Kalila Miracle Hart

Is your summer break starting?
Seen 3:40 PM

Yes, tomorrow.
Sent 3:41 PM

I'm going home next week can you please tell Mom?
Seen 3:43 PM

Yes, Can't wait! See you Marco
Sent 3:43 PM

"Kalila" The sharp voice of the cafeteria supervisor pierced the air, making me cringe. If she caught me using my phone, I'd be in serious trouble. I hurriedly slipped it into my back pocket, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"Yes, Ma'am?" I walked toward her, feeling the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. These cafeteria uniforms were unbearably hot in this summer. How did anyone manage to survive in these?

"Where are the other scholars?" Her bright red lipstick was almost painful to look at, but I wisely kept that opinion to myself.

"I don't know, ma'am," I replied politely, hoping to end the conversation quickly.

"You go ahead and serve the dishes first. Don't wait for them." She strutted away, her heels tapping loudly on the tiled floor.

The chefs in the kitchen looked stressed, striving to cook each gourmet meal to perfection because, at Eldonbury University, anything less than perfection is unacceptable.

That night, when I decided to start living again, I moved in with Aunt Kenzie and her adopted son, Marco. Despite being absolutely gorgeous, my Aunt choose to stay single. I didn't get it at first but now I understand—she didn't want to end up like my mom, her sister, who had gone through so much.

It was a smart move, but Aunt Kenzie also didn't want to be alone forever, so she adopted Marco. Well, technically, he's not her legal son yet since his last name is still Moore, but he's definitely family in every other way.

Aunt Kenzie wanted to make him her official son, but Marco decided he'd do it himself, when he could help support her once he got a job. Aunt Kenzie didn't push him; maybe she understood he was still holding on to his past, to his old life, and needed something to remember his parents. It was something that Marco still treasure, and Aunt Kenzie understood it with so much patience and grace.

On the other hand, I want to forget mine, after I ran away, Dad was relentless in trying to find me. He searched everywhere, constantly showing up at Aunt Kenzie's house and demanding to know if I was there.

Each time, Aunt Kenzie stood her ground, firmly telling him to leave and threatening to call the police if he kept harassing her. She was fierce, like a lioness protecting her cub. Aunt Kenzie didn't just gave me a place to stay, she shielding me from the nightmares that had chased me for so long.

She went above and beyond to hide me, making sure I never had to endure that kind of terror again. She would close the curtains and turn off the lights, making the house look empty whenever Dad came around.

She even changed her phone number and instructed me to stay away from windows. There were times when the fear would creep back in, especially late at night when the house was too quiet.

Aunt Kenzie would sit with me, her presence is a comforting reminder that I am safe now. She reassured me with her words and actions, always putting my safety first. Her love and protection were like a warm blanket, wrapping around me and keeping the darkness at bay.

Now, I guess you could call me the perfect example of a runaway child. But this cruel world doesn't stop spinning just because you feel like crap.

Life keeps moving forward, whether you're ready or not, and you have to decide if you're going to keep up or get left behind.

Thanks to Aunt Kenzie and Marco, I managed to keep up. I graduated high school in a blur, not really planning to go to college but I guess I embodied my name 'Miracle' for some reason that Eldonbury University offered me a full scholarship.

It felt unreal, like something out of a movie. I mean, who would have thought that a girl with a messed-up past like mine could get such an incredible opportunity?

Aunt Kenzie was over the moon, her eyes shining with pride and joy. Marco was thrilled too, giving me one of his, genuine smiles. Their support meant everything to me, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe things could get better.

Eldonbury University is one of the most prestigious Ivy League universities in the country. Walking around campus, you can spot the heirs of business conglomerates, famous artists, politicians, and even the children of some pretty dangerous people. It's the school for the elite of the elite. And then there's me, one of the charity students.

As I've mentioned, Eldonbury is all about perfection. Everything from the students to the university's reputation has to be flawless. That's where the scholarship programs come in—they're designed to make Eldonbury look perfect.

They take in a few of us "less privileged" kids to showcase their inclusivity and generosity. It's a calculated move, but I'm not complaining. It got me in, and that's what matters.

