Racing Hearts

Racing Hearts

Chapter 1 — The Transfer Student

The first thing Sam Cruz noticed about North Crestfield Academy was how everything smelled expensive.

From the waxed floors to the perfectly trimmed hedges outside, the school practically screamed old money. She tightened her grip on her backpack — the only thing she owned that looked like it had survived a typhoon — and walked past students in crisp uniforms and shiny shoes.

She kept her eyes low. Walk straight. Act normal.

The guard at the front gate barely looked at her ID. “Scholar ka?” he asked bluntly.

She nodded once. No use denying it.

“Third floor. Room 3C.”

Sam had been to four schools in the last three years. But this one? This was on another level. North Crest was a school you saw in movies — marble staircases, digital boards, imported tiles. The students here weren’t just rich. They were elite.

She reached Room 3C just as the bell rang.

The classroom buzzed with whispers the moment she walked in.

“New student,” someone muttered.

“Look at her shoes.”

“Maybe Scholar? ‘”

The teacher, a stern-looking woman in her forties, smiled politely. “You must be Sam Cruz. We’ve been expecting you.”

Sam forced a small smile and nodded. She didn’t like attention, especially not the pitying kind.

“You’ll be seated beside Carl Villamor.”

More whispers. Someone even snorted.

Sam didn’t know who Carl was, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to survive the day.

She slid into the empty seat near the window and glanced at the guy beside her.

Tall. Sharp features. Earphones in. Eyes half-lidded like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He didn’t even look at her.

Suplado. Perfect.

“Hi,” she said anyway.

He didn’t respond.

Cool.

Sam stared out the window and tried not to feel out of place. Her uniform didn’t fit right — it was a donation. Her shoes pinched at the sides. And lunch? She’d packed a single pandesal and a banana.

But it was fine. She’d been through worse.

---

Later that night, in a tucked-away lounge outside the city, Sam pulled her hoodie tighter as she tuned her old guitar.

Her real world wasn’t marble floors and shiny shoes. It was dim lights, mismatched tables, and the quiet chatter of strangers waiting for someone to sing their pain away.

“Next up: Chris!” the host called.

She stepped onto the stage.

Everyone here knew her as Chris. Just a girl with a voice, singing for tips and warm applause. No one asked where she came from. No one cared what school she went to.

And that was exactly how she liked it.

She closed her eyes. Strummed the first chord. And let her voice tell the story her heart couldn’t.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, someone paused mid-sip of their drink, looking up at the stage.

A boy in a dark hoodie. Helmet beside him. Eyes narrowed as he listened.

But Sam never saw him.

And if she had... she might’ve recognized the same boy who sat beside her in class, pretending she didn’t exist.

***

“Excuse me, you're blocking the mirror.”

Sam stepped back automatically, clutching her toiletry pouch. She was in the girl’s washroom, trying to fix her collar before first period, when three girls in matching lip gloss and judgmental eyes swooped in like hawks.

“Are you new?” the tallest one asked, inspecting her reflection like it owed her a compliment.

Sam nodded, unsure if she should respond beyond that.

The second girl snorted. “Scholar, right?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“That explains the shoes,” the third one whispered, loud enough to be heard.

Sam looked down. Her black flats were scuffed at the edges. They were the only ones that passed the uniform code. But here, apparently, even silence had a price tag.

“You know,” said the tall one, turning around with a syrupy smile, “North Crest is... kind of a different world. It’s not just about brains. It’s about image. You can’t walk around looking like—” she glanced down again “—that.”

Sam raised a brow. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code for arrogance.”

There was a pause. The air shifted.

The girl’s smile tightened. “What’s your name again?”

“Sam.”

The leader tilted her head. “Full name?”

“Sam. Cruz.” Her lie was steady. Practiced. Almost second nature now.

“Well, Sam Cruz,” she said, like tasting something sour, “watch your tone. You’re not in a public school anymore.”

The three walked out laughing. Their laughter echoed behind them.

Sam took a deep breath and turned back to the mirror. Her reflection looked tired but calm. Her collar was still slightly off. She didn’t fix it.

Let them think she was weak.

Let them believe she didn’t belong here.

She didn’t need their approval.

She just needed to survive.

---

At lunch, she sat alone at the far end of the cafeteria, quietly eating her packed lunch: a boiled egg, two crackers, and an apple.

