Murder Charges Over a Missing Order

Someone steals my takeout at the school gate. It is from a BBQ restaurant.

Not only does the thief eat it all, but he also humiliates me in front of my classmates.

He mocks, "Look, everyone! This is what a pauper would eat. Even my dog eats better than this!"

He pulls out a stack of cash and slaps one bill against my face. Then, he tosses the rest into the air.

"Happy birthday, beggar!"

Three days later, he is burned to death in the alley behind the school, his limbs stretched out and tied to a tree.

He is literally "grilled."

And I become the murderer.

I bolted for the school's front gate.

It was my birthday, and since I couldn't afford a cake, I secretly ordered myself some barbecue skewers instead. Spicy lamb skewers with ice-cold Coke—just thinking about it made my mouth water.

The delivery should've arrived a while ago, and my stomach was already growling. But when I reached the little convenience stand by the gate, the owner told me my order had been picked up an hour earlier.

I practically jumped out of my skin. That meal was my entire month's allowance!

Seeing how panicked I was, the owner offered to pull up the security footage. He scrubbed to 7:23 pm, and a familiar figure appeared on the screen.

With the school uniform, the height, and the way of walking, I instantly recognized him.

"Isn't that Louis Jones?" The owner frowned. "This kid's always in here buying stuff. Why'd he take your order?"

My heart sank. Louis was the top dog in our class and came from money. He never hid how much he looked down on us poor kids.

Why would he take my food?

I walked back to the classroom with my stomach in knots. Louis was scrolling on his phone when I got there. I went over and said in a small voice, "Uh, Louis, that takeout from the shop by the gate—that was my order."

I pulled out my phone and showed him the screenshot from the security footage.

He glanced at it and said casually, "Oh, that was yours? It was just sitting there, so I figured someone ordered it as a treat for everyone or something."

I felt a tiny bit of relief when I heard him admit it. "Can you give it back to me, then?"

"It's gone. I already finished it," Louis said, eyes dropping back to his phone. "It was pretty good. How much was it? I'll pay you."

He sounded so matter-of-fact, like that was the obvious and only way to settle this matter.

His nonchalance lit a fire in me.

"Do you have any idea what the food meant to me, Louis? Today's my birthday, and that was the only way I was celebrating. It's late, and the gates are about to be locked. Where am I supposed to get another order now?" I exploded.

Louis finally put his phone down, but his face was full of impatience. "Enough with the melodrama. If you were so desperate to eat, you should've picked it up earlier. It was just sitting there, so how was I supposed to know it was yours?"

That only pissed me off more. "My name and phone number were on the bag! Who just grabs someone else's food like that?"

"I already ate it, and I said I'd pay you back. What more do you want?" He shrugged, looking completely shameless. "And honestly, that barbecue wasn't even that great. Looked like it was from some random hole-in-the-wall. I felt a little sick after eating it."

Our classmates started to gather around, drawn by the argument.

Micah Lowell spoke up first. "Louis, that's not cool. It was clearly his food."

Rita Walden nodded. "Yeah. At the very least, you should apologize."

"Exactly. You'd be pissed if it happened to you."

With everyone chiming in, Louis' expression grew darker and darker. He suddenly slammed his palm on his desk, and the whole room fell silent.

"Enough of this! Why are all of you making a big deal out of nothing?" He stood up and looked at me imperiously, his voice dripping with contempt. "It's just takeout. Do you really have to freak out like this? And you're getting worked up over 20 bucks. How poor are you?"

The classroom was dead quiet.

He went on, "Honestly, you might as well drop out now and go beg on the streets. You'd probably make more money that way."

His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. Everyone's eyes were on me. Some people snickered under their breath, and some looked awkward. Most of them just stared down at their desks.

I could feel the blood rushing to my head and my ears buzzing.

"Poor", "beg"—each word stabbed into me like poisoned needles.

My hands started to shake. I couldn't even tell if it was from rage or humiliation.

This wasn't something I could just swallow. I made that promise to myself in silence.