Hannah''s feet carry her through Riverside''s carefully planned streets like a compass needle seeking north. Past manicured lawns and Halloween, past houses where light spills from windows in warm rectangles, suggesting safety she no longer trusts. Her partially unbuttoned Oxford shirt flutters in the November air, but she barely feels the cold. Her mind keeps replaying the moment in horrifying detail: Jake''s weight pinning her down, the leather couch creaking beneath them, his hands insistent and unwanted against her skin.
A car approaches from behind, its headlights stretching her shadow long across the perfect concrete. Hannah''s heart leaps into her throat as she ducks behind a pristinely trimmed hedge, pressing herself against someone''s imported stonework until the vehicle passes. It''s just a Tesla—probably some tech executive heading home from a late meeting—but her pulse refuses to slow. Because now every car could be Jake. Every shadow could hide his carefully practiced charm, his designer cologne, his hands that don''t understand the word "no."
When she finally reaches downtown, the difference is stark as a line drawn in cement. Here, the Halloween decorations are honest in their simplicity—paper ghosts in apartment windows, jack-o''-lanterns with crooked smiles carved by children rather than professionals. The streets carry the comfortable wear of actual use rather than carefully maintained aesthetics. This is her world—the real world, where people work for their money and nothing comes wrapped in privilege and assumptions.
She finds herself outside Lisa Chen''s family restaurant without consciously choosing the destination. The "CLOSED" sign hangs in the window, but light spills from the kitchen, and Hannah can see movement inside. Her hand shakes as she knocks on the glass door.
Mr. Chen appears from the kitchen, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern as he recognizes her. The locks click, and suddenly Hannah is enveloped in warmth that smells like ginger and soy sauce and childhood memories of afternoons spent doing homework while Lisa''s mom slipped them extra dumplings.
"Hannah?" Mr. Chen''s accent wraps around her name like a familiar blanket. "What''s wrong? You look—"
"Is Lisa here?" The words come out stronger than she feels.
He studies her face, taking in her disheveled appearance with the kind of quiet wisdom that comes from decades of watching people. "In back. Helping with prep for tomorrow." His eyes narrow slightly. "She came home early from party. Not happy."
Hannah follows him through the familiar restaurant—past tables where she and Lisa once built homework forts out of textbooks, past the booth where they shared secrets and spring rolls and dreams of futures that seemed so simple then. The kitchen door swings open to reveal Lisa aggressively chopping vegetables, still wearing her Wonder Woman costume minus the boots.
"Lisa," Mr. Chen says softly. "You have visitor."
Lisa looks up, her knife stilling mid-chop. For a moment, neither girl speaks. Then Lisa sets down her knife with careful precision.
"Dad," she says, not taking her eyes off Hannah. "Could you give us a minute?"
Mr. Chen glances between them, then nods. "I go check inventory. You girls need anything, just shout."
The kitchen door swings shut behind him, leaving them in a silence broken only by the gentle hum of industrial refrigerators.
"You look like hell," Lisa finally says.
A laugh bubbles up from Hannah''s chest, teetering on the edge of hysteria. "You should see the other guy."
"Jake?" Lisa''s hands clench on the counter.
Hannah''s head snaps up. "How did you—"
"Because that''s what Jake does." Lisa''s voice is flat, emotionless. "He picks his target, plays the charming quarterback, and then..." She trails off, but her meaning is clear as crystal.
"Hampton Beach," Hannah whispers.
Lisa looks up sharply. "What do you know about Hampton Beach?"
"Not much," Hannah admits, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "Just... at the party tonight, before everything happened with Jake, we were all in the pool house. Justin started talking about it – some party there. But Susan cut him off immediately, and Jake..." She shivers, remembering the sudden tension in his arm around her shoulders. "The whole mood changed. Like someone had flipped a switch."
"And then what happened?" Lisa''s voice is carefully controlled.
"Justin and Susan left - they were joking around, chasing each other. It seemed so normal at the time." Hannah''s voice catches. "But then I was alone with Jake, and everything just..., pieces clicking into place. "Amber tried to warn me about him earlier. Said something about boundaries, about being careful. God, I was so stupid. It''s all connected, isn''t it? Hampton Beach, Jake, the way everyone just... looks the other way."
Lisa nods once, sharp as her knife. "Last summer. Jake''s family has this beach house. He invited a bunch of us up for a weekend. Said it would be fun. Said we could all be friends." Her laugh is bitter as over-steeped tea. "Turns out his definition of ''friends'' is pretty specific."
Hannah''s legs suddenly feel unable to support her. She sinks onto a stainless steel prep table, her Oxford shirt catching on the edge. "Did he..."
"Try to force himself on me? Yeah." Lisa turns back to her vegetables, her knife moving with precise fury. "But I got lucky. Susan Lawrence found us before..." The knife comes down hard enough to embed in the cutting board. "She pulled him off me, got me out of there. Said she''d make sure everyone knew it was just a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" Hannah''s voice cracks.