She noticed whispers again — not just from the mean girls, but from others too. Scholars were rare at North Crest. And even rarer were those who didn’t try to fit in.

Across the room, Carl Villamor sat at a table by the window, surrounded by noise but completely detached from it. He hadn’t looked her way once since the morning. Not that she cared.

He was just another rich kid who thought the world owed him space.

Still, when his eyes flickered in her direction for a second — unreadable, half-lidded — Sam felt a strange twist in her stomach.

Was that pity?

Judgment?

Or curiosity?

She didn’t wait to find out.

---

Later that evening, she walked to her gig through back alleys and narrow streets. Her hoodie shielded her from the rain that had started to drizzle.

The lounge was dimly lit, half-empty. She liked it better that way. No eyes. No whispers. Just sound.

She sang about things no one in North Crest would understand — not grades, not designer bags, not shiny cars.

She sang about running.

Losing.

Choosing yourself when no one else would.

---

Somewhere, she knew, the girls from school were sipping overpriced coffee, laughing at someone like her. Someone who didn’t belong.

But while they played pretty in their polished lives, Sam played chords that could cut through silence.

She didn’t need their approval.

Not their makeup.

Not their mirrors.

She had her voice.

And soon, they’d hear it — even if they didn't want to.

***

Sam hated class meetings.

The room buzzed with fake excitement as the students gathered around in groups, chatting about themes, costumes, and roles for the upcoming school-wide intramurals. Someone was already designing banners. Another was scrolling through TikTok for outfit inspo.

Sam stayed in the corner, doodling quietly on a blank sheet of paper, waiting for the chaos to pass.

Then came the dreaded announcement.

“Okay!” the class president, a peppy girl named Ashley, clapped her hands. “Time to vote for our muse and escort!”

Cheers erupted. Names were thrown around for the boys—of course, Carl Villamor got multiple nods, though he looked completely uninterested, arms crossed at the back of the room.

“For the muse,” Ashley continued, eyes darting around dramatically, “we want someone who represents our class. Beauty, poise, charm. Let’s make it fun, okay?”

More laughter. Whispers.

Then someone said it.

“Let’s vote Sam!”

Heads turned. Sam looked up, confused.

“Sam Cruz?” one girl giggled. “The scholar?”

“Yeah,” said another. “We should include everyone, right?” She said it sweetly, but her smile was laced with something sharper.

Someone clapped mockingly. “That’s so fair of us.”

Sam froze.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew what this was.

They weren’t choosing her because they believed she deserved it.

They were choosing her to embarrass her. To parade her around in front of the whole school — frizzy hair, plain clothes, and all — and call it school spirit.

Before she could protest, Ashley wrote her name on the whiteboard. “Anyone second the nomination?”

Hands went up. Too many.

“Great! Muse: Sam Cruz.”

Sam swallowed hard.

---

After class, she confronted Ashley.

“Why me?” she asked plainly.

Ashley blinked innocently. “Why not you?”

“Don’t pretend.”

Ashley leaned in. “You should be grateful, Sam. At least now, people will finally notice you.”

Sam clenched her jaw. “Thanks, but I don’t need to be noticed that way.”

Ashley just smiled and walked away, her expensive perfume lingering like poison in the air.

---

That night, Sam sat alone in the dorm’s shared bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror.

Her hair was tangled. Her skin was pale. She hadn’t worn lip balm in weeks. She looked... tired. Not ugly. Just unseen.

She touched her reflection lightly.

There was once a girl in the mirror who wore silk. Who had her hair styled every Sunday. Who smiled politely at charity events and knew how to walk in heels.

That girl had disappeared when she ran away.

Now there was only Sam Cruz — the girl who sang in hidden bars and hid behind baggy hoodies.

But even as her heart stung with humiliation, a quiet voice inside her whispered:

Let them laugh now.

Because when the time comes, they won’t even recognize you.

***

Sam was halfway through a yawn when the teacher made the announcement.

“Groupings for the school exhibit are posted outside. Final outputs will be graded. No switching, understood?”

The whole class groaned.

Sam slipped out of her seat and checked the list by the door.

Group 5: Carl Villamor, Sam Cruz

Her stomach dropped.

Out of all people.

She glanced at the back of the room. Carl sat with his legs stretched out under his desk, earbuds in, face unreadable as always. If he noticed the pairing, he didn’t show it.

“Good luck,” someone whispered behind her. “Carl doesn’t like working with anyone.”

