Monday morning, when I get on the bus, I know right away that something isn’t right.

People are whispering, and I can feel eyes on me from every direction. There’s judgement in every glance, like they’re all in on something I haven’t heard yet.

I’ve been in situations like this before; that feeling where everyone seems to know something you don’t, and deep down, you know it’s about you. It’s like your name’s already been dragged through the dirt online, and now you’re waiting to see how bad it really is.

I felt it on Friday too. Back then, I ignored it. I figured I was being paranoid. I’d been off sick most of the week, and people love to talk, especially when your name is even slightly connected to someone like Oliver.

But today, as I pay more attention, it feels different. It feels more serious.

The stares don’t stop. The laughter has a sharper edge. This isn’t about me missing school. This is something worse. Something that feels personal.

I don’t know what the rumour is yet, but I can tell it’s spreading quickly. They lean in, whisper a few words, and then laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

I know how this kind of thing spreads through group chats and Snap stories. Some anonymous account stirring the pot, using someone else to take the heat. I’m not part of any online group. I don’t fit into their little circles. I don’t even have real friends anymore. That means I never find out what’s happening until it’s already blown up.

And by the time I do, it’s always too late. And honestly? I’ve learned not to care.

After everything happened in my life, I’ve trained myself to tune it out. Act like I’m above it. Act like I don’t feel a thing. But today, it hits different. I’ve had a knot in my stomach since I woke up, and I don’t even know why.

Once the bus stops in front of our school, I keep my head down and head straight to class. There’s no sign of Oliver anywhere. As soon as I step inside, the classroom bursts into laughter. It is so loud and all at once, like they’ve been waiting for this moment.

Then I see it.

There’s a drawing on the whiteboard of two girls kissing. The picture is cartoonish, messy, and exaggerated. The person who drew it didn’t even try to make it look good. But one thing stands out clearly, my name, Scarlet, written in thick block letters above one of the girls.

The other one? It could be anyone. Maybe it’s supposed to be Julie. She’s the only person I’ve ever talked to like a friend. Or maybe they left it vague on purpose.

I don’t even know what they’re trying to say.

Do they really think I’m into girls? Do they think I’m dating someone?

Or are they saying Oliver was never into me, and I could never get a boy to date me? Or are they saying whatever they want to get a laugh?

I don’t know. And I don’t want to know.

I walk to my desk, take out my notebook, and pretend to write. Just to make it seem like I have something to do. I can feel the stares. I hear chairs scraping as people shift to look at me. I pretend I don’t hear any of it.

A few minutes later, Oliver walks in. Of course he takes the long way to his seat, so he can walk right past me. He doesn’t stop or doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even glance my way. He keeps walking past me like I don’t exist.

Once he settles in his chair, Tom, who is sitting next to him, points at the board and says something I can’t hear. I think Oliver glances at me for a split second, but I look away.

He leans over and says something to Tom, quiet enough that I can’t catch it. Tom strolls to the front of the class, grabs the eraser, and wipes the drawing away.

The students laugh again. Not because it’s funny, but because this is a show for them now. Tom finishes by spinning in a circle and throwing in a few dramatic dance moves before bowing, like he’s on stage. The class loves it.

I try to block them out. I try to focus on my breathing, on staying calm. Luckily, Ms. Bowen walks in soon after, and I shift my attention to the lesson.

Two hours later, recess starts. I don’t move from my seat. I doodle in my notebook as everyone else rushes out the door. A few minutes later, the most popular group in our class comes back in – Julie, Emily, Erin, Paige, and Isabella.

They cluster around Erin’s desk, two rows ahead of me. Erin looks at me like I’m something under a microscope. Julie stays in her seat, a little to the side, pretending she’s not part of it.

“She was so desperate she had to do this,” someone says, loud enough for me to hear.

“She actually thought Oliver wanted her,” another girl adds. “He didn’t. No one does. So now she’s trying girls?”

I finally lift my head. They’re all looking straight at me. Julie leans slightly to the side and smirks.

“Why are you so desperate, Scarlet?” Erin asks. “No one ever liked you, that’s why?”

I stay quiet. Paige lets out a laugh. “What do you expect? She lives in a trash house. No dad. No future.”

I still don’t say a word.

Emily sighs and says, “She’ll do anything for attention, because she is not getting any at home. Have you guys seen her mom? She looks like a hippo. All she does is eat. You can tell she doesn’t care.”

Paige remarks, “Like mother, like daughter.”

Erin adds, “She definitely writes about us in some sad little diary. You know…, ‘Everyone’s so mean. No one loves me.’ There must be one in her backpack, so she can take notes before forgetting.”

Isabella steps up to my desk and starts pulling out my books, one at a time, dropping them on the floor like she’s unwrapping gifts. I just sit there. Then she reaches into my backpack, pulls out my lunch, and pops open the lid.

“Toast? That’s it?” she scoffs. “Your mum couldn’t even pack a proper lunch?” She lets the container fall to the floor. “Oh no,” she says, with fake sweetness. “Your lunch fell.”

That’s when Oliver walks in. Tom’s right behind him. They both stop and take in the scene. Oliver looks at Julie. She doesn’t move. She stares straight ahead, pretending she’s not part of it. He doesn’t say anything but nods to Tom before heading to his seat.

Tom walks over to my desk. He picks up my toast and puts it back in my lunchbox. He then grabs my book and packs everything back into my bag, setting it gently on my lap.

I don’t say thanks. I’m not thankful to anyone. I’m just relived it’s over.

I open my water bottle and take a sip. That’s when Isabella reaches into her pocket and tosses a crumpled five-dollar bill on my desk.

“Here,” she says. “Since you obviously can’t afford lunch.” Laughter explodes around me.

I grab my backpack, stand up, and walk out. I don’t say a word. I don’t let it break me.

The five-dollar bill stays right where she left it.