Chapter 2 I Still Belonged
Mia's POV
By six o’clock, the sky was already dark, heavy with gray clouds.
My shift at the restaurant started at 6:30.
I knelt beside my bed and tied the frayed laces of my damp sneakers, my fingers stiff from the cold. I grabbed my apron, my secondhand textbooks, and the half-eaten sandwich wrapped in foil that would have to pass as dinner. I slung my old bag over one shoulder. My hoodie was still damp from the afternoon rain, clinging to my arms, but it was all I had.
Snowy, curled in the middle of my thin pillow, lifted her head and let out a sleepy mewl.
I paused, just long enough to stroke the soft fur behind her ears.
"Be good," I whispered. "Don't wait up."
The rain greeted me the moment I stepped outside. My breath clouded in front of my face as the cold crept under my clothes. The streetlights flickered as I walked, head down, arms wrapped around myself. Water seeped through my shoes in seconds, squelching with every hurried step toward the bus stop five blocks away.
Each drop that hit my skin felt like a reminder that I did not have the luxury of being late. But I also did not have the luxury of a car, or an umbrella that wasn't broken, or dry shoes waiting by the door.
By the time I reached the bus shelter, little more than a bent roof and a rusted bench, my fingers were numb. My bag was soaked. My hair clung to my cheeks and neck. I checked my phone, and it was 6:12 PM.
The bus was late, and the city did not pause for girls like me. When it finally arrived, I slid into my usual seat near the back. The heater blasted lukewarm air, and the windows fogged instantly. I rubbed my hands together and watched the streets blur past as the bus trundled toward the city center, neon signs melting into streaks of color against the rain.
I made it to the restaurant at 6:34. Four minutes late.
Mr. Meyer gave me a look as I slipped through the back door, water trailing behind me on the tiled floor.
"You're lucky I like you," he said, drying glasses behind the bar, one eyebrow raised. "But Mia... this is the third time this week."
"I know. I'm sorry," I said, breathless, wiping my face with my sleeve. "The rain—"
He held up a hand. "Just don't make a habit of it. Go clock in."
He wasn't cruel. He never was. But kindness had limits in places like this. And I knew that better than most.
I threw on my apron, tied my hair back into a quick bun, and rushed onto the floor. The smell of grilled meat and garlic filled the air. Customers waved for menus. Glasses clinked. Orders were shouted over the din. My shoes squeaked with every step.
I did not complain. I just worked. I smiled when I had to. Bit my tongue when customers snapped. I apologized when they spilled drinks and acted like it was my fault. And when my break finally came, I took my cold sandwich and slipped into the back hallway, where a plastic crate served as my chair.
My books came out like muscle memory. Pages wrinkled from rain. Margins filled with notes scribbled in faint blue ink. I chewed my sandwich and murmured formulas under my breath, eyes darting between paragraphs and the ticking clock on the wall.
"Hey... you okay, Mia?" Josh’s voice came from just behind the swinging kitchen door, soft and careful, like he already knew I was balancing on the edge of something fragile.
I glanced up from the table, blinking away the sting in my eyes. My notes were spread out in front of me, textbook open, highlighter cap clamped between my teeth. I forced a small smile.
"Yeah. Just tired," I said, setting the cap down. "Finals are coming up. If I don't pull my grades up, I'll lose my spot at the Academy for senior year. I can't let that happen."
Suncrest Academy was not just a school. It was my father's dream for me. His legacy. The place he believed I belonged.
Even if I did not fit in anymore, not when my classmates wore pressed uniforms and polished shoes while mine were faded and patched. Even if my phone buzzed with reminders to pay overdue bills instead of party invitations.
I still belonged. I had to. So I studied. I worked. I walked through the rain. I endured. Because I was not going to let the world decide my worth.
Josh walked fully into the break room, his apron slung over one shoulder, a paper cup of vending machine coffee in his hand. He dropped into the seat across from me, crossing one leg over the other like he always did, casual but graceful.
"You will nail it," he said gently, nudging my book with the edge of his cup. "I've seen you study through break shifts and read while folding napkins. If anyone's gonna make it, it's you."
I let out a half laugh. "I hope so."
Joshua, whom I loved calling Josh, had become my safe space in the chaos of our shared lives. He was the first person at the restaurant who truly saw me. Not just the tired girl with too many jobs, but someone trying to survive a world that had quietly forgotten her.
Maybe it was because he knew what that felt like.
He sipped his coffee, watching the steam rise.
"You know, I already graduated from college."
I blinked. "Wait, what? You never told me that."
He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Yeah. Degree in marketing. But I can't apply to any major companies. My parents would find out. They've got their fingers in every office from here to the harbor."
I frowned. "So... why not just go back? Run your family's business, get out of this place. You wouldn't have to deal with rent, shifts, housemates—"
"Because I would be giving up the only thing that's mine," he said quietly.
He looked down at his coffee. "They want a perfect son. Clean-cut, obedient and straight. The next CEO."
He paused. "But I'm not any of that."
"Because you love boys," I said.
He glanced up, relief flickering across his face. Grateful that I didn't whisper it like a shameful secret.
"I told you," he said softly. "Only you. Not even my college friends knew."
"You trust me that much?"
He smiled faintly. "You're the only one who gets it. You know what it's like to be left behind."
I stared down at my notes, the words blurring.
"Do you ever... wish they'd come looking for you? Your family?"
He laughed quietly. "They do. I just don't pick up."
I nodded slowly. "Must be nice... having someone still trying."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy and real. The kind of silence that settled between people who did not need to explain their pain.
Joshua leaned forward and gently took my hand.
"I know your mom left," he said. "And I know it hurts like hell. But that doesn't mean you're unlovable."
I couldn't trust my voice, so I nodded. And for the first time that day, I did not feel completely alone.
When I finally clocked out near midnight, body aching, I stepped into the damp streets, looked up at the stars struggling to break through the clouds, and whispered,
"I still belong. Even if no one sees it yet."
Suncrest Academy gleamed with polished floors and quiet wealth. Money walked confidently there, in polished shoes and designer bags.
I walked those halls like a ghost of who I used to be. I no longer had the leather loafers my dad bought me for my birthday. The gold heart necklace I wore every day was sold. The limited-edition jacket I loved followed, exchanged at a secondhand boutique to pay part of my science lab fee. I had sold everything to stay.
My sneakers squeaked against the marble floor, frayed at the edges. My uniform was still regulation, but faded at the seams. While other girls passed by in fresh perfume and manicured nails, I kept my head down, clutching my books like armor.
I sat in the back of the classroom. Always.
"Mia," my teacher said, holding up a form. "You still need to settle your balance if you want to take the final exam."
I froze.
"I'm working on it, ma'am," I said quietly. In the corner of the room, my former best friends laughed easily. Belle sat at the center, glowing. Daniel's arm rested around her shoulders.
And me? I was nothing more than a memory. My father's voice rose in my mind. "You will fight for people who leave, baby girl. But do not ever let them take your spark when they go."
I opened my notebook. They could forget me. I would not forget myself. And I was still here. And that was enough.