---

The library was quiet the next day as they sat at a far corner table, papers between them and tension thick in the air.

Sam focused on her notes. She could feel Carl watching her, not in a curious way — more like he was trying to figure out what level of patience he needed to survive the project.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re the muse, right?”

She looked up. “Unfortunately.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t seem like you wanted it.”

“I didn’t.”

Silence.

Carl leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Why didn’t you say no?”

Sam met his gaze, eyes steady. “Because sometimes saying no makes things worse.”

He didn’t reply to that. Just nodded slightly, like he understood but didn’t want to say it out loud.

They returned to their silence.

Sam couldn’t read him. His face was always unreadable — bored, detached. But up close, she noticed something: the dark circles under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. He looked tired. Just like her.

“Do you even want to pass this subject?” she asked, not unkindly.

Carl smirked. “Depends on the day.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I do. So let’s finish this.”

They got to work, awkwardly reading aloud from separate books, scribbling half-formed notes. Their words clashed. Their pacing didn’t match. At one point they both reached for the same pen and pulled back instantly.

“Sorry,” they muttered at the same time.

Carl cleared his throat. “You’re not like the other girls here.”

Sam arched a brow. “Because I don’t wear perfume that costs more than my tuition?”

He smirked again, but said nothing.

She stood to leave. “I’ll finish the rest of the outline. You can review it later.”

As she turned to walk away, she heard him say quietly, “You sing at midnight lounge, don’t you?”

She stopped.

He didn’t look at her. He just kept staring at the notebook in front of him.

Sam’s chest tightened. “You follow me now?”

“No,” he said. “You just... don’t forget a voice like that.”

She didn’t respond. She just walked away faster.

***

The electric bill was due.

So was the rent for her shared dorm room. And her gig payment from the lounge had been delayed again.

Sam stared at the crumpled bills on her bed, jaw clenched. The money from singing was barely enough for food, let alone everything else.

She needed another way.

A faster one.

Something she swore she'd left behind.

---

That night, at an abandoned warehouse-turned-racing-hub, engines roared like thunder. Tires screeched against asphalt. Smoke curled around dim yellow floodlights, cutting through the dark like warning signs.

Sam stood in a corner, her black racing suit zipped up, helmet on. No one paid her much attention — just the way she liked it.

Her old racing name was gone. She went by a new alias now: Shadow Ace. No gender, no face. Just speed.

It had been over a year since she raced. But muscle memory didn’t forget. Her fingers still knew the grip. Her mind still counted turns before her eyes did.

She signed up. No introductions. No small talk. Just the entry fee and her gear.

---

At the same time, Carl, David, Vince, and Bryan stood near the edge of the pit area, chatting with their old friend Ralph — a well-known racer in the local underground scene.

“Thanks for coming, bros,” Ralph said, adjusting his gloves. “Big crowd tonight.”

David nudged Carl. “Think Ralph’s got this?”

Carl shrugged. “Unless someone unexpected shows up.”

As if on cue, the crowd shifted.

Whispers rose.

“Who’s that?”

“New face?”

“That bike... looks custom.”

“No name. Just Shadow Ace.”

Carl’s eyes followed the buzz. The rider walked toward the starting line — black helmet reflecting neon lights, posture confident, silent.

“Looks small for a guy,” Bryan muttered.

“Maybe it’s a girl,” Vince added.

Carl narrowed his eyes. Something about the rider’s stance… familiar, but off.

“Whoever it is,” Ralph said, strapping on his own helmet, “they’re dead meat.”

---

The race began.

Engines exploded into motion.

Sam’s world shrunk to speed and instinct. Her heart pumped to the rhythm of gears shifting, wind slicing past her. Her knees kissed the concrete at every tight turn.

She didn’t just ride.

She flew.

Behind her, Ralph cursed, struggling to catch up.

On the sidelines, Carl’s eyes didn’t blink.

He wasn’t cheering.

He was watching.

Studying.

The unknown rider didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a single mistake.

“Who the hell is that?” David asked.

“Somebody crazy good,” Bryan muttered.

Shadow Ace crossed the finish line a full two seconds ahead of Ralph.

The crowd exploded. Cheers. Yells. Whistles.

Sam didn’t stay for the attention. She took the envelope silently, head down, and vanished into the dark — helmet still on.

No one knew who she was.

Not yet.

But they would.

