Chapter 2: Second Chances and Scars

I’d disliked Shellie for a long time. There was something about her constant stories, her shabby clothes, that made my skin crawl. Other than having good grades and a decent face—hazel eyes, freckled cheeks—compared to me, she was worthless.

But she had good grades, so the teachers always defended her. She was their golden girl, their Cinderella story in the making.

Afraid my dad would come yell at me—my dad could go from zero to nuclear in under ten seconds—I had to pinch my nose and apologize, right there in the hall, under the glare of the fluorescent lights.

I never spoke to her again.

But in high school, after my dad shelled out ten grand on my tuition, Shellie actually ended up in the same school as me again. Same class. It was like the universe was mocking me.

On the first day, my dad still remembered her—maybe he remembered the drama from before, maybe he just remembered her name. He greeted her with a big Midwest smile and said, "You two stick together, alright? That’s what we do out here. Especially you, Shellie—since you’ve got those grades, help Mike out, will ya?" He clapped her on the shoulder like she was family.

She grinned and said, “Guess I’m the big sister now. Better keep you out of trouble, huh?” Her voice was all sunshine. She smiled as she talked to us, then started bragging again about how her mom was so happy she did well and was going to reward her with a new purse—bragging, again. Like she didn’t even remember all the things we’d said.

I looked at the worn plastic grocery bag she was holding—one of those yellow bags from the discount market, the kind you get when you ask for double-bagging—and really wanted to ask if the purse her mom was giving her was that exact bag.

But seeing her face, the way she looked so hopeful, I held back. Even I couldn’t bring myself to be that cruel. Sometimes, even I have a line.

After summer break, from her right jaw down to her neck, there was a patch of new scars, like she’d been scalded with boiling water. The skin was red, white, and rough—angry and raw. She wore her hair down, trying to hide it, but it didn’t work.

Now, she had one less advantage. Only her grades were still good. You could almost see her shrinking into her hoodie, as if she wished she could disappear.

Once I caught up in grades, let’s see if my dad would still praise her or me. Competition makes everything more interesting. Especially when you know you can win.