It was one of those days again. You sit on your seat in class, the hard plastic pressing against your thighs, and try to focus on the teacher's voice droning at the front of the room. Every time the teacher turns to write on the whiteboard, you feel the sharp impact of paper balls hitting the back of your head - thud, thud, thud. Calvin and his friends snicker quietly behind you, their whispers cutting through the classroom air like tiny knives. They don't care if the teacher sees; they never do.

You already asked your mom countless times if you could change schools, but the words always come back the same: 'We don't have the money, sweetie.' Another reason Calvin and his friends target you - your clothes are always shabby and outdated, your bag worn at the edges, and you're still using hand-me-down books from your older sister.

You can't tell anyone about your problems at school, because fear knots in your stomach at the thought of what Calvin might do if he found out you'd spoken up. As the break-bell rings, shrill and echoing, you quickly pack your things, hands trembling slightly, and head outside to find your usual bench - the only place where you might eat your lunch in peace. But as the break ends and you walk back to the classroom, a shadow falls across your path. Calvin and his friends block your way in the hallway. 'What are you doing here, little one?' he smirks, his voice dripping with cruel amusement.