Chapter 3: Standing Tall, Standing Alone

I made it to Maple Heights High just as the bell rang.

Familiar school building, familiar voices reading in the hallway.

I slipped in through the back door.

A boy in the back row grinned, "Hey! Our class’s literature rep is late! Savannah, what happened?"

"Did your mom keep you again? I saw her all dolled up the other day—"

The halls smelled like old books and bleach. The same posters from years ago still clung to the walls, faded but stubborn. I could feel eyes on me as I walked in—some curious, some judgmental. Small towns never forgot anything.

My backpack grazed his head as I slammed it on my desk.

"My mom and who? Your dad?"

"How much did she get? Does your mom know? If she does, why hasn’t your family split? So pathetic."

My words came out fast, sharp as a whip. I didn’t even pause to think. For once, I wanted to fight back, to show them I wasn’t the same scared girl they remembered.

His eyes went wide, and not just him—the whole group of boys was stunned by my rapid-fire comeback.

"You—you hick—"

"Country? Is that enough dirt to bury you? No use keeping it, you’re just wasting time being dumb and mean all day. Even your total score isn’t as high as my lowest!"

The boys stared, mouths open. A couple of them started pounding the desks, laughing and egging me on. I could see the shock in their faces—maybe a little respect, too.

The boy went silent. The others pounded the desks, egging me on.

No kidding.

You’re not dealing with the old Savannah anymore.

This is Savannah—the math teacher, the homeroom teacher—awake!

I straightened my back, letting the weight of my new self settle on my shoulders. It felt good—strange, but good. The power in my words, the way the room shifted around me. Maybe this time, I could actually change something.

I sauntered back to my seat.

The next second, I saw our burly dean of students, Mr. McMillan, yelling and shoving four sheepish boys down the hall.

Hmm… Sorry, Logan. You needed to know early: People can be dangerous. Puppy love isn’t right. The prettier the girl, the more she’ll fool you.

I pretended not to see, slowly turned back, and started working on my English reading.

Mr. McMillan’s voice boomed down the hall, scattering the boys like pigeons. He had that old-school gym teacher energy—square jaw, buzz cut, arms like tree trunks. I kept my head down, flipping through my textbook, but inside, I was smiling. Sometimes, fate needed a little nudge.

Because my basics were shaky, and my mom kept dragging me to help at the salon, English became my worst subject.

I needed to catch up.

I traced the vocabulary words with my finger, mouthing them under my breath. The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I was determined. I wouldn’t let anything hold me back this time—not even my mom.

My deskmate, Mariah Turner, had short hair and never stopped talking. We were pretty close. She’d even sass back when the boys gossiped. That familiar, innocent face… It still got to me.

Mariah had a laugh that filled the whole room, a kind of fearless honesty I’d always admired. She’d stick up for me even when she didn’t have to, and I’d always wondered if maybe, in another life, we could’ve been sisters.

"Why are you staring at me? Falling for me?" Mariah followed my gaze down. "Oh, you want to see the midterm rankings? Here, take it! You’re always top three anyway! I won’t bother, it’s just depressing for me!"

She shoved the crumpled paper into my hand, her grin wide. I couldn’t help but laugh. In a world full of people trying to tear me down, Mariah was one of the few who tried to lift me up.

I saw the top name.

Not Logan.

…Is this guy for real?

I was third in class, he was third in grade.

A blue pen circled his name, with an arrow pointing to the top.

Work harder!

I stared at the scribbled encouragement, a mix of irritation and pride bubbling up. Logan was always pushing himself, always aiming higher. I wondered if he ever realized how much that inspired the rest of us.

I started showing up to after-school English tutoring on time.

My mom said I was slacking.

Fine, I’d memorize English in the salon.

Blah blah blah, nonstop.

She couldn’t stand it, chased me out with a broom. "Take your vocab cards and get lost!"

I sat on the back steps, textbook in my lap, reciting irregular verbs as the sun went down. The cicadas buzzed, the air thick with humidity and the scent of shampoo drifting from the open salon window. If she wanted me gone, fine by me. I’d learn wherever I had to.

Actually, my best subject was composition.

My essays were even printed as model essays for the whole grade.

Would Logan see them?

I wondered if he’d recognize my handwriting, if he’d guess the words were meant for him. There was something thrilling about the idea, a secret message hidden in plain sight.

One day during the lunch break, I had a stomachache and happened to pass by Class One. I glanced in.

He actually had my essay on his desk—I almost cried… Wait, no. He was using it as scrap paper?

Grinding my teeth, I walked away.

Didn’t expect someone to see that. Soon, rumors about me and Logan spread through the senior class.

I tried not to let it bother me, but the whispers found me everywhere—in the cafeteria, in the halls, even the bathroom stalls.

My homeroom teacher didn’t like me.

No, to be exact, she hated every poor kid equally.

During study hall, she sat with her legs crossed. "Our class has been restless lately. I’ve confiscated so many notes! Is this stuff really that interesting to talk about?"

"And some girls—don’t bring your family’s loose morals to school. You don’t care about your reputation, but I do!"

Her words dripped with contempt, each syllable like a slap. She looked right at me, her eyes cold. I could feel the whole class watching, waiting to see what I’d do.

It dawned on me—she was targeting me.

