It was raining again.
Of course it was.
At Hillside Preparatory Academy, even the weather felt like it had expectations. The grey clouds hung low over the historic brick buildings, shedding a relentless drizzle as if echoing the pressure everyone here was under.
Zoey Carter sat at the back of the chemistry lab, her long black hair falling forward like a curtain as she stared at the half-blank page on her desk. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, competing with the hum of low murmurs and the soft patter of rain against the tall windows.
Pen in hand. Mind completely elsewhere.
A pop quiz.
Because of course Miss Ashford, with her immaculate red lipstick and icy stare, would decide to ruin everyone's Wednesday morning with a surprise quiz on molecular bonding—something Zoey hadn't even revised for. Not really.
She blinked slowly, her lashes heavy.
How many hours of sleep did I even get? she wondered.
Criminal Queen: Season 3 had sucked her in again last night. One episode became three. Then four. Then she'd drifted off around 3 a.m., half-dreaming about murders and detectives and chemistry equations she didn't understand. Now here she was, body in class, brain on pause.
"Miss Carter."
Zoey's eyes shot up. Her heart stumbled in her chest like it had forgotten how to beat.
Every face in the room turned toward her. A sea of uniformed students. Some curious. Some amused.
Her stomach sank.
"Would you like to share your answer with the class?" Miss Ashford's voice was too smooth. Like velvet stretched over a knife.
Zoey opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Her throat tightened. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.
"I... I'm not sure," she managed to whisper.
A pause.
Then that smile—the kind that made students across Hillside shudder. A tight, polished thing. The smile teachers wore before they delivered the killing blow.
"Well," Miss Ashford said, tilting her head, "at least you're consistent."
Laughter rippled through the room like static electricity. The quiet kind, meant to sting without being obvious. Zoey gripped her pen tighter, knuckles white.
"Maybe," the teacher continued, "if you spent less time sleeping in class and more time reviewing the materials—" her gaze swept pointedly over Zoey's pale face and smudged eyeliner, "—you might have answered correctly."
Zoey's cheeks burned. She wanted the floor to crack open and swallow her.
"And Miss Carter," Miss Ashford added with that fake smile still plastered on her lips, "see me during lunch in the staffroom. We need to talk."
⸻
The rain hadn't stopped.
By lunchtime, it had grown heavier, drumming against the glass like an accusation. Students flooded the halls, the sound of laughter and shoes squeaking on wet tiles filling the air.
Zoey sat frozen at her desk, her phone buzzing beside her.
Noah: Surviving?
She stared at the message. Her fingers hovered over the screen, but she didn't type anything. What was she supposed to say? That she was falling apart and couldn't explain why? That she didn't recognize herself anymore?
Instead, she locked the screen.
In front of her, the neatly packed lunch Eleanor's cook had prepared sat untouched. A small thermos of soup, a sandwich cut into perfect halves, and a chocolate square tucked in with a note that read, Eat well, Zoey. All lovingly packed.
And she couldn't bring herself to touch it.
How could she eat when she had done nothing right?
After everything—her parents' sacrifice, the move, the scholarship, the expectations—they believed in her. And this... this was what she gave back?
Nothing.
She zipped the lunchbox shut and slipped it back into her bag.
As she stood to leave, a voice from behind reached her ears.
"What a loser. She's just a dumb girl with a pretty face. Total waste of space."
Loud enough for her to hear. Not loud enough to be called out.
Zoey flinched. She didn't turn around. Just kept walking. Each step faster than the last.
⸻
The closer she got to the staffroom, the more her stomach twisted.
The hallway outside was quiet. Only a few students lingered. She paused outside the door, hand hovering near the knob.
Inside, she could hear muffled voices—teachers discussing exams, student behavior, curriculum plans. Her name wasn't mentioned, but she could feel the weight of judgment anyway. It was everywhere here.
She steeled herself and walked in.
Miss Ashford sat at her cubicle, meticulously organizing a pile of test papers. Her lips thinned as she saw Zoey.
"Zoey Carter," she said sharply. "Do you even know that the study break begins in two days? And that your midterms start right after?"
Zoey nodded. She couldn't meet her teacher's eyes.
"Miss Carter, look at me when I'm speaking."
Zoey raised her head slowly. Her eyes stung, but she blinked fast.
"Are you planning to flunk again like you did last month's assessments?" Miss Ashford's tone was sharper now. "This isn't some countryside school where effort alone gets you by. Hillside is for excellence. And right now, you are wasting someone else's seat."
That line hit harder than anything.
Zoey felt it like a slap. She didn't remember leaving the staffroom, only that when she did, her hands were trembling and her throat felt raw from holding back tears.
⸻
Once, Zoey Carter had been the pride of her family.
Top of her class. Spelling bee champion. Science Olympiad winner.
Her parents had glowed with pride, their daughter the golden child. So when Hillside Preparatory Academy—a name whispered with reverence back home—accepted her, they'd moved mountains to get her there.
They sent her to live with Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Walter in the city. It was a chance of a lifetime.
But life had other plans.
Just weeks into the semester, Zoey had fallen ill—mononucleosis. Her energy vanished. Her attendance slipped. While others formed study groups and carved their places, she was confined to bed, watching the academic world sprint past.
When she returned, everything felt different. The lectures made no sense. The students already had their friend circles. The curriculum felt like a foreign language. And Eleanor and Walter, as kind as they were, were rarely home—always off on trips, galas, business meetings.
Alone in a big house, behind on everything, Zoey crumbled.
Her once-obsessive drive was replaced by late-night binges of crime dramas and K-dramas, the only escape from a world that now felt too fast, too sharp.
And now?
She was failing.
At everything.
⸻
At 3:43 p.m., the final bell rang.
Rain still fell in silvery sheets as students burst from classrooms and sprinted for their rides, umbrellas blooming like flowers in the wet afternoon.
But Zoey didn't move.
She remained in her seat long after the last whisper of conversation faded. Her fingers traced the edge of her desk as if trying to memorize it. Her breath came in shallow waves.
Eventually, she stood, gathered her things, and slipped out into the now-empty hallways.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her boots echoed on the polished marble as she descended the main staircase of Hillside.
Why did I even come here?
Why did Mom and Dad think I'd be happy here?
Why can't I just get it together?
Why did I let myself fall behind?
The thoughts looped endlessly, louder than the rain.
Her head felt light. The world fuzzy.
She stepped forward—and her foot slipped.
There was no scream.
Just silence.
A moment that stretched into eternity.
The ceiling spun. Her shoulder hit the edge of the steps. Her back slammed next, then her head—
And everything went dark.
⸻
Somewhere in that dark—
A sound.
Ping.
[Academic Distress Detected.]
[Syncing with Emergency Learning Protocol.]
[Eligibility: High Potential. Emotional Burnout Confirmed.]
Do you wish to restart your path?
[YES] [NO]