"That''s how it works in their world." Lisa yanks her knife free. "Rich boys make mistakes, poor girls get labeled as sluts who asked for it. Tale as old as time." She glances at Hannah''s disheveled appearance. "Did he..."
"No." Hannah wraps her arms around herself. "I got away. But if you knew—why didn''t you warn me?"
"Would you have believed me?" Lisa''s voice is gentle now. "Over Jake Woodland, Captain of the football team, son of Riverside''s most powerful family? Over your precious Nate Brooks''s best friend?"
The name hits Hannah like a physical blow. "Nate... does he know?"
"What do you think?" Lisa''s knife resumes its steady rhythm. "They''ve been best friends since kindergarten. You really think he doesn''t know exactly who Jake is? What he does?"
Hannah feels something inside her chest crack. Because of course Nate knows. Of course he''s seen the pattern, watched it play out summer after summer, party after party. And he''s done nothing. Said nothing. Just kept playing his role of golden boy while his best friend preys on girls who dare to dream above their station.
"I''m such an idiot," she whispers.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"No." Lisa sets down her knife again, coming around the prep table. "You''re just the latest girl to believe in fairy tales. To think that maybe the rules don''t apply to you. That maybe you could cross that line between their world and ours without getting burned."
She reaches for Hannah''s hand, her fingers warm and solid. "But here''s the thing about fairy tales—they''re just stories rich people tell to make themselves feel better about having everything while the rest of us serve them dumplings and babysit their kids."
The kitchen feels smaller suddenly, the industrial appliances closing in like chrome witnesses to their shared disillusionment. Hannah watches Lisa return to her vegetables, each precise cut of her knife a punctuation mark in their conversation.
"What about Amber?" Hannah asks finally.
Lisa''s knife stills. Her shoulders tense, and Hannah watches her struggle with words that clearly taste bitter. The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken acknowledgment. Hannah had been there, after all—standing behind Amber when she''d shown the picture on Nate''s phone. She''d seen Lisa''s name on the message thread, seen the thumbnails before Amber had slammed the phone down.
"By Monday," Lisa finally says, her voice barely above a whisper, "half the school will know about the picture." She resumes chopping, each movement sharp and precise. "By Wednesday, I''ll be the desperate scholarship kid who threw herself at someone else''s boyfriend. By Friday..." The knife comes down with particular force. "Well, you get the idea."
Hannah watches Lisa''s back, noting how rigidly she holds herself, how carefully she avoids meeting Hannah''s eyes. There''s shame there, and fear, but mostly anger—at Amber, at herself, at a world where one mistake can cost you everything.
"But why? Why would she—"
"Because I dared to look at something that belongs to her." Lisa sweeps the chopped vegetables into a container with practiced efficiency. "Because Nate helped me with my Yale application, and we started spending time together. Because I laughed at his jokes and let myself believe that maybe..." She shakes her head sharply. "I forgot my place in the carefully ordered world of Riverside High."
Hannah thinks about Amber at the Halloween party, all perfect makeup and calculated moves. Thinks about how quickly that perfection crumbled, leaving something raw and human in its wake. "I think," she says slowly, "maybe Amber''s just as scared as we are. Just... differently."
Lisa''s laugh is sharp as her knife. "Scared? Amber Rosenberg? Please. Girls like her don''t know what fear is. They''ve never had to worry about college loans or wonder if this month''s tips will cover next month''s rent. Their biggest fear is showing up in last season''s Prada."
"No," Hannah shakes her head. "I''ve seen her with Tommy. When she thinks no one''s watching. And tonight, at the party..." She trails off, remembering Amber''s collapse, the way her carefully constructed facade had shattered like expensive crystal.
"So that makes it okay?" Lisa''s voice rises slightly. "To humiliate me? To turn the whole school against me because I dared to be friends with her boyfriend?"
"Of course not." Hannah slides off the prep table, her feet hitting the industrial tile with a soft thud. "But maybe... maybe we''re all just doing what we think we have to. To survive. To protect what matters to us."
"Deep thoughts from someone who smells like Jake Woodland''s cologne." But Lisa''s voice has lost its edge, softened by something like understanding.
Hannah looks down at her rumpled Oxford shirt, at the buttons hastily redone in the wrong order during her flight. Shame burns in her chest, hot as the industrial ovens that surround them. "I should go home. Shower for about six years."
"Wait." Lisa disappears into the walk-in freezer, returning with a plastic container. "Mom made extra red bean buns today. Said they help with broken hearts." She pauses. "And other kinds of broken things."
Hannah takes the container, its familiar weight anchoring her to this moment. To this kitchen where she and Lisa once shared dreams and dumplings and the unshakeable belief that hard work and good grades could overcome any obstacle.
