The hallway was long and lined with student artwork. I looked for Maya’s. She had told me on the phone she was working on a charcoal sketch of a wolf. But I didn’t see it on the wall. The school was quiet. Too quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. As I approached Room 302, I heard…
The voice belonged to Mrs. Vane, the chemistry teacher. I knew her type—cold eyes and a smile that never reached them. She had complained about Maya’s wheelchair “scuffing the floors” during the first parent-teacher conference. “Look at this mess,” a man’s voice joined in. Mr. Henderson. The history teacher who prided himself on his Ivy…
“This?” Henderson sneered, flipping through the pages. “This is trash. Just low-class scribbles.” “Please,” Maya whispered. Her voice was wet with tears. “My dad gave me that.” “Your dad?” Mrs. Vane let out a sharp laugh. “You mean the criminal? The one who comes here smelling like an oil change? He isn’t here to save…
“No!” Maya cried out, reaching forward. Her hand grazed the wheel, and the chair jerked forward slightly. “Sit down!” Henderson snapped. Then, he did it. He kicked the trash can toward her. But his aim was careless, or maybe it was malicious. His polished dress shoe connected hard with the metal footrest of Maya’s wheelchair….
To Lily, I’m just the intruder who took over the garage and sleeps next to her mom. She never calls me. Never. She barely looks me in the eye when I pass the salt at dinner. She usually keeps her headphones on, creating a force field between my world and hers. So when that phone…
Inside the casket, Samantha Fairchild lay motionless. The powerful CEO of Vantage Tech Industries—Pennsylvania’s leading tech empire—her eyes closed, her skin pale and waxlike. Peter Fairchild, her husband, stood at the edge of the platform with a neatly folded white handkerchief in his hand. Tears shimmered in his eyes. Pastor Samuel Green cleared his throat,…
“What secrets are you keeping, Mom?” I murmured, carefully untying the worn twine. My stomach churned at the sight that followed. Inside were letters, dozens of them, each bearing my mother’s name in Grandma’s distinctive handwriting. The paper was yellowed at the edges, some creased from frequent handling. The first letter was dated three years…
Her breath caught. “Steve?” The name was a choked whisper. He flinched as if struck. He turned slowly, and the look on his face was one of profound, soul-deep shame. He saw the shock, the dawning fear in her eyes, and his own face crumpled. “Amber… I…” He sighed, a sound of utter defeat. And…
I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said, my heart breaking. “Some people make bad choices when they’re upset.” We spent about 10 minutes in the bathroom. She was starting to smile again when we heard Madison’s voice in the hallway. “There you are,” Madison said, her tone saccharine sweet. “We were just heading back downstairs,” I…
Last Wednesday, I came home from work to find Julia and my mother standing on my front porch, both wearing identical smirks. “Hey, Clare,” Julia said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “We need to talk.” I reluctantly let them in. They walked through my living room like they owned the place. “Nice work on…