“Then stop acting like it.”
Tessa shifted uncomfortably beside me.
“Can you just leave her alone?”
Sloane turned toward her.
“Nobody was talking to you.”
Several nearby students began watching.
I could feel my face growing warm.
“Sloane, please.
I haven’t done anything to you.”
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then her eyes moved toward the service doorway.
I followed her gaze.
The cleaning bucket stood only a few steps away.
Sloane walked over, picked it up, and returned to our table.
My chest tightened.
“What are you doing?”
She lifted the bucket slightly.
A smug smile spread across her face.
“Maybe this will help you.”
Before I could stand, she tipped the entire bucket over my head.
Cold, grimy water poured through my hair and down my face.
It soaked my shirt, filled my lap, and splashed across the cafeteria floor.
My sandwich floated in the water collecting on my lunch tray.
For one stunned second, I couldn’t move.
Then the laughter began.
Brynn covered her mouth, laughing so hard she bent forward.
Paige clapped a hand over her face while several students lifted their phones.
I heard Tessa gasp beside me.
“Mara!”
I remained seated, staring at my ruined lunch.
Every part of me wanted to disappear.
I had spent months telling myself that if I stayed quiet, Sloane would eventually become bored and move on.
But standing there with water dripping from my hair, I finally understood that my silence had never protected me.
Then the cafeteria doors swung open.
My father stepped inside.
He had apparently been walking toward the dining area when he heard the commotion.
His eyes moved across the room, past the laughing students and the overturned chairs, until they found me.
He stopped.
I had never seen his expression change so quickly.
The laughter continued for another two seconds.
Then Sloane noticed him.
Her smile faded.
My father crossed the cafeteria with measured steps.
Students instinctively moved aside as he approached.
He stopped in front of me and lowered his voice.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, although tears were gathering in my eyes.
He looked at my soaked clothes, the empty bucket, and the water spreading across the floor.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Sloane frowned.
“Sir… do you know her?”
My father slowly turned toward her.
He looked around the cafeteria, where dozens of students were watching with suddenly uncertain expressions.
His voice remained calm.
But every word carried across the silent room.
“That’s my daughter.”
The story isn’t over yet.
Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.
