with indignation.

"I didn’t!"

Ellie shook her head hard, looking pitiful and wronged.

Tears already streaked her face.

This girl has a deep inferiority complex, and she resents those better off than herself.

I could see it plain as day—the way she glared at Jamie’s new sneakers, the envy lurking behind her tears. It made me ache for the girl she could have been, if she’d let go of her bitterness.

This was a lesson my parents and I paid for with our lives in my last life.

A bitter truth, carved deep enough to never forget. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

I already believed Jamie’s words ninety percent.

I told them to go out first and said I would look into the matter.

Jamie hesitated, but nodded. Ellie lingered, eyes pleading. I kept my face unreadable, just like the old principal used to.

I said I’d investigate, but in this life, I don’t want to care about anyone anymore.

Not my circus, not my monkeys, as my dad would say. I was done fixing things for other people.

I won’t defend good people or punish bad ones.

Because the pain of my last life keeps warning me:

Don’t meddle in other people’s business. Don’t think you can be the judge.

That’s the lesson burned into me. In these parts, sometimes the wisest thing to do is mind your own.

But Ellie came back, still with that panicked, timid look:

"Ms. Harper, you’re a good person. You’ll help me clear my name, right?"

Her voice wobbled, lower lip trembling. She clung to hope like it was the last branch above a ravine.

I nodded perfunctorily.

"I will. Go back."

My answer was as flat as a dry creek bed. She studied me for a beat, then turned, disappointed.

Ellie suddenly ran over and grabbed my hand with both of hers.

"Ms. Harper, can you hurry? I’m really scared of Jamie and the others."

Her grip was tight, a little too desperate. I felt the heat of her palm, but also something colder—intent, maybe, or just the weight of her stare.

But I didn’t hear what Ellie said.

Instead, all my attention was drawn to the feel of her hands.

Her skin was soft—too soft for a mountain kid. No blisters, no split nails, just smooth palms that didn’t fit the story she’d told.

Kids in the mountains aren’t like those in ordinary rural areas or cities.

Here, children work as soon as they can walk—there’s always wood to stack, eggs to collect, or weeds to pull.

They basically have to help with farm work: feeding chickens, watering the garden, chopping wood out back.

Even the youngest have chores. There’s no escaping it—not in a place where survival means everyone pitches in.

Other than study time, almost all their time is spent on chores.

So why didn’t Ellie have calluses?

It could only mean she lied to me in my previous life.

She was not Sandra Bullock’s character from "The Blind Side."

Helping her grandparents was just a trick to deceive me.

So young, yet so calculating?

The realization hit me harder than I wanted to admit. She’d played me like a fiddle, and I’d let her.

"Ms. Harper, I want to invite you to my house for dinner."

Ellie spoke again. I shook my head to refuse, and caught a flash of viciousness in her eyes.

She masked it quickly, but I saw it—like a wolf baring its teeth for just a second. A chill ran down my spine.

Although it vanished in an instant, I still saw it.