Finally, she clutched a box of stale cookies tight. Riley Walker devoured the crumbs, the sour, stale taste exploding in her mouth. "I can't stay here," she muttered under her breath. Staying would be her downfall. Riley scanned the area, searching for anything that could help her get to the window.
Breathing heavily, she shoved a wooden crate beneath the window. Wobbling, she climbed on top and reached up to shake the rusty iron bars. With a sharp crack, the brittle bars snapped, and a rush of cold air hit her face. Instinctively, Riley squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the pain she was sure would follow.
But instead of slamming into the ground, she fell into a warm embrace. Was this it? The end? Confused, Riley's eyes fluttered open to find a familiar face staring down at her. "Hudson?" she gasped.
Hudson Greene's jaw was clenched, his eyes dark behind his glasses. His arms trembled from the impact, but he held her steady. Cradled against him, Riley could feel the strong thump of his heartbeat.
Before she could speak, Hudson lowered her onto a soft patch of grass nearby. "Here, have some coffee," he said, unscrewing a thermos and guiding it to her lips. Starving and not caring about manners, Riley grabbed the thermos, tilting her head back to gulp down the warm drink. As the liquid soothed her throat, tears welled up in her eyes.
She choked a little, and Hudson quickly reached out, gently patting her back. "Easy there," he murmured, then pulled two lunch boxes from his backpack and set them in front of her. "I brought these just for you."
Once Riley had composed herself, Hudson spoke again. "Let me take you back to your room."
"No..." she breathed, struggling to her feet, her eyes pleading. "If my father finds out, it'll get you tangled up in this mess."
"Then come with me," he insisted, his grip on her wrist tight—almost painful. "Riley, do you want to stay here and die?"
Half an hour later, Hudson pulled over, his body rigid. "Riley, I'm helping you because I can't stand to watch them push you around."
...
"Requesting to open the memory trial." The judge's voice sliced through the murmurs. Hudson finally looked up, his gaze colliding with Riley's as the memory of that summer by the seaside three years ago flooded back, his unspoken words still hanging in the air.
The screen flickered to life. In the damp basement, Riley stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering when it would all end. Once the edge of her hunger had dulled, she turned to meet Hudson's eyes, the emotion in her own impossible to hide.
"He's such a player," someone commented online. "I need eye bleach. How can Hudson be so full of himself?"
"Hudson's been good to Riley from the jump," another chimed in. "If someone helped me out of a mess like that, I'd be touched."
"Exactly, Hudson totally broke the bro code," someone joked.
Hudson shot to his feet, his face pale, storming toward the witness stand. "Enough!" he shouted, grabbing the microphone so hard his knuckles went white. "Riley has only ever been a burden to me! The one I truly care about is Cleo!"
Riley's half-sister, Cleo, let out a gasp that quickly twisted into a sneer—an all-too-familiar expression crossing her face as Riley's mind drifted back to that summer day.
Back then, Cleo had the same look. She hadn't realized it at the time, but now it was clear Cleo had been rubbing it in her face—
"Is the dance club president election list finalized?" The music teacher's voice drifted from the office. Riley stood in the doorway, clutching her application, too nervous to knock. Her fingers traced the words "President Application" over and over.
Suddenly, rapid footsteps echoed. The door swung open, and Riley found herself face-to-face with Cleo's mocking eyes. She quickly tucked her hand behind her back. The dance teacher, who had always looked down on Riley, frowned the moment she saw her.
Cleo noticed Riley too, her lips curling into a smirk. "What's my sister doing here, sneaking around like a thief?" she asked, her tone dripping with fake innocence.
The dance teacher shot Riley a look of disdain, scoffing. "Who knows? C'mon, Cleo, let's head to the dance studio for the competition."
"Sure!" Cleo said, snatching Riley's application and bursting out laughing. Her laugh made the teacher stop mid-step and glance back.
"Cleo, what's wrong?" the teacher asked.
"My sister wants to be the dance club president," Cleo declared, handing over the crumpled application.
The teacher's frown deepened as she took it, the disdain she felt for Riley written all over her face. Cleo savored Riley's humiliation, barely containing her glee. "This is my sister's dream—maybe give her a chance?" she suggested.
"Cleo, you know the dance club's reputation in this school," the teacher replied. "The presidency isn't just for anyone."
Her icy stare landed on Riley. "Besides, if you can't even keep time, you can't be a lead dancer."
Riley hung her head, her lips pressing into a thin line, and reached for her application. The teacher's tone was flat. "There's an open election next month. If you get two-thirds of the club's votes, you can be president."
In that moment, Riley felt a flicker of hope. Cleo walked ahead with the teacher but then asked, "Are you really considering Riley for president?"
"Cleo, you're my star student. Naturally, I want you to be president. But the school requires an election. Do you really think she's better than you?"
...
The dance studio was dimly lit that night. Riley raised her trembling right leg in front of the mirror, the piano track from her earbuds filling her ears. She wobbled off balance on that step again.