But I know very well that when miracles happen, a price must be paid. For us scholarship students, that price is being treated like servants by the "majesties" of Eldonbury.

While maintaining our grades, we also have to cater to the whims of the privileged students. There's a system here that draws a very clear line between the privileged and those of us who got in by chance.

It's no surprise that bullying and discrimination are rampant in this school. Despite the University's facade of perfection, it has the lowest number of students among all the Ivy League universities.

That's because anyone who doesn't meet their high standards is quickly weeded out. The pressure to perform is intense, and the social hierarchy is brutally enforced.

Considering the low number of students, it doesn't mean I know a lot of people here. As a runaway, the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself.

I even asked the school administration to keep my face off their website. Usually, they announce the scholars online when they enroll, but I begged them to keep my information private. Luckily, they agreed.

The thought of my father finding me is terrifying. I would rather die than let all of Aunt Kenzie's efforts to be in vain. She's done so much to protect me, and I can't let my past catch up with me now.

Keeping a low profile is crucial. I avoid the spotlight, stay out of trouble, and focus on my studies. It's a delicate balance, but it's necessary. The anonymity gives me a sense of security, a small but significant barrier between me and the life I left behind.

I'm going to be a junior next school year, and so far, I've been living my life the way I wanted. I hope to continue doing so. My cafeteria duty is ending soon, and I have a few classes left to attend. I didn't even have time for lunch today, so I'll just grab a sandwich real quick later.

As scholars, we're put in the annex building while the rich kids get to enjoy the main building. Though we share facilities like the library, cafeteria, and lounge, but there are still areas within those facilities that we're not allowed to step foot in. It's a constant reminder of our place.

It must be frustrating for others, but for me, this setup is actually perfect. I don't wish to step into their world; I'm perfectly content with mine. The way things are, I don't have to worry about fitting in or standing out.

I just wish, though, that they'd serve food to scholars like they do for the rich kids. Our uniforms might be the same, but there are pins attached to the students who aren't scholars, so we're easily differentiated.

It's a small thing, but it would make a big difference. Sometimes it feels like we're treated as an afterthought, even though we're part of the same university.

Still, I'm grateful for what I have and for the chance to study here. As long I draw no attention to myself and focus on my own path, I'm fine with the way things are.

"Hey, I said no tomatoes." A blonde girl with bright blue eyes glared at me, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

It felt like she was trying to burn a hole through my skull with just her eyes, and I could feel my face flushing with embarrassment and frustration.

"Uh... I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll tell the chef to remove it right now." I grabbed the plate and was about to head back into the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest. This job was supposed to be simple, but moments like these made me question everything.

"You know what, don't bother with another meal. Just bring an iced latte to the table," she ordered, her tone dripping with annoyance. She really made me her personal server, like she's in a restaurant or something. My job was just supposed to hand them the meal on their tray while they fell in line, not to serve her all the way to their table.

As she turned on her heel and left, her friends trailing closely behind like a pack of loyal followers, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and forced a smile as I headed back to the kitchen.

What the hell am I doing?

The iced latte didn't take long to prepare, but watching the chef meticulously craft it made me realize just how much these students were treated like royalty.

The way he frothed the milk to perfection and carefully layered the coffee and ice was almost artistic. If this glass of latte were sold outside the campus, it would cost a fortune. I didn't even need to taste it to know that it was the expensive kind of coffee, and the kind I could only dream of affording.

As I carried the drink back to her table, I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Did she even appreciate the effort that went into making this drink? Probably not.

To her, it was just another item on the menu, something she could demand without a second thought. I set the latte down in front of her, plastering on my best customer-service smile.

"Here's your iced latte," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. She barely glanced at me, already engrossed in her conversation with her friends, who were giggling and whispering among themselves.

"Don't leave yet," she demanded again, her voice cutting through the buzz of the cafeteria like a knife. Oh god, I could smell trouble. This was going to be a highway to hell. "What if I don't like it? Then you must bring me another glass."

I couldn't hide the irritation on my face this time. Maybe it's because something's wrong with me today, or maybe this uniform was frying me up, but I usually had the patience of a saint. Today, though, my patience was thin like a melting ice.