---

Back in her room, she peeled off her gear slowly. Her hands were sore, her arms shaking slightly.

But the envelope was thick.

It would cover rent, utilities, and groceries for the next two weeks.

For now, it was enough.

---

Across the city, Carl sat in his car, headlights off, brows furrowed.

Shadow Ace.

That racing style…

He couldn’t shake the feeling.

Somewhere, somehow, he’d seen it before.

---

“So sino nga ‘yon?” David asked as they sat around the school bleachers during break.

“Wala pa ring pangalan?” Vince added, tossing a basketball between his hands.

“Shadow Ace daw,” Bryan replied. “Galing, bro. Parang hindi tao 'yung nagpaandar ng motor kagabi.”

Carl stayed quiet, chewing on his straw while staring at the floor like it owed him answers.

“Ang liit ng katawan ‘non ah,” David said, eyes narrowing. “Tingin ko babae ‘yun.”

“Sigurado ka?” Vince raised an eyebrow. “Puwede rin namang binatilyo lang. Pero bro, angas talaga ng moves.”

Bryan grinned. “Carl, bakit tahimik ka? Bet mo ba?”

Carl shot him a look. “Tama na.”

But it was too late. They’d seen it — the way his gaze lingered on the track even after Shadow Ace had disappeared. The slight twitch in his jaw when someone brought up the racer.

He wasn’t saying anything.

But he didn’t have to.

---

Later that day, Sam walked past Carl in the hallway.

They brushed shoulders. She muttered a quick apology. Carl paused, about to respond—but she was already gone.

He watched her disappear around the corner, eyes narrowing.

Same build. Same walk. Same instinctive caution.

But... no. Sam Cruz wasn’t the type.

She was quiet. Unpolished. Just a scholar from nowhere.

Still, the memory of the race replayed in his head. That final turn. That fearlessness.

That freedom.

---

Back in class, Carl sat behind Sam and found himself zoning out during the lecture. His pencil tapped softly against his notebook.

He wasn't focused on the board.

He was focused on her hands — the same ones that used to tremble when called on in class, now resting steady on her desk.

He remembered the way Shadow Ace gripped the throttle — calm, precise, strong.

Was he just imagining it?

Why did he even care?

---

That night, he scrolled through underground racing forums, looking for footage. He found a clip from a shaky phone camera — the black-clad rider leaning into the turn like wind was part of their body.

No name. No clue.

But it made his chest tighten.

He didn’t understand it.

He just knew he wanted to see that rider again.

---

Meanwhile, Sam sat by the dorm window, counting her cash quietly. She had enough for the week — for now.

She didn’t know that her late-night ride had stirred something in the last person she expected.

Someone who never looked at her before... now couldn't look away.

***

The classroom buzzed as Ms. Gonzales entered with a clipboard in hand.

“Class, before we start, I have an announcement. Since the school fair is approaching, we’ll be assigning roles for the booth, and I’d also like to formally reintroduce a familiar face.”

Heads turned.

The door opened.

She walked in — tall, poised, and graceful in her designer uniform.

Alexa Montemayor.

A few gasps echoed. Even some of the girls stared, enchanted by her perfect image. Her hair flowed like a shampoo commercial. Her smile was soft, almost shy. She had the charm of a debutante straight out of a magazine.

Sam blinked, confused.

“Alexa will be rejoining us this semester after her leave. She’ll resume her position as class muse,” the teacher added, then turned to the girl. “Would you like to say something?”

Alexa stepped forward. “Hi everyone. It’s good to be back. I missed this place… and all of you.”

Her eyes flitted briefly to Carl.

Sam didn’t miss that.

Neither did Carl.

---

During lunch, the usual barkada gathered in the courtyard — Carl, David, Bryan, Vince — and now, Alexa, seated between Vince and Carl like she had never left.

“So, you and Carl were…?” Bryan asked in a low voice.

Alexa smiled faintly, her lashes fluttering. “We were close… once. But we’re just friends now. Right, Carl?”

Carl didn’t reply, only nodded.

David glanced at him, smirking. “That means yes.”

From a few steps away, Sam watched them without meaning to. The laughter. The attention. The way Alexa held herself like she belonged.

Sam turned away.

---

Later that afternoon, as they decorated their classroom for the fair, Alexa approached Sam with a gentle tone.

“You’re the new muse, right? From the scholarship list?”

