The walk from the school gates to the main building had never felt so long.Monday morning at St. Jude’s was always a spectator sport, but today, I was the main event. The moment my boots hit the concrete courtyard, the atmosphere shifted. The normal morning chatter died down, replaced by a low, rhythmic hiss of whispers. People were pointing open facedly. Total strangers—even freshman juniors who, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have dared to even breathe the same air as the student council president—were snickering as I walked past."Look, there she is. The psycho.""Did you hear? She literally tried to swat a high-fashion modeling shoot because she was jealous.""Her own parents left her in a jail cell. She's completely unhinged."The stigma was heavy, sticky, and suffocating. It was designed to make me bow my head, to make me run into the bathroom stalls and cry until my chest ached. But I didn't give them the satisfaction. I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack, li
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