RIKI'S POV
I love being on my own. Never in my life did I ever crave the company of others, especially not in this crowded hall of judgment. I'd rather sink into the comforting silence of my own thoughts than spend time trying to live up to someone's expectations.
This has been serving me pretty well. I'd never been one to conform, to mold myself into a shape that others found palatable. But now, in this huge high school where everyone is striving for a piece of popularity, I feel like a ghost—hovering just out of reach, invisible to everyone but myself.
It's safer here, though, away from the prying eyes that dissect every flaw, every misstep, and every awkward moment I'm all too familiar with. But then again, being a poor student with a scholarship in a school where only the elites of society attend isn't exactly a recipe for comfort. I can feel their stares even when they don't linger on me for long; it's like a chill that wraps around my spine, reminding me that I'm not supposed to be here. They look at me like I'm a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit into their picture-perfect lives, and honestly? I can't blame them. I don't even fit into my own life.
I often myself sitting under a tree, reading a book borrowed from the school's library, not even able to buy one for myself. But today, that book is in the possession of the last person I'd ever thought of encountering. Ava—the school's biggest nightmare and the epitome of privilege.
I never met her before our not-so-lovely encounter in the school hallway, but I heard enough to make me realize the girl wasn't someone I'd like to get involved with. And yet, we'd met twice and each time felt like a twisted game of cat and mouse. She managed to show me just how true the rumors were and just how rude and condescending she could be. It's not just her attitude; it's the way she carries herself, with an air of entitlement that practically radiates from her designer clothes and perfectly styled hair. She has this uncanny ability to make me feel small, like I'm nothing more than a fleeting shadow in her sunlit world.
I hate it. I've always hated it, but I'm so good at hiding that hatred under the façade of the boy who cares less about the rich and the privileged. I've perfected the art of indifference, making sure to keep my distance while still observing the drama unfold around me. But the truth is, I despise the way Ava struts through the halls like she owns them, her laughter echoing in the air as if she's the only one allowed to enjoy the privilege of being young and beautiful.
But no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I don't care, a flicker of anger always ignites within me whenever I catch a glimpse of her surrounded by her entourage of equally privileged friends. They hang onto her every word as if she's some kind of oracle dispensing wisdom. It's infuriating. I often wonder if they even realize the absurdity of it all—clinging to someone who, at her core, is nothing more than a mirror reflecting their own insecurities and superficiality.
Perhaps this hatred of mine was just born out of envy, out of wanting a life equally as easy as theirs. My father passed away due to overwork and my mother refuses to see me, claiming I'm the reason her life is ruined. Maybe she's right, who knows? Maybe it's easier to hate people like Ava because they embody everything I'll never have. The carefree laughter, the expensive clothes, the security that comes from never having to question your place in the world.
I wonder what it feels like to wake up and not be haunted by thoughts of inadequacy. To live in a world where your biggest worry is whether or not your hair looks perfect or if your friends will like your outfit. But no. No.
I shove those thoughts down before they can take root, bury them deep where they can't fester. Because I refuse to be jealous of someone who has everything handed to them on a silver platter. There's no honor in that kind of life, no dignity in coasting through without knowing what it feels like to fight for something real. To claw your way out of the darkness.
