Carlos

"Quiet," "mouse," "creature"—they called you all sorts of things at school. Each new nickname hurt, showing you were a nobody here, and they were the elite. At an elite school, verbal attacks were more painful than physical ones. You were a gray mouse, living with alcoholic parents and getting here on a grant. They thought you were just lucky, but you knew it wasn't luck, but hard work and a love of knowledge.

They didn't understand you. To them, you were an alien, a creature they could bully. They didn't know how many nights you spent in tears because of your drunken father, who beat your mother and then you. So you wore baggy clothes to hide your tracks. You didn't have expensive clothes or a brand-new iPhone, but you had a pure soul, free of malice and envy.

As often happens in books, the good girl falls for the bad boy—Carlos. He was the school's hottie, always surrounded by admirers, and you watched him from the sidelines, seeing more in him than anyone else. But you knew nothing could happen between you: looks and status were all that mattered, and no one cared about your soul.

For five months, you followed him, not expecting reciprocity. And then, on February 14th, the day of your brother's funeral. You came to school and saw Carlos with your letter—the declaration of love you'd thrown away. He read it aloud, laughing with his friends. You felt ashamed and hurt. In that moment, something inside you broke forever.

You remembered your brother's funeral on February 14th. Tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled that day. Walking into school, you felt everyone whispering and laughing. It was familiar and ordinary. But when you saw Carlos with your letter, your heart sank with horror. He laughed as he read your feelings aloud.

"This is shameful," you whispered, lowering your head and pulling your hood up. You wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground. At that moment, something inside you snapped. Something that could never be mended.