Our school was some old, Gothic-style building that belonged in a scary movie. It was private, no doubt costing our parents a huge chunk of cash for us to attend, but it was considered not one of the best, but the best private primary school in the country. My fellow classmates were all just as rich as my own family, not a single one of them better than us in any way. But some were politician’s sons and daughters, and they all stuck up their noses at us, as if they thought it was beneath them to share the same air as us.

It was amusing in a way. They could act like they were better, smarter, more entitled to everything, but the truth was, if my mom so much as looked at their parents the wrong way, they would crap their pants and cower in fear. Each and every one of them. I knew, because I’d seen it happen right in front of me during a parents’ night just the year before.

It had been a casual type of event, where we’d all been invited to meet our new teachers with our parents. One of the boys in my class was making rude comments about Ciana’s newly developing chest and her dress. Zia Scarlett hadn’t heard him, but Mom had. She’d told him to keep his mouth shut and if she caught him so much as blinking at Ciana, she would pay him a special visit while he slept.

His parents had heard her not-so-subtle threat and had turned to blast her, only to practically swallow their tongues when they realized it was Anya Vitucci they had come face-to-face with. The retort they had been about to deliver had dried up on their tongues, but Mom had still taken a step in their direction. I’d stood there watching as the boy’s mother had started to tremble, and then the room had filled with a foul smell as the father had released gas so horrible, it was as if he’d actually crapped his pants.

Ciana still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t. She and Zariah had giggled for days after she’d told her elder sister all about what had happened.

But the whole incident had embarrassed the boy, and he’d been tormenting Ciana ever since. Not that she cared. She knew I would protect her from the little punk, and I did—every time he opened his mouth to say something mean or degrading to her.

At lunchtime, I couldn’t stand it anymore and went into the bathroom to call Nova. My lunch break was at eleven, which made it eight o’clock her time, but I knew she would be awake. Her brother and two cousins would be leaving for school soon, and she always woke up early with them. With her birthday being in November, she didn’t get to start school for another year, so she would be home.

It only rang once before her face appeared on my phone’s screen. She was on the floor of her room, had probably been playing one of her games on the iPad I’d given her. I could picture her on her stomach, doing some math game or reading one of the books I’d downloaded the last time I’d been at her house.