Chapter 6: Trash and Torment

I started going to class during the day and picking up trash at night to save money.

The recycling center smelled like sour beer and cigarettes, my hands sticky from crushed cans. Night after night, I’d comb alleys for cans and bottles, trading them in for a few dollars at the recycling center. My hands were always sticky and smelled of beer and old soda.

This was faster than saving money at the Evans house—there, I was free labor. Worked harder than a mule, ate less than a bird, and most importantly, got nothing for it.

At least now, every dime was mine. It gave me a kind of pride, even if my jeans smelled like garbage half the time.

It was tough, but at least I was freer than before.

I could breathe, even if the air tasted like exhaust and spoiled food.

But some people didn’t want to see me have an easy time.

I started noticing whispers at school, locker doors left ajar, eyes flicking to me and away.

Soon, I learned that Jason’s revenge had reached my school.

It started small: missing homework, pencil shavings dumped in my backpack. Then things got ugly.

My homework would go missing every now and then. Sometimes I’d find dead rats or snakes in my locker. Once, I was even locked in a bathroom stall, and when I finally managed to open the door, a bucket of filthy water was dumped on me.

Every time I opened my locker, my stomach twisted, bracing for another nasty surprise.

I learned to triple-check every door and never leave my stuff unattended. But no one ever took responsibility. The school was too scared to cross the Evans family.

No one ever admitted to it.

The silence was as cruel as the pranks themselves. I’d catch a glimpse of Jason’s friends laughing in the hallway, and I’d know.

The way people at school looked at me grew stranger and stranger.

I could feel their stares in the cafeteria, in the library—some pitied me, but most just wanted to stay out of it.

I knew why. Rumors about my mom were spreading like wildfire.

People whispered about affairs and money, about how I didn’t really belong there, about what kind of girl I must be.

If I hadn’t been first in my grade every exam, I would have been kicked out long ago.

My grades were my armor, the only reason the principal didn’t expel me for causing trouble.

I thought I could endure until the SATs were over.

Just two more months, I told myself, over and over. Just hold out until then.

Until one night, after late study hall, I was cornered in an alley by a gang of thugs.

The streetlights flickered, and the air smelled like rain and cigarettes. I heard their footsteps before I saw their faces—hoods up, voices low, laughter sharp as knives.