Sometimes winning is so damn good, right Leah?" I asked, smiling from ear to ear, unable to hide the rush of pride in my voice.
"Well, yeah, you can say that…" she answered sincerely, pressing a towel against her wet face, her voice muffled but still clear enough to catch the hint of a smirk underneath.
I chuckled, shaking my head, droplets of water flying everywhere.
Honestly, I had been feeling so down since dawn — like the world had placed a mountain on my chest and dared me to move.
But who knew?
Who knew that beating your greatest bully in school could feel so damn… freeing?
It was like a big burden had been ripped off my shoulders — one I didn't even realize had been weighing me down for so long.
For once, I wasn't the girl with cheap shoes and silent dreams.
For once, I was just the girl who won.
I knew it wouldn't fix everything — but in that moment, it was enough.
"We won't have to bow to them anymore," I whispered, feeling a strange lightness in my chest.
Leah, however, was still Leah — the realist.
"Can you really say that though?" she asked quietly, pulling the towel down and looking at me with those steady brown eyes. "I mean, her dad is one of the shareholders of this school. One of the biggest schools in the whole country, Amelia."
The weight of her words hovered between us.
Reality always had a way of crashing any fairytale I tried to build.
"I know what you're trying to say," I muttered, forcing a smile. "But… can't we just hope for a while?"
I pouted exaggeratedly, trying to earn a laugh from her. And it worked — a small, tired chuckle escaped her lips.
"Well, it is what it is, darling," she said, reaching out to ruffle my damp hair.
I pulled away with a playful glare just as the school bell rang loudly, signaling the end of the day.
Students started pouring out of the locker rooms, the halls buzzing with chatter about the swimming match, about the weekend plans, about life that didn't involve fighting for every inch of space like I did.
Leah slung her bag over her shoulder.
"It's closing hour already. Aren't you going to work?" she asked, successfully changing the heavy mood.
I sighed, shifting uncomfortably as I packed my things.
"I quit," I admitted after a pause.
"My legs couldn't handle it anymore — too many hours on my feet. My boss basically told me not to show my face again unless I wanted him to call security."
I forced a laugh, but it came out hollow.
Leah frowned but didn't push.
"I still have two other jobs though," I added quickly, trying to lighten the conversation.
"They don't pay as much as the first one, but… it's nice, I guess."
We walked slowly toward the school gate, the late afternoon sun painting the ground in long golden streaks.
The city beyond the gates felt bigger than ever — cars honking, people moving, life happening so fast.
And there I was, standing small at the edge of it all, clutching my tattered bag like a shield.
Another evening.
Another fight for survival.
Another reminder that dreams don't come easy.
"See you tomorrow, Melly," Leah said, squeezing my hand before disappearing into her family's old silver car.
I stood there for a second longer, letting the wind whip against my skin.
"See you tomorrow," I whispered to no one in particular.
And then, with a deep breath, I stepped into the chaos — one small step, one small battle at a time.
The crowd on the sidewalk swallowed me whole, a sea of strangers moving faster than my tired legs could carry me.
I kept my head down, gripping the strap of my bag tighter, weaving through the throng until I finally made it to the tiny diner that paid me just enough to keep breathing.
The bell over the door jingled when I pushed it open, and the greasy smell of fried food immediately wrapped around me like a too-warm blanket.
"Amelia. You're late," barked Mr. Carter from behind the counter, without even looking up from the receipts he was punching into the register.
I bit my tongue, swallowing the excuses that tried to crawl up my throat. My school bag hit the locker door with a dull thud as I changed into the worn apron, tying it around my waist like a noose.
The evening rush was brutal. Orders flew in, customers yelled when their food wasn't perfect, and the tips were worse than usual.
And then — he came.
A man in a stained business suit, reeking of cheap cologne and entitlement, sitting alone at a corner booth.
I knew the type.
They always thought a girl like me — tired, desperate — would let things slide.
I was refilling his coffee when it happened.
His hand shot out, bold and clumsy, brushing against the back of my thigh like he had every right to.
Without thinking, without even blinking, I slapped him across the face.
The crack of it echoed through the diner, silencing everything for a second.
He sat there stunned, one hand cradling his reddening cheek, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.
"Don't ever touch me again," I said, my voice shaking but louder than I meant it to be.
Every pair of eyes in the diner was on me.
Every heartbeat felt like a drum pounding in my ears.
Mr. Carter stormed over, his face purple with rage.
"In my office. Now," he hissed, grabbing my arm tighter than necessary.
I yanked it free, chin lifted, but inside I was already crumbling.
⸻
The office smelled like old coffee and broken dreams.
"You think you can assault customers and just walk away?" Mr. Carter seethed, slamming the door shut behind us.
"He touched me," I said quietly, my hands trembling at my sides.
"And you think that gives you the right to put your hands on him? You're replaceable, Amelia. Girls like you always are."
The words sliced through me sharper than any slap.
Girls like you.
Cheap. Disposable. Unimportant.
I stared at the faded carpet, the anger and shame swirling together in my gut until I thought I might be sick.
"You want to keep your job?" he snapped.
I nodded stiffly, even as the part of me that still had pride screamed at me to walk out.
"Good. You're staying four extra hours tonight. No break. No pay."
The final blow.
I bit my lip so hard it bled, tasting iron and regret.
"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice barely a thread.
He smirked, satisfied, and shoved open the door.
"Get back to work."
⸻
Back on the floor, the customers didn't even glance my way.
The man who had touched me was long gone, probably nursing his wounded ego somewhere I couldn't reach him.
I moved like a ghost between the tables, refilling coffee cups, wiping sticky booths, ignoring the ache in my legs and the hollow pit in my chest.
By midnight, the streets were empty and my body felt like it was running on fumes.
I changed out of my uniform slowly, every movement deliberate, because moving too fast might break something inside me.
As I stepped out into the cold night, my fingers curling around the straps of my bag once again, I tilted my head back and stared up at the stars.
They looked so far away — so untouchable — like dreams stitched into the