Diamond in his darkness

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DIAMOND

“Diamond! I hope you're ready!”

My mother’s voice cut through my sleep like a buzz saw straight to the soul. I groaned, dragging the blanket over my head as the sun stabbed through the blinds like it had a personal vendetta. Wonderful. Another day, another early morning betrayal by the universe.

I reached for my phone, blinking the crust from my eyes, praying I still had time.

“Shit. 7:30.”

Launch sequence initiated.

I catapulted out of bed with the grace of a tranquilized kangaroo, nearly face-planting into the floor. Day one of a new school in a new city, and I was already spiraling. Classic me.

“Diamond, you better be dressed!” Mom shouted again, footsteps stomping like judgment day down the hallway.

I muttered curses at my traitorous alarm clock and dashed into the bathroom, but not before catching a glimpse of the cryptid in the mirror. Me. Hair: feral. Face: smeared with last night’s leftover pizza. And there was—oh god—a straw tangled in my ponytail. A straw. From orange juice. My shirt was wrinkled, stained, and reeked of defeat.

How did this happen? Oh, right. My mother and I had celebrated my scholarship into an elite high school with a reckless amount of late-night anime, snacks, and joyful screeching. A well-earned celebration after surviving the disaster that was my old life.

Back in my last school, I ruled—until my so-called friends framed me for drug dealing. The police raided our lockers like they were auditioning for CSI, and guess who got dragged down with the real criminals? Yep. Me. Even after I was cleared, the rumors did their damage. My name was radioactive.

So here we were. New town. New start. New hell.

Ten minutes later, I emerged from the shower, dressed in a crisp uniform with my hair pulled into a clean high ponytail and my lucky pearl necklace fastened like armor. Not bad. Not dazzling. But at least I didn’t look like I crawled out of a Taco Bell dumpster.

I opened the door and there was Mom—arms crossed, foot tapping like a metronome set to “rage.”

“You look pissed. Did a rat crawl under your bed again?” I grinned.

She didn’t. “No. You’re just late. Again. School starts in thirty minutes.”

“Shit,” I hissed, grabbing my bag and bolting down the stairs.

“Language!” she barked, following me into the kitchen.

I wasn't about to face a new school on an empty stomach, trauma be damned. I inhaled a sandwich, chased it with orange juice, and immediately choked. Mom’s laughter filled the room like a sitcom laugh track.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight to make up for this,” I wheezed, already halfway to the door.

“You’ll burn the house down,” she mumbled, but packed my lunch anyway.

Outside, I flagged down the first taxi I saw. “Anderson High School, please.”

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror with a look that screamed, Really? You? His eyes flicked over my uniform, then back to the road.

“Problem, sir?” I asked sweetly, razor-blade smile in place.

He said nothing. Typical. Probably thought I couldn’t afford the school I was dressed for. Joke’s on him—I couldn’t. That’s what scholarships are for.

I plugged in my earbuds, queued up Vault Boy’s “Everything Sucks,” and leaned into the window. Vibes: chaotic hopeful.

Until the car stopped. And kept not moving.

I yanked out my earbuds. “What’s going on?”

“Traffic jam,” he grunted.

I looked up. Great. Pileup for days. I had exactly zero time for this.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, already opening the door.

“Where are you going?!” he yelled after me.

“To find a way through my ruined morning!” I called back.

A crowd had gathered up ahead. Something was happening. Because of course it was. I elbowed my way through the people and froze.

An old man knelt in the street, hands raised, pleading. “Please, sir, I’m innocent!”

Towering over him was a guy who looked like he'd stepped off a billionaire runway and into a villain origin story. Platinum blond hair, eyes colder than a tax collector’s heart, and a jaw so sharp it could cut glass.

He didn’t just look rich—he radiated it. Along with the smug arrogance of someone who’d never been told no and had zero intention of starting today.

“Save your breath for someone who cares,” Ice Prince said flatly.

A bodyguard yanked the old man up like he weighed nothing.

I don’t know what came over me, but I marched straight up and slapped Blondie across the face.

The crowd gasped. Blondie’s head jerked slightly to the side, eyes blinking like he couldn’t process reality. His cheek turned pink.

The bodyguard moved, but Blondie lifted one hand, stopping him. His eyes locked on mine—dangerous and curious.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, low and menacing.

I crossed my arms. “Someone who doesn’t like seeing rich kids abuse their elders.”

He cocked his head. “So?”

“So maybe try being less of a public disgrace?”

He leaned in, crowding my space, gaze daring me to swing again. My heart thudded. I refused to flinch.

Then he shoved me aside like I was dust.

“Search him,” he ordered.

I caught myself mid-stumble, rage roaring in my chest. I lunged, grabbing the old man and pulling him back.

“Excuse me! Who died and made you sidewalk god?!”

He smirked, and I hated how pretty it looked on him.

“Humanity, obviously.”

Before I could craft a glorious comeback, the bodyguard pulled something from the old man’s coat—a wallet. One that didn’t belong to him.

The old man flushed with shame. The crowd murmured.

I stared. Blondie met my eyes again, triumphant.

And I?

I shoved my hands into my skirt pockets, gave a weak laugh, and whispered, “Fantastic.”

I had just assaulted a stupidly hot, stupidly rich guy… for doing his job.

Could this day get any worse?

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