Chapter 269
Kaiden laughed — not a child’s laugh, but a mimicry of Belle’s cruel, dismissive titter. “It’s not a lie. You don’t have a dad. You don’t belong here.”
The other boys giggled nervously. They didn’t understand the politics, but they understood the hierarchy. Kaiden was a Lancaster. Effie was nobody.
“My mom builds rockets,” Effie said, her voice shaking slightly. “She is an engineer.”
“She’s a liar,” Kaiden spat. “Girls don’t build rockets.”
He stepped forward and swung his leg.
His polished shoe connected hard with the side of Effie’s pink lunchbox. The box flew off her lap and skidded across the rough asphalt, the lid popping off on impact. The sandwich — the four perfect triangles Isolde had cut that morning — tumbled out and landed face-down in a dirty, oily puddle near the drain.
𝗙𝘰𝗹𝗅о𝘄 𝘂s 𝘰ո 𝘨𝗮𝗅nо𝗏e𝘭s.с𝘰𝘮
The bread instantly soaked up the black water. Ruined.
Effie stared at the muddy bread. Her stomach gave a painful, hollow lurch. She was hungry.
But then she remembered the morning. She remembered Isolde’s fierce eyes. Bullies are weak. We don’t beg.
Effie stood up. She clenched her small hands into fists at her sides and felt a heat rising up her neck, burning her ears.
“Pick it up,” Effie said.
Kaiden blinked. He hadn’t expected her to speak. He expected tears. He wanted tears.
“Make me,” Kaiden sneered, stepping into her personal space. “You’re just a—”
TWEEEEET!
The sharp blast of a whistle cut through the air.
Ms. Gable, the recess monitor, marched over, her heels clicking on the pavement. She looked annoyed to be pulled away from her phone.
“What is going on here?” Ms. Gable demanded, looking between the two children.
Kaiden’s face transformed instantly. The sneer vanished. His eyes went wide and innocent, his shoulders slumping with theatrical concern.
“Ms. Gable!” Kaiden cried, his voice trembling. “Effie dropped her lunch! I was trying to help her pick it up, but she yelled at me!”
Effie stared at him. Her mouth opened slightly. The lie was so smooth, so instant.
Ms. Gable looked at the muddy sandwich. Then she looked at Effie — face red with anger, fists still clenched — looking aggressive. Then she looked at Kaiden. The Lancaster heir. The son of the man who had donated the new library wing last year.
The calculation behind the teacher’s eyes was visible. It was ugly.
“Effie,” Ms. Gable sighed, her tone soaked in exhaustion. “Don’t be clumsy. And don’t yell at your friends when they try to help.”
“He kicked it,” Effie said, her voice tight. “He called me a beggar.”
Ms. Gable rolled her eyes. “Kaiden is a sweet boy. Don’t tell tales, Effie — it’s unbecoming. Now go clean up that mess before someone slips on it.”
The injustice hit Effie like a physical blow to the chest. It knocked the wind out of her.
She looked at the teacher and saw the fear behind Ms. Gable’s glasses. The fear of the Lancaster name.
Effie didn’t cry. Crying was for babies. Crying was for people who thought the world was fair.
.
.