"Sure," I replied through gritted teeth, trying to keep my tone neutral. "I'll wait."

She took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving mine, as if she was enjoying my discomfort. I could feel my hands trembling slightly, my frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

I think I might be experiencing bullying for the first time since I  started school here. Why? I don't even fucking know.

My mind raced, trying to figure out what I could have done to deserve this kind of treatment. Did I say something wrong? Was it my appearance? Or is she one of those people who enjoyed making others feel small?

"You look angry and hot," she said, smiling devilishly. Hot? Hell yeah, I'm fucking sweating here, and you're not helping!

There are really crazy people in this world, so crazy that even with all the wealth they have, they can't cure that lack of manners. I stood there, my face flushed. My uniform clung to my skin, and I could feel sweat trickling down my back. I wanted to say something, to tell her off, but I couldn't.

People like her, with their perfect lives and endless resources, often didn't understand what it was like to struggle. They didn't know the first thing about hard work or respect. I bit my tongue, forcing a polite smile that I hoped didn't look as fake as it felt.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, my voice tight. "Is there anything else you need?" She just laughed, turning her attention back to her friends. They all shared that same smug look, as if they were in on some inside joke that I was the punchline of.

"Yeah, do you mind refreshing yourself with this?" she said as she pushed the glass of latte toward me. What am I supposed to do with this? I was confused, but they were staring at me aggressively, as if not doing what they wanted would be the end for me. I didn't even know who their families were – they might be some gangsters for fuck's sake.

My mind raced with possibilities. Were they just messing with me, or was this some kind of test? My stomach churned with anxiety. I felt trapped, like a cornered animal. Their eyes bore into me, and I could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on my shoulders. The safest thing to do was to play along, right?

I decided to take a sip, hoping it would defuse the situation. As I lifted the glass to my lips, I could feel my hands trembling. The coldness of the drink was a stark contrast to the heat radiating off my body. I took a small sip, the rich flavor of the expensive coffee filling my mouth. It tasted good, but the situation made it hard to enjoy.

But they burst into laughter, and now I was even more confused. Their laughter was drawing the attention of other students, their eyes darting toward us to see what was going on. I wasn't enjoying these stares at all.

"Would you look at that," one of the girls said. "Seems like the little maid is thirsty, Gally." She was indicating the blonde girl with blue eyes. I was pretty sure 'Gally' was just a nickname because it sounded silly, and the way the girl said it made it worst.

"Oh, I didn't say drink it." Gally put both of her hands on the table and rested her chin on them. "What I meant was pouring it on your head."

Oh yeah, how stupid of me to think these bitches wanted me to drink their latte for pure entertainment. Of course, they wanted me to pour it on myself. But honestly, pouring an ice-cold latte over my head was far better than getting punched like before. I would pour down hundreds of lattes on myself if it meant avoiding physical pain. The thought of becoming addicted to pain, of finding some twisted sense of euphoria in it, terrified me.

That's what I'm afraid of.

Not humiliation, not degradation, not discrimination, but becoming a monster like my father, to the point of getting addicted to harming myself. I took a deep breath and picked up the glass without showing any signs of hesitation.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I tilted it over my head. The cold liquid spilled down, soaking my hair and running down my face. The gasps and whispers from the other students echoed around me, but I focused on the sensation of the cold latte, easing the heat I felt in this uniform. My white polo top was soaked, and I could see my black bra showing through. I felt naked for a second but shrugged it off.

Deciding to get even freakier and make this scene more entertaining for, I wiped the dripping coffee from myself with my hand, licking it off sensually.

Now tell me this isn't what you like.

I almost laugh at myself for doing this. But it was all worth it, considering the shocked faces they made. Now it was my turn to rebut.

"Thank you for asking me to do this, Gally," I said, my face plain and devoid of emotion, like a psychopath. I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself as my body began to shake. I admit, I was a little nervous. I leaned toward her and smiled. "Would this be good enough?"

Oh, she was scared.

She nodded softly, her confidence shattered. I wished I could laugh right now, like they did, but that would put me in a weird situation. Instead, I straightened up, the cold latte still dripping from my hair and clothes, and walked away with my head held high. All that coffee made my stomach grumble all of the sudden.