Sam paused mid-scotch tape. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I heard they voted you out of pity,” Alexa said sweetly. “But don’t feel bad. That just means they see potential.”

Sam looked at her sharply.

Alexa smiled even wider. “I’m sure you’re used to being underestimated.”

Before Sam could respond, Alexa walked off, humming.

---

Carl, who had walked in just seconds earlier, had heard everything.

He watched Sam clench her jaw and return to taping posters like nothing happened.

And something in him stirred — not because Alexa was back.

But because he hated the way Sam refused to defend herself, even when someone clearly crossed a line.

---

That night, Carl lay in bed, phone on his chest.

He should’ve been thinking about Alexa.

The girl he once liked.

The girl everyone liked.

But all he could picture was a shadowed rider slicing through the wind…

…and a quiet girl taping decorations like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her.

***

The entire campus buzzed with anticipation.

Posters of glittering lights, DJs, and glamorous gowns covered every bulletin board.

Acquaintance Party: A Night to Remember

Friday, 6 PM | Villamor Academy Grand Hall

Students chattered about dresses, themes, and who might ask whom to dance. The hallways were filled with excitement.

But in the back row of the classroom, Sam Cruz kept her head low, scribbling notes quietly.

She had no intention of going.

Wala siyang panggastos.

Wala siyang isusuot.

Wala siyang pakialam.

---

During homeroom, the class president stood in front with a clipboard.

“Scholars assigned to logistics are required to assist during the event. That includes Sam Cruz, Jose, Lian, and Marco.”

Sam’s head snapped up.

“What?” she muttered.

“Sorry, Sam,” the president said when she approached him after class. “You’re listed. You’re part of the working committee.”

“Pero hindi naman ako—”

“Required daw ‘yan. Sabi ng admin. Kaya nga may scholarship eh, di ba?”

Sam bit her tongue and nodded.

So much for avoiding the spotlight.

---

Later that afternoon, while students practiced their dance numbers and sorted out outfits, Sam found herself sweeping the side of the grand hall, helping with decorations and sound checks.

“Bakit parang sad ka?” asked Lian, another scholar.

Sam forced a smile. “Pagod lang.”

“Ang saya nga nito eh. Malay mo, mas enjoy ka pa kaysa sa ini-expect mo.”

Sam doubted it.

She just wanted the night to end.

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Carl stood near the parking lot, leaning against his car, flipping through his phone.

“You going to the party?” Bryan asked, tossing a ball in the air.

“Not sure yet,” Carl replied.

“Sure ka diyan? Kasi si Alexa, excited daw. Nakadress na ata kahit Tuesday pa lang ngayon.”

Carl chuckled but didn’t comment.

Then he glanced across the lot — and saw Sam helping tie a banner on the gate, arms stretched, brow furrowed in concentration.

She didn’t notice him.

But he couldn’t look away.

He turned to Bryan. “May task ba ‘yung scholars sa party?”

“Yeah, logistics or something. Bakit?”

Carl shrugged. “Wala lang.”

---

Inside the classroom the next day, Alexa casually asked Sam, “So, what will you wear?”

“I’m not attending as a guest,” Sam answered flatly. “May trabaho ako.”

“Aw, sayang. But I guess that fits you. It’s hard to party when you’re… busy earning every coin.”

Carl looked up from his seat.

He didn’t say anything.

But again — he heard everything.

And something inside him began to shift.

***

“Guys, reminder,” their professor announced at the end of class, “group projects are due tomorrow. No excuses.”

Sam glanced at Carl beside her, then at the unfinished presentation on his laptop.

They had done most of the work at school, squeezing every minute between classes, but the conclusion and visuals still needed polishing.

And it was already past 6 PM.

Sam packed her things quickly. “We can just meet tomorrow early. I’ll wake up at 4.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “We won’t finish by then. Presentation pa lang ‘di pa natin naayos.”

Sam hesitated. She knew he was right.

“Can we… go somewhere quiet?” she asked. “Library’s closed.”

“My place?”

Her head snapped up.

He shrugged. “Yung condo ko malapit lang. Wala si Kuya, and walang ibang tao. Taposan lang natin ‘to.”

Sam didn’t answer right away.

Carl noticed the flash of hesitation in her eyes — like she was calculating risk, not time.

“I’m not going to kidnap you,” he added flatly, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Sam let out a small breath. “Fine.”

---

20 minutes later, they entered Carl’s condo.

