The Monday after the competition felt colder than usual.
Emily walked through the school gates with her books clutched close to her chest, head high despite the whispers already beginning to spread around her.
"Can you believe she won?"
"I heard her dad pulled some strings."
"She probably cheated."
"She doesn't even look smart."
She tried to ignore them, but the words clung to her like wet clothes.
Vanessa strolled in minutes later, flanked by her ever-loyal crew: Chloe, Madison, Brooke, and Jason. Vanessa's lips curled into a smirk the moment she saw Emily at her locker.
"Well, well… if it isn't Cresthill's little science princess," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Emily turned, polite but firm. "Morning, Vanessa."
"Morning," Vanessa echoed sweetly, her eyes sharp. "Congrats on winning. I guess… windmills are in now."
Madison giggled.
Emily ignored the tone and grabbed her books. "Thanks," she said simply, walking away.
She didn't get far before she heard Madison say, "It's cute how she still wears those ugly sneakers."
Chloe chimed in, "And that oversized backpack… like it's still 2010."
Laughter. Low. Cruel.
Emily's steps faltered, but she didn't stop.
Later that day in Chemistry class, she opened her textbook to find a note scribbled across her worksheet in red ink:
"Try not to blow us up, Genius."
She blinked. Her notes — weeks of work — had been torn out.
Emily reported it to Mr. Anders, their Chemistry teacher.
He glanced at the page. "Probably a mistake. These things happen in busy classes. Just be more careful."
"But—" she started.
"I'm sure whoever did it didn't mean any harm. Let's move on."
She bit her lip and returned to her seat.
Behind her, she heard someone whisper, "Teacher's pet."
In the cafeteria, it got worse.
Emily usually sat alone, by choice. But that day, as she unwrapped her lunch, someone bumped into her tray — hard.
Her sandwich hit the floor.
"Oops," Brooke said, not even pretending to sound sorry.
Jason just laughed quietly, not meeting her eyes.
Emily's face burned. She didn't cry. Not here.
She simply stood, picked up her things, and walked out of the cafeteria with her head held high her stomach empty, her dignity barely intact.
That night, at home, Emily sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She didn't tell her mother.
She didn't even tell herself that it mattered.
But something inside her… shifted.
The cracks had begun.
And once cracks start to form, it's only a matter of time before something breaks.