Chapter 1: The Birthday Humiliation

I knelt on the hardwood floor, my legs shaking as I looked up at Savannah Whitlock, barely daring to breathe. She looked so tall from down here. I kept my eyes down, praying she wouldn’t notice my fear.

My knees ached against the cold planks, and I could feel every heartbeat pounding in my throat. Savannah towered over me, her shadow stretching long in the late afternoon light. The air in the dorm felt heavy, thick with the scent of cheap perfume and the stale smell of old takeout.

Whenever she was in a bad mood? Bam—a slap or someone’s leftover burger in my face.

Sometimes it was a cold, greasy patty. Sometimes the back of her hand. Either way, humiliation stung worse than pain. The other girls watched, pretending to scroll their phones, but I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for the next show. Yeah, right.

Once, I was so terrified I tried to run out of the dorm, but her friends caught me. They beat me with baseball bats until I coughed up blood, like some dying animal on the side of the road. From that day on, I never dared cross her again. Not once.

I can still taste the copper and bile from that night, feel the bruises blooming under my skin. God, it hurt. Afterward, nobody talked about it. The world kept spinning, and I learned how to disappear into the wallpaper. Some scars you just carry. Invisible, but always there. Always.

Today was Savannah’s birthday, and the girls in the dorm claimed they wanted to bake her a cake.

Mariah Ellis managed to snag some flour and eggs and dumped them over my head.

I bit my lip hard, holding back my sobs. The flour stung my eyes. Sticky egg dripped from my hair onto my threadbare jeans.

Savannah clapped her hands, laughing until tears streamed down her face. “Wow, happy birthday to me! Nice one, Mariah!” Her voice was pure mockery. My cheeks burned, wishing I could disappear.

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a few pink twenties from her Coach wallet and tossed them to Mariah, congratulating her, saying this birthday would be unforgettable.

She stood up and kicked me in the chest. Pain exploded through me. I gasped, staring up at her, winded.

The two of them sneered and strutted away.

The laughter echoed in my ears, long after they left. My skin crawled from the egg. My hair was matted and heavy. I stared at the crumpled bills on the floor, wishing I could set them on fire. In that moment, I felt smaller than ever, like I could just sink through the floorboards and vanish.

After a long while, Autumn Price finally showed up and dragged me to the dorm bathroom to wash my hair.

Savannah’s family had connections, Mariah was her sidekick, and I was just a kid from the hills—the lowest in the dorm, always getting pushed around. Autumn was the only one in the art program who didn’t bully me. For that, I was grateful, even if I never said it out loud.

“You okay?”

I shook my head, swallowing down the metallic taste in my mouth.

Here, even if something’s wrong, you have to say you’re fine. That’s just how it is.

Autumn’s hands were gentle, her voice barely above a whisper as she rinsed the gunk from my scalp. The bathroom smelled like cheap soap and old mildew. She squeezed my hand, her eyes shining with worry, but I just managed a tiny nod. In this place, weakness was a secret you kept locked up tight. No one could know.

It wasn’t long before Savannah came back.

She shot a look at Autumn, and the next second, a slap landed on Autumn’s cheek. “You helping this little freak, huh?”

Autumn was stunned. She covered her face, shook her head, started crying.

“It’s time to show where your loyalty is, Autumn. Hit her for me!”

My eyes went wide in disbelief as I looked at her.

Slap—

Slap—

Autumn cried as she hit me, not daring to meet my eyes. Savannah laughed wildly on the side. “Dog eat dog, huh? Harder! Hit her harder!”

The sound echoed through the classroom until the homeroom teacher, Mr. Dalton, arrived and put an end to the circus.

He glanced at us. Said nothing. Just kept lecturing, like nothing had happened.

Most of the funding for this art class came from the Whitlock family. As a beneficiary, he would never say a word more.

The silence after the slaps was deafening. My cheek burned, but what hurt more was the look on Autumn’s face—ashamed, broken. I felt hollow inside. Mr. Dalton’s cold indifference stung almost as much as Savannah’s laughter. In that moment, I realized just how alone I really was.

“Recently the weather’s been nice. Tomorrow we’ll go to Maple Hollow to check out the scenery. I hope everyone can create some good work.”

Savannah readily agreed, looking smitten, her cheeks flushed.

For some reason, hearing this made me anxious, my right eyelid twitching like crazy. Maybe it was just nerves, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

The mention of Maple Hollow sent a shiver up my spine. The other girls giggled, already dreaming up Instagram posts. I just clutched my sketchbook tighter, heart pounding, wishing I could disappear.

This sketching trip was led by Mr. Dalton. Savannah leaned against him, so close they could’ve passed for a couple to anyone who didn’t know better.

I sat quietly in the back seat.

Mr. Dalton looked up and glanced at me.

His eyes seemed to smile. But they didn’t, not really. I was terrified.

I pressed my forehead to the cool window, watching the world blur by. Savannah’s perfume filled the van, sweet and suffocating. Every time Mr. Dalton’s gaze flicked to the rearview, my stomach twisted. I kept my hands folded in my lap, praying to be invisible.

My phone buzzed. My heart jumped. What now?

[Delaney, I’m sorry. I had no choice.]

It was a message from Autumn.

I couldn’t blame her, nor could I stand on any moral high ground to judge.

All I could do was avoid her gaze and pretend I didn’t see it.

I thumbed the screen, wanting to reply, but the words stuck in my throat. Ugh. What could I even say? In this place, survival meant looking out for yourself. I tucked the phone away, feeling more alone than ever.

……

The van bumped along forever before we finally arrived at Maple Hollow.

The village was surrounded by old oak woods. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled, and now and then birds sang in the distance. It really was a great place for sketching.

The old town councilman stood at the entrance with several locals, waving us into his house.

Mr. Dalton chatted enthusiastically with him, but the old councilman seemed uninterested, always watching us out of the corner of his eye.

The way he looked at us made me uneasy.

The scent of damp earth and woodsmoke lingered in the air. I breathed in, trying to ground myself. The councilman’s handshake was rough, his eyes sharp as broken glass. The locals hovered nearby, their smiles polite but their gazes cold. I felt like an outsider, a trespasser in their world.