Pearl was tying her hair into a low bun, still replaying the morning's awkward encounter with Armstrong, when her eyes caught a small crowd gathered near the campus gate. Curious, she slowed her pace—until she heard Amanda's voice. Loud. Angry.
Then she heard a voice—harsh, booming, laced with arrogance.
"I don't know what gave you the impression you were girlfriend material!" the blonde guy spat. "You think *you're* worth it? You? A sluggish, boring girl who clings like a mosquito?"
Pearl froze, eyes narrowing as she recognized Amanda standing there, trembling, lips parted but too stunned to speak. Her shoulders were shaking.
Gasps echoed through the few students around them, but no one said a word.
The guy kept going. "What part of 'fling' don't you understand? Or were you dreaming of some Cinderella ending?" He gave a dry, cruel laugh. "You're not even the glass slipper type—you're the cracked rubber sandals at best!"
That was when Amanda's hand shot out and slapped him across the face.
The crack echoed.
The guy's eyes widened in shock. And then darkened.
He raised his hand.
"*Try it!*" Pearl's voice sliced through the tension like a blade. "Just *try* it!"
Everyone turned. Pearl marched forward like a storm on legs. Without hesitation, she slapped him. *Hard.*
He staggered back, stunned.
"What's wrong with you?" she hissed. "You're about to hit a lady in front of all these people and still talk like you're the victim? Don't you have a shred of dignity left?"
The guy rubbed his cheek, but Pearl didn't flinch.
"You're pathetic," she added. "Nothing about you screams 'man'—not when you're yelling insults at someone you once liked."
The crowd started murmuring in agreement.
The guy stared at Pearl, stunned. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone with a working conscience," she shot back, voice cold. "Do you have any shred of dignity left? You humiliate a girl publicly and still think hitting her proves your masculinity?"
He clenched his jaw but didn't reply. People were already whispering.
Pearl turned to Amanda. "Let's go—"
But Amanda jerked her arm away.
"Mind your business, Pearl!" she snapped, eyes full of tears and rage. "You always think you're the heroine of every situation. This isn't your story!"
Pearl froze. "Amanda…"
"I don't need saving! And I definitely don't need a nosy friend who only shows up when there's drama!"
The crowd fell silent.
Pearl's voice dropped. "I was just trying to help."
Amanda turned sharply. "Well, don't."
Pearl blinked. "I was—he was about to—"
"I *said* mind your business!" Amanda's voice cracked. "Not everything needs a hero, okay? Stay out of my relationship issues!"
Pearl's mouth fell open. "Relationship?! He humiliated you in public and tried to hit you!"
Amanda sniffled, brushing past her. "Not your circus, not your monkey."
Pearl just stood there, stunned, heart pounding as Amanda stormed off—leaving her in the center of the crowd, not sure whether to scream or laugh.
Too much stress for one day.
*****
Pearl stormed out of the school gates, Amanda's words echoing in her head like a broken record.
"Pokenoser…"
Her chest ached—not from hurt, but from the sheer absurdity of it all. Why did she always get caught in situations that weren't hers? She wasn't a hero. In fact, lately, she'd just wanted peace. Ever since coming to Crestville, her life had felt like a dramatic movie where she didn't remember signing up for the lead role.
Now she was late for her shift.
The café's golden sign glowed ahead like a beacon of inevitable stress. The moment she stepped in, the familiar chaos greeted her—waiters running around, clattering dishes, someone yelling about missing candles.
She barely made it to the cloakroom before someone called her name.
"Pearl! You made it—thank God!" her colleague Lisa said, tossing an apron her way.
"What's going on?"
"Surprise birthday party. Big one. Rich family. You're on main floor duty—help serve drinks, clear dishes, and don't spill anything."
"Noted," Pearl sighed, quickly changing.
By the time the guests arrived, the café had turned into a mini wedding reception. Balloons. Soft music. Champagne. Pearl floated around like a machine, smiling, nodding, pouring, cleaning—and steadily wearing out.
The heat was unbearable. Her uniform clung to her back like second skin, her hair stuck to her forehead, and her legs ached from all the walking.
"I need a minute," she muttered and slipped away to the restroom.
The cool of the tiled bathroom hit her like ice. She leaned against the sink, splashing water on her face, exhaling deeply. Then the door of one of the stall in the restroom creaked open —and her breath caught.
Clara.