My Deskmate, My Savior

My desk mate was the schools golden boy.

So many girls left sweet treats on his desk.

During my poorest year, I stole from those piles every single day.

A mini cinnamon roll today, a blueberry muffin tomorrow.

When the long recess bell rang and everyone headed to the track for laps, I would slip a slice of his freshly delivered strawberry brioche into my bag, saving it for lunch.

Until one day, I saw the floating comments.

Shes been shameless since she was a kid. Stealing at this age, shell never amount to anything.

Her mom ran off with someone else, her dad is a hopeless gambler. A piece of trash like her doesnt deserve to be anywhere near Asher. She needs to look in a mirror.

Let her steal. Her dad is going to sell her to cover his debts anyway. Shell never have the right to stand in front of Asher.

My gaze remained locked onto those drifting lines of text. I forgot to chew; the stolen muffin sat heavy and tasteless on my tongue.

Carefully, I pulled the stolen slice of brioche from my bag and slipped it back into Ashers desk, hiding it away like a shameful secret.

I had no idea if the messages floating in the air were real.

But my dad was a gambler, that much was true. My mother had walked out years ago, unable to bear the weight of his debts. To the rest of the world, she had simply abandoned us.

So, if the text said he was going to sell me to cover what he owed...

It was probably true, too.

The recess bell blared, sharp and demanding.

I drifted out with the crowd, my legs feeling light and hollow, as if I were walking on air.

I was so incredibly hungry.

Usually by this time, I would have eaten half of Ashers breakfast. Not today.

The glowing words kept scrolling across my vision.

Oh, look who stopped stealing. Did she suddenly find a conscience?

Stop pretending. As soon as the room clears out, shell be right back at it.

How has Asher not caught her yet? She's getting off way too easy. Once a thief, always a thief.

I kept my eyes on my shoes, silent.

They weren't wrong. No matter how desperate I was, stealing was wrong. I shouldn't have done it.

I pressed a hand against my stomach.

But God, I was so hungry.

During gym class on the field, the world began to tilt.

The sun beat down ruthlessly. My blood sugar had plummeted, and with only a few bites of stolen food in my system, my head throbbed with a dull, heavy ache.

Halfway through our laps, a classmate noticed how pale I had gone and alerted the teacher. Seeing my ghost-white face, the coach walked me over to the shade of the blooming mimosa trees to rest.

I sat beneath the pink, feathery blossoms, staring blankly at the brick school building in the distance.

The text flared up again.

The pathetic second lead is acting frail to get sympathy. Classic.

Just thinking about her running back to the classroom to rummage through Asher's desk makes me sick.

Isn't this a prestigious private academy? Why do they admit trailer trash like her? The stench of poverty is suffocating.

I buried my face in my knees.

Their words were so sharp. I didn't want to look, but the letters seemed to follow my gaze, seared into the back of my eyelids even when I closed them.

Pathetic. Fake. Disgusting. Trash.

The insults looped endlessly. The comments grew meaner by the second.

I bit my lip, pressing down hard to ignore them.

I'm not. I was just hungry. I'm not a bad person.

The bell rang, signaling the end of recess.

The students flooded back. I lingered on the grass until the very last moment, making me the last one to enter the classroom.

Asher was already in his seat, leaning forward to organize his textbooks. Golden sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting his sharp jawline and casting long shadows from his thick eyelashes.

He was beautiful. No wonder he was the school's golden boy, adored by almost everyone at Oakridge.

I didn't dare look at him directly. Keeping my head low, I walked to my desk.

As soon as I sat down, my eyes fell on the strawberry brioche resting on top of his desk, alongside the half-eaten muffin from this morning.

I froze.

He had never taken his food out of his drawer before.

Did he know?

The comments started up again.

Look how guilty she looks. She definitely got caught.

Asher, call her out. Let the whole class know what a thief she is.

Keep our school clean. Kick the thief out.