It was minimalist but clean — white walls, warm lighting, glass doors leading to a small balcony.

Sam looked around. “Tahimik.”

“Wala ngang tao,” Carl replied, tossing his keys on the counter.

He handed her water before they sat at the small round table by the window.

Sam pulled out her notes. “Let’s finish this fast.”

Carl nodded, though he found himself watching her more than the slides.

The Sam in school was guarded, quiet, almost invisible.

But here…

She was sharp. Focused. Her ideas were clever. She didn’t just absorb information — she understood it.

He watched the way she chewed her pen while thinking. The way she mumbled numbers under her breath while aligning the bar graph.

There was something strangely captivating about her intensity.

And when she cracked a dry joke about their boring topic, Carl actually laughed — a real one, not the forced laughs he gave Alexa.

He didn’t expect her to smirk back.

And he didn’t expect that smirk to make his stomach flip.

---

Around 9:30 PM, they wrapped up.

“Done,” Sam said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll go now.”

Carl glanced at the time. “You sure? Safe ka ba pauwi?”

“I can walk.”

“Alam ko namang matapang ka,” he said, walking her to the door, “pero may mga bagay na ‘di mo dapat pinipilit. Gabi na.”

She blinked at him.

There was no arrogance in his voice. Just concern.

Real concern.

“I’ll book you a ride,” he added, already reaching for his phone.

Sam stared at him for a moment longer than necessary.

He noticed.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Carl opened the door for her. “Sam.”

She turned.

“Wala lang. Ang galing mo kanina. Sa presentation.”

A small smile escaped her lips before she quickly turned away.

---

Back in the condo, Carl leaned against the door after she left, still holding his phone.

He wasn’t just curious about her anymore.

He was interested.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t care who noticed.

***

The hallways of Villamor Academy were buzzing again — this time with talk of the upcoming acquaintance party. Fittings, rehearsals, and secret crushes floated through every classroom like perfume.

Carl walked into class a few minutes late. As always, heads turned. But this time, something else turned with him.

His eyes.

They searched instinctively for Sam.

She was at her usual seat by the window, bent over her notes. Nothing new.

Except Carl found himself smirking when he remembered her face last night—serious, focused, surprisingly witty.

He didn’t even realize he was still looking until—

“Carl,” a voice cut in.

Alexa.

She was standing beside his desk, arms folded, lips pursed in a delicate frown.

“I called you twice.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Alexa followed his line of sight.

Straight to Sam.

Her smile thinned.

---

Later that day, Sam was on her way to the canteen when she accidentally bumped shoulders with Bianca and Trish — two of Alexa’s loyal followers.

“Oops,” Bianca said, fake-shocked. “Scholar alert.”

Trish chuckled. “Ingat ka naman. Baka madumihan 'yang cheap shoes mo.”

Sam rolled her eyes and tried to walk past, but Bianca blocked her.

“Uy, girl. Balita ko close ka na daw kay Carl?” she asked, loud enough for people around to hear.

Trish snorted. “Feeling close. Ambisyosa.”

“Do you seriously think someone like him would go for someone like you?” Bianca added. “You’re just a project partner. Don’t get ideas.”

Sam’s lips tightened, but she didn’t respond.

Alexa suddenly appeared, graceful as ever. “Girls,” she said, placing a hand on Bianca’s arm. “That’s enough.”

Sam looked at her — hopeful, for a second.

But then Alexa smiled sweetly.

“She’s already trying so hard just to fit in. Let’s not make her feel worse.”

Sam stared at her, stunned.

And for the first time… angry.

---

That afternoon, Carl noticed something was off.

Sam was quieter than usual. Even for her.

He caught up with her after class. “Hey. You okay?”

She didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him.

“You don’t have to check on me every time I get looked down on, Carl. I’m used to it.”

Carl was quiet for a moment. Then, “You shouldn’t be.”

That made her pause.

He continued, voice low. “You don’t deserve any of that.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his tone.

Before she could reply, Carl added, “Come to the party.”

She frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because I want you there.”

Sam’s heart skipped.

But all she said was, “I have work.”

“I’ll wait,” he said simply, then walked away.

---

Back in another corner of the school, Alexa watched the scene from afar.

Her smile was gone.

And in her hand, her perfectly manicured fingers tightened around her phone.

She wasn’t just jealous now.

She was ready to fight back.

***