She threw the grade sheet with Logan’s name on it onto my desk.

I flinched, but kept my face blank.

My deskmate gasped, "I left that in my desk…"

The whole class went silent.

The paper hit the desk with a slap. The room went dead silent. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

I glanced at it and smiled.

"Teacher, how much do you want?"

My voice was steady, almost casual. Even I was surprised at how calm I sounded. I could see her jaw tighten, her fingers curling around the edge of the desk. I’d never talked back before—not like this.

She froze.

"What did you say?"

Her voice was a hiss, barely above a whisper. I met her gaze, refusing to look away.

"You’ve said all this because you want a gift, right? How much? I’ll ask my mom."

The class held its breath. I could feel Mariah tense beside me, her hand gripping the edge of her chair. For once, I didn’t care about the consequences.

The teacher jumped up, furious.

"You’ve got nerve, Savannah! Slandering a teacher? Got any proof I took gifts?"

Her face turned red, her voice shaking with anger. But I didn’t flinch. I was done being afraid.

"Oh, so accusations need proof?" I raised my voice a bit. "I thought just blaming genetics was enough."

A few kids snickered. Even the boys in the back looked impressed. For a moment, I felt invincible.

The class erupted. Some boys in the back even cheered.

The room buzzed with energy, the kind that only comes when someone finally stands up to a bully. I felt a strange sense of pride, like maybe I was finally becoming the person I was meant to be.

I stared her down, unafraid.

Suddenly, I realized—she wasn’t as scary as I remembered.

I wasn’t the one in the wrong. Why should I be afraid?

It was like someone flipped a switch. The fear that had ruled my life for so long was just… gone. I saw her for what she was—just another person, not a monster. I straightened my shoulders, ready for whatever came next.

I grabbed the grade sheet. "Teacher, I’ll go find Logan. Want to come?"

Whether she followed or not, I didn’t care. The boys, hyped up, followed me out in a crowd. She couldn’t stop us.

I knocked on Class One’s door.

My heart hammered in my chest.

Everyone looked up.

"Sorry, Mr. Taylor. My teacher asked me to clear up a misunderstanding."

The room went quiet as I walked in, every eye on me. I could feel the weight of their stares, but I kept my head high. I was here for a reason.

I walked past the podium to Logan’s side.

His buzz cut was neat, his eyes sharp and cool—steady, edged, impossible to ignore.

He looked up, surprise flickering across his face. For a second, I saw the boy I’d known, the one who’d risked everything for me. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay focused.

"Logan Pierce."

I placed the grade sheet in front of him.

"Let’s team up before the SATs and take back that first place. Deal?"

My voice was steady, confident. I wanted him to know I believed in him—and in us. The whole room seemed to lean in, waiting for his answer.

He smiled.

That smile melted the ice; the whole room seemed to warm.

"Sure."

His voice was quiet, but the promise in it was loud enough for everyone to hear. I felt something inside me loosen, a knot I’d carried for years finally unraveling.

Now, Logan and I could finally be together—

—to study.

The dean of students witnessed it, the homeroom teacher saw everything.

The rumors died down.

It was funny how quickly things changed. One minute, I was the outcast; the next, I was the girl who stood up for herself—and for Logan. The whispers faded, replaced by something like respect.

His weak spot was English composition, so I had him copy my essay by hand. But his math skills were great, and he’d help me after class.

Mariah flashed me a thumbs up. "Awesome!"

I grinned. "Let’s keep it low-key."

"Honestly, you’ve changed," she mused, then turned to me. "Hey, Savannah, how come you suddenly got so assertive?"

"Where there’s pressure, there’s pushback."

"The guys in the back want to make you their boss."

"They can start by passing a test."

She rested her chin in her hand, thoughtful. She looked older than usual.

"Something on your mind?" I asked.

"I’m not cut out for studying, won’t get into a good college," Mariah sighed. "My family wants me to work at the chicken plant. My brother’s getting older—they want to save up for his wedding."

I listened, my chest tightening. Mariah deserved so much more than a dead-end job and a life spent cleaning up after her brother. I wanted to tell her she could do anything, but I knew how heavy family expectations could be.

I fell silent.

That’s just how small towns are.

In towns like ours, most girls barely finish high school before they’re sent to work—"your grades aren’t great anyway." No one talks about how, once we’re home, we’re still expected to cook and clean, and if you have a brother, you’re practically his second mom. How are you supposed to study, split like that?

I thought of all the girls I’d grown up with, their dreams packed away in boxes under the bed. The weight of tradition, of family, of small-town expectations—it was enough to crush anyone. I vowed then and there I’d do whatever I could to help Mariah break free.

"What about you? What do you want?"

"I want to go to Dallas, work in a big city." Mariah showed me her sketchbook, full of beautiful dresses. "I… I want to design clothes. What’s that called?"

"Fashion designer."

"Yeah, fashion designer."

She blushed, ducking her head. The sketches were good—really good. I could see her future, bright and bold, if only she could escape this place.

I kept that in mind.

But right now, I didn’t even know exactly what point almost killed me and Logan last time, or who was behind it.

I had to protect myself first.

I watched the people around me more carefully now, every interaction a possible clue. I was determined—this time, I’d see the danger coming.