I gripped the hem of my skirt, my knuckles turning white. My palms were slick with cold sweat. I held my breath, terrified of drawing his attention.

What if he turned around and asked why his breakfast was missing? Images of him humiliating me in front of everyone flashed through my mind. Everyone was here. If he spoke up now, my shame would be public.

Maybe they were right. Maybe I was just a bad person.

The spiral of anxiety tightened in my chest, and right then, Asher turned toward me.

My heart jumped. I quickly looked down, pretending to search for a book in my bag.

Thankfully, he didn't accuse me. He just watched me in silence. His eyes drifted down to my hands, which were frantically twisting my uniform.

His brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay today?"

I opened my mouth. There was so much I wanted to say, but my throat felt tight and dry.

What could I say anyway? I'm sorry I've been stealing your breakfast? That would just be a confession before he even asked.

I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm fine."

Liar. She's sweating because she's guilty.

Why does this cheap drama have to ruin a perfectly good high school romance? She's so annoying.

Asher didn't say anything else, nor did he press further. He just lingered, studying my face for a moment longer.

Just as I thought he was about to say something, the warning bell rang for the next class.

I let out a shaky breath. I had never been so grateful for a school bell. The teacher walked in, textbook in hand, and I hastily opened my notebook, pretending to take notes, though the words blurred together.

Asher turned back around, his posture straight and attentive. He focused on the lesson as if nothing had happened.

The tension drained from my shoulders, leaving a strange, hollow ache in its place.

He didn't push. He didn't expose me.

But did he already know? Was he just too polite to say it?

My stomach rumbled again. I pressed a hand against it and bit my lip.

Looks like I'd be skipping lunch today, too.

The final bell of the morning was like an explosion of life.

The classroom instantly erupted into chatter as students packed their bags, heading for the cafeteria.

Audrey turned around, her bright eyes fixed on me. "Hey Stella, coming to lunch?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, go ahead. I still have some homework to finish."

The cafeteria food was far too expensive for me. I never went. Audrey invited me occasionally, but after my constant refusals, she never pressed. She was sweet but a bit oblivious. She just nodded, waved, and ran off with her friends.

Asher packed his things, stood up, and left with a group of boys.

The classroom emptied quickly, leaving only me. I slumped onto my desk, resting my chin on my arms. The hallway chatter faded into the distance, and the hunger returned with a vengeance. It felt like a small, sharp claw scratching at the lining of my stomach.

I reached into my pocket. Fifty cents. That was all I had.

After a long internal debate, I walked down to the school store.

The small shop was relatively quiet. The cheapest snack bar was a dollar fifty. I stood before the shelf, staring at a small packet of crackers for a long time, swallowing hard.

Maybe I stood there too long, because the cashier looked up. "Can I help you find something, sweetie?"

I couldn't afford anything. I shook my head and bolted out the door.

I walked to the quiet grove behind the old school building. Almost nobody came here. I hid myself in the shadow of a large oak tree.

The floating text flared up again.

Lmao, she can't even afford a dollar bar.

Just steal from Asher again. It's not like you haven't done it a million times.

A thief trying to act righteous. Hilarious. Enjoy starving, you brought this on yourself.

I kept quiet. I knew what I did was wrong. I wouldn't do it again. But the text didn't care. It kept scrolling across my field of vision.

As I stared blankly at the words, laughter echoed from down the path. I looked up to see Asher and a few other boys walking by. He held a cold bottle of soda, his long fingers wrapped around the glass. The sunlight caught the condensation, making it glint painfully bright.

I shrank back behind the oak tree, hiding myself completely. I waited until their footsteps fully faded before I dared to creep out and head back to the classroom.

I walked slowly, and by the time I returned, Asher was already there. His soda sat half-finished on his desk, right next to the strawberry brioche from this morning.

I averted my eyes immediately, pretending to organize my books. My head throbbed, a dizzy spell washed over me, and my stomach twisted in pain.

The teacher's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.