"Lisa?" She turns at the kitchen door. "I''m sorry. About before. When you needed a friend and I..."
"Chose to stay safe?" Lisa''s smile is sad but understanding. "That''s what they count on, you know. The Amber Rosenbergs and Jake Woodlands of the world. That we''ll all be too scared to stand together."
"Maybe it''s time that changed."
Lisa''s eyebrows rise slightly. "What are you thinking?"
Hannah''s hand tightens on the container of red bean buns, determination settling in her chest like armor. "I''m thinking maybe it''s time we stopped playing by their rules."
"You want to go up against Amber Rosenberg?" Lisa sets down her knife, giving Hannah her full attention. "The girl who got Mr. Willink transferred to remedial English just because he gave her an A-minus?"
"Not just Amber." Hannah''s voice grows stronger with each word. "The whole system. Jake, his crew, the way they make us feel like we should be grateful just to exist in their orbit." She starts pacing the kitchen, her sensible shoes squeaking against the industrial tile. "Think about it, Lisa. How many other girls has Jake targeted? How many others are there like us, keeping quiet because we think we''re alone?"
Lisa leans against the prep table, something shifting in her expression. "Susan Lawrence," she says quietly. "She acts like Jake''s biggest defender, but sometimes... sometimes I see her watching him when she thinks no one''s looking. Like she''s waiting for him to strike again."
"Hampton Beach," Hannah nods. "Amber told me there were three girls who transferred schools. Three girls whose stories got buried under lawyers and money and carefully crafted rumors."
"Four," Lisa corrects. "Everyone forgets about Rachel Martinez."
"Coach Martinez''s daughter?" Hannah stops pacing. "But she moved to live with her mom in California..."
"Right." Lisa''s voice drips with sarcasm. "In the middle of junior year. Two weeks after Jake''s New Year''s party. Total coincidence."
The implications hit Hannah like a physical blow. Coach Martinez – the man who treats Jake like a son, who looks the other way when half the team shows up to practice high. Who must know exactly why his daughter fled across the country, but still lets Jake command his offense like nothing ever happened.
"We need proof," Hannah says suddenly. "Not rumors or implications. Real proof."
"Of what? Jake being Jake? Good luck. His dad''s lawyers are basically on speed dial."
"No." Hannah moves closer, lowering her voice despite the empty restaurant. "Everything. The Hampton Beach incident. Rachel Martinez. The way they use money and influence to make problems disappear." Her eyes lock with Lisa''s.
Understanding dawns in Lisa''s eyes. "You want to expose them."
"All of them. The whole corrupt system." Hannah''s heart races with the magnitude of what she''s suggesting. "But we''d need help. Other girls who''ve been hurt. People with access to information."
"You mean like someone who spends time in the Rosenberg house?" Lisa''s eyebrows rise meaningfully. "Someone who could potentially access phones, computers, conversations?"
"I would never betray Tommy''s trust," Hannah says quickly. "He''s just a kid."
"But Amber isn''t." Lisa pushes off from the prep table, energy radiating from her movements. "And from what you''ve told me, she might be more vulnerable than we think."
The kitchen door swings open, making them both jump. Mr. Chen steps in, his eyes moving between them with paternal concern. "Everything okay? Hear lot of serious talking."
"Everything''s fine, Dad." Lisa''s smile is bright but doesn''t quite reach her eyes. "Hannah and I were just... reconnecting."
Mr. Chen studies them for a moment longer, then nods slowly. "Good. Friends important. Especially when storm coming." He gestures at the wall of windows, where clouds are gathering over downtown Riverside. "Should get home before rain, Hannah. Streets not safe at night."
The irony of his warning isn''t lost on either girl. Because the streets aren''t safe – but not because of weather or darkness. They''re unsafe because of boys in designer clothes who think consent is optional, because of girls in Prada who weaponize rumors like precision strikes, because of a system that protects predators as long as their families donate enough to the right causes.
"I''ll drive you," Lisa says, already reaching for her keys. "Just let me change out of this costume."
Hannah looks down at her own rumpled Oxford shirt, at the evidence of Jake''s unwanted attention written in wrinkled fabric and misaligned buttons. "Yeah," she says softly. "I think we''re both done playing dress-up."
Ten minutes later, they sit in Lisa''s elderly Honda Civic, watching raindrops begin to speckle the windshield. The container of red bean buns rests between them like a peace offering, like a promise.
"You know," Lisa says as she turns the key, the engine protesting slightly before catching, "if we do this – if we really try to take them down – there''s no going back. They''ll come after us with everything they have."
Hannah thinks about Jake''s hands on her skin, about Amber''s carefully constructed walls crumbling, about Nate Brooks standing silent while his best friend preys on girls who dare to dream too big. She thinks about Tommy Rosenberg, who deserves better role models than a sister who uses fear as currency and a babysitter who stays silent in