Chapter 2- My mum showed up.

Yvonne's POV

“Oh my gosh, Boo!” Tricia’s voice cut through the hum of the corridor as she walked toward us. I felt my stomach drop the second I saw her, and then saw Adrian wrap his arms around her like she was the only person in the world. For a heartbeat I hoped it was nothing—just a friendly hug—but the way he held her said otherwise as it reeked of warm, possessive, and easy.

Tricia laughed loudly and angled those long lashes right at me. The whole laugh landed like a slap on my face. “Look at her. She actually thought the principal’s son would take the cleaning lady’s adopted child to homecoming.” The words were cold and loud, and the corridor got quieter as I noticed some students turned up instantly to watch.

Normally, I would have started to cry. You don't always get used to being humiliated in public—but somehow I found a little reserve of courage. Maybe it was the dress still tucked in my arms. Maybe it was my mom’s voice in my head telling me not to give them the satisfaction. I squared my shoulders and tried to let it slide. There was nothing I could do to change what the others wanted to believe.

Tricia drifted closer, smiling like a queen she always claimed to be. She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “Oh! I think you’ll find…this isn’t about you,” she teased, touching my cheek with a finger that left the faintest trace of perfume. It was meant to humiliate as the gentle touch turned sharp but I kept my face still. I didn’t want to start a scene. Not because I was ashamed—because I was afraid my mother would pay for it.

The thought of my mom’s job flashed in my mind as she could lose the very job that paid for our tiny apartment and for dresses like this. So I bit down the words that wanted to fight back.

Then Tricia did the thing I had half-feared: she kissed him. No soft little peck—right there in the middle of the school hall. And in turn, Adrian melted into it like he’d been waiting all his life for the show. My brain refused to accept it; I felt like I was watching someone else’s life.

I stepped forward on instinct, needing to remind him of promises, to make him remember what he’d said to me. “Adrian, you told me you loved me.” The question came out thin and small, but full of hope.

Adrian pushed my hand away like I was a stain. “Get off me. Are you serious?” he spat. His voice was sharp, the kind that got more of the students' attention. Just then, my cheeks warmed with humiliation.

Tricia clapped with a soft, satisfied sound, and Adrian announced, loud enough so everyone could hear, “Tricia is my girlfriend. You’re literally the school’s charity case.”

He sounded so sure of himself, and Tricia took a step back to pose, like a model in a magazine shoot. Around us, phones were already being raised and lenses turning toward me. The hallway filled with the low, cruel chuckles of students who loved nothing more than a public spectacle.

Adrian kept going, like he couldn’t stop now that he had everyone’s attention. “Besides, you only got into this school on some DEI scholarship because your mum is a pathetic cleaner. You don’t even have a proper uniform—always in that cardigan. And you imagined that I wouldn’t come down to love a riffraff like you?” The words were precise, aimed like arrows.

It felt like each sentence pushed the air out of my lungs. He was rubbing salt into something that had already been raw. If he didn’t love me—if it had all been a lie—why did he let me hope? The questions churned in my head and I couldn’t find an answer.

Someone in the crowd jeered, “Give me my phone. The cleaner’s adopted girl is getting served.” Laughter rose like a wave. Phones clicked and flashes popped. 

I wasn’t ready to let it end there. I had to try once more. “Adrian, you told me you loved me,” I repeated, stronger this time.

The reaction that followed was worse than any insult. The laughter spiraled into something mean and loud. “Oh my God! You actually believed that?” someone cried out. The worst part was how easily they all believed him—how quickly my face turned into an image for jokes.

Tricia leaned in close, voice dripping with venom. “He only needed you to pass his classes. Now you can’t even get him the key to the physics lab? You’re not useful.”

My hands were trembling. I felt helpless, like I had slipped under ice and couldn’t find the way out. Then the next humiliation came from Tricia as she held out a cup she had, turning the content from it right on my head. The cold content spread across my chest, soaking the dress my mom had saved a lot just to get for me.

“Oops.” Tricia tossed the empty cup at me as if it were confetti. It landed and stuck and just then, a chorus of laughter swelled from the students.

More phones hovered everywhere Someone shouted, “Makeover of the year!” Another added, “Finally, a look that suits her.” Someone else mimed the act of crying. I heard it all—each word another weight on my ribs.

I lunged forward in a fury I didn’t know I had. I grabbed that same cup that was beside me with the mess it held and shoved at Tricia in anger. 

Maybe they didn’t expect resistance. Maybe they expected me to cower. But I wouldn’t.

And so, Adrian grabbed a tray from somewhere—having a cafeteria plate, leftover food and before I could move, he kneeled and poured the contents down my dress. The food slid, warm and greasy, staining everything. The smell hit me: tomato, oil and the likes.

A dozen phones recorded the scene. I felt the slickness trickle down, warm paste sticking to my skin. I wanted to scream; instead I picked a piece of meat from the smear and flung it at his face.

“How could you say that to me, asshole?” I snapped.

He looked stunned, like he hadn’t expected me to fight back. For a second, his smirk faltered.

Tricia stepped closer, looking all dangerous and pleased. “Oh, you really outdid yourself now,” she said, and then, like a queen bestowing mercy, she reached into her pocket and flashed a few dollars. “For your shit dress. At least get something better—don’t waste it on that coat of many colors.” The money hit everywhere across the floor.

“You know, zoom in on her face,” someone laughed, feeding the chaos. “She’s about to start crying!”

The voices blended into an ugly chorus. Someone shouted, “That bitch is the stupidest nerd I’ve seen. How could she think Adrian would ever date her?” The words felt like a thousand small knives.

I was stacked on the floor, the mess cooling on my skin and the dress ruined. I looked up at Adrian, then at Tricia, and something hot and raw rose in my chest. It wasn’t just shame. It was fury. But when I tried to stand, Adrian shoved me down with force—hard enough to make me breathe in a sharp pain.

Tricia took one foot and pressed it against my chest, pinning me further to the ground so everyone could see. She laughed as if nothing could touch her.

Then, above the din, I heard a new voice. It cut through like a bell. “That’s enough. Leave my daughter alone.”

My heart lurched as I saw my mom was there in her wheelchair, her hands gripping the arms as if she’d pushed harder than seemed possible to get into the corridor. Her face was flushed and her eyes fierce. 

The crowd turned. For the first time since it started, the laughter dropped down a notch. Some students shifted uneasily, phones half-lowered. I felt tears build up, but they weren’t the small, quiet kind. They were the kind that had been collecting for a while.

My mom wheeled herself forward and she reached me in two big pushes, then stopped. Her breathing was heavy but controlled. She didn’t shout and couldn't say anything at that point with pity all over her face judging with the way I was looking. She looked at Tricia and then at Adrian like she was measuring them.

“You will not speak to my daughter like that,” she said, with her voice steady and low. She didn’t wait for them to protest. “Get up.”

Some students clapped. Not in a cheering way—more like a reflex, like they didn’t know what else to do.

Tricia smirked, and then, for the first time, her face flickered. “Oh, look. The cleaner’s here,” she sneered. “What are you going to do? Call security?”

My mom’s face tightened, but she didn’t lose control.