Precious POV
I knew my mother had been crying again.
She tried to hide it with that fake brightness in her voice and extra sugar in the oatmeal. But I saw the puffiness under her eyes, the tightness around her lips. She'd stayed up all night sewing the hem of the borrowed school skirt to make sure it fit me just right. A uniform that wasn't mine, for a school that didn't feel like mine either.
Still, I smiled.
Because this wasn't just another Monday morning. This was the day everything changed.
"You look beautiful," Mom whispered, adjusting the collar of my shirt like it would magically become brand new if she straightened it enough. "You sure you don't want to wear your sneakers instead? Those flats have a bit of a scuff."
I shook my head. "The sneakers are too bright. These blend in better."
They didn't. The scuff showed. But I didn't care.
It had taken everything just to be here. Just to be seen by Beaufort Academy.
When my best friend Emmanuella who was a year ahead told me about the scholarship, I didn't think I stood a chance. Beaufort was for kids with last names that opened doors. Children who grew up with tutors and drivers and summer homes. I grew up with rain leaking through the kitchen ceiling and praying the landlord wouldn't show up before payday.
But I'd applied anyway.
And I'd gotten in.
One of three scholarship recipients out of hundreds.
When the acceptance email came through, I screamed so loud I scared our neighbor's cat off the windowsill. I hugged Mom and spun her around the room even though we both knew we didn't have the money for new shoes or textbooks or even the proper bag. But none of that mattered.
Beaufort meant opportunity. It meant Harvard. It meant a future I could build that didn't start and end in our tiny, peeling apartment.
Still, that morning my first day Mom's eyes were glassy as she brushed back my edges and tried to steady her trembling fingers.
"I'm sorry, baby. I couldn't get your new things in time. I'll try before next week"
"Mom," I interrupted gently, taking her hand. "You gave me everything I needed. I've got this."
She tried to smile. I saw the war behind her eyes pride and pain colliding.
As I stepped out into the early morning light, the hem of Joy's old skirt brushing my knees and the weight of secondhand books in my hand-me-down bag, I made a vow to myself:
I was going to make her proud.
Beaufort Academy looked more like a palace than a school.
The gates were taller than anything I'd ever seen, black iron with gold edges that gleamed in the sun. A security guard in a navy uniform scanned my name and handed me a crisp white folder with the school map and class schedule.
"Scholarship student?" he asked with a neutral expression.
I nodded.
He didn't smile.
"Welcome to Beaufort," he said anyway.
The halls were spotless. Polished floors reflected chandelier lights. Students walked like they were born with confidence. Their shoes were shiny. Their bags were designer. Their uniforms were tailored.
I kept my head up and my eyes on the map.
Building C, Room 107. Business Strategy. First class of the day.
When I found the classroom, I took a breath. Then another.
This was it.
The stares started the moment I walked in. The silence was too loud. A few girls exchanged smirks. Some guys raised eyebrows. But I didn't flinch.
I was here to learn. Not to make friends. Not to impress anyone.
I spotted an empty seat second row from the front, by the window. Without hesitation, I walked to it, sat down, and pulled out my school handbook. My heart pounded, but I kept my face composed. Calm.
And then...
The door opened.
Three boys walked in like they owned the building.
The one in the middle moved with a different kind of energy. Dark hair. Cold expression. Sharp jawline. His eyes landed on me like I'd committed a crime.
"You're in my seat," he said, voice flat but commanding.
I looked up.
He was handsome. In a spoiled, dangerous kind of way. The kind of boy who probably got whatever he wanted without asking twice.
Too bad for him, I wasn't raised to bow.
"No assigned names," I replied, flipping to the page in the handbook that proved it. "I checked."
The blond one behind him laughed. Loud and cocky.
Another boy tall, serious just shook his head.
Mr. Cold Eyes didn't like that.
"Everyone knows that's my seat."
I closed the handbook and looked him square in the eye. "Well, I didn't know. I'm new. And I'm not moving for anyone. Who in the world do you think you are?"
The entire class gasped. Some openly. Some just froze in place.
But I didn't look away.
There was no apology in my voice. No shame either. Just facts.
He leaned closer. His jaw ticked. "You're the new girl. And if you want peace, just move. You've got five seconds."
My stomach twisted. My pulse quickened. I wasn't stupid I knew this boy had power. Influence. Even the teacher glanced away like she didn't want to get involved.
I blinked. Then looked at the clock. Then back at him.
"I'll take three."
I stood.
But I met his gaze the whole time.
"Don't think I stood up because I'm afraid of what you're going to do. I'm just too lazy for all this drama."
I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked to the back row.
No drama. No fuss. No fear.
But inside, my chest burned.
So that was how it was going to be.
He continued stealing glances at me, maybe he has never been talked to in that manner. I'm her now. Going to give him some manners
This wasn't going to be easy.
Not with guys like him in my way.
But I hadn't come this far to fold.
And if he thought he could intimidate me, he had another thing coming.
Because the only thing scarier than a boy with a rich last name…
...was a girl with something to prove.