I rested my head on my desk, my hand clutching my stomach as a sharp cramp tore through it. The acidity was rising in my throat. I buried my face in my sleeves, hoping the darkness would dull the pain.

Oh please, she skipped one lunch and she's acting like she's been starving for three days.

Is this how a scholarship kid behaves? Sleeping in class? She doesn't deserve the financial aid Oakridge gives her.

She's not here to learn. She's here to bag a rich guy. Why else would she wedge herself next to Asher?

Exactly. She keeps staring at his desk. Her intentions are so obvious.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, my nails digging into my arms. I wanted to scream. I wanted to defend myself. But I couldn't.

I was a scholarship student, and I did stare at Asher's desk. But it wasn't to seduce him.

Not that anyone would believe me.

"Stella?"

The teacher's voice snapped me back to reality.

I stood up, my mind a complete blank. I hadn't been paying attention at all. Every eye in the room turned to me. Heat rushed to my face, burning hot.

The teacher repeated, "What is the solution to problem four on the board?"

I stared at the whiteboard. There were three different equations, and I didn't even know which one she was pointing to. I stood frozen, my fingers desperately clutching the fabric of my skirt, unable to utter a single word.

The text mocked me relentlessly.

Hahaha, look at her. Completely clueless.

Scholarship kid? More like charity case. She's slow and lazy.

Just sit down. You're embarrassing yourself.

My vision blurred, tears welling up in my eyes.

Just then, Audrey slightly turned her head. In a whisper meant only for me, she said, "It's B."

The teacher saw my distress and sighed. "Sit down, Stella. Please pay attention."

When the bell finally rang, the teacher gathered her papers and left.

The class scattered into their usual groups, some chatting by the lockers, others napping on their desks. I sat still, pretending to write. My stomach was empty, aching, and my head spun with every breath.

The floating text kept going.

Seriously, how long is she going to milk this? It's just one missed meal. Great acting, though.

So young, yet so manipulative. It's disgusting.

I wasn't acting. I was genuinely starving. But there was no way to explain that to a bunch of invisible voices who had already decided I was a villain.

My pen bled a dark ink stain onto my scrap paper. I took a deep breath, moving the pen away. I could handle this. I just needed to focus on my schoolwork.

Then, Audrey turned around, looking frantic. "Stella, hey, do you happen to have a pad? My period started unexpectedly, and my locker is empty."

My hand tightened around my bag.

I did.

In the deepest pocket of my backpack, wrapped in a cheap plastic bag, was a pack of generic sanitary pads. I had bought them online. Eight dollars for a box of a hundred. No brand name. Coarse packaging. They felt stiff and rough. They often gave me rashes.

How could I lend something like that to Audrey? She always used high-end, organic brands. I was too ashamed to offer her something so cheap and potentially unsafe.

I stammered, "I... let me check my bag."

I unzipped my bag, pretending to search, my fingers brushing against the crinkly, stiff plastic. I pulled my hand back as if I had been burned.

The comments flared instantly.

She definitely has one, she just doesn't want to share.

How petty. Audrey is always nice to her.

She's just jealous of Audrey. Audrey is pretty, rich, and perfect for Asher.

She's rotten to the core.

I bit my lip, looked up, and lied. "I'm sorry, Audrey. I don't have any."

10

"Oh, okay," Audrey said gently. "I'll ask someone else."

She was about to turn around when two boys came wrestling down the aisle. With a loud crash, they slammed right into my desk.

My backpack slid off the chair, hitting the floor. The zipper broke, and everything spilled out across the floor. Pencils, erasers, notebooks... and the cheap plastic bag holding the rough sanitary pads.

It rolled right to Audrey's feet.

The blood drained from my face.

I dropped to my knees, frantically grabbing at my things, trying to stuff them back into the bag. But it was too late.

Audrey had already seen it.

She looked down, then up at me, confused. "Stella... you do have them. Why did you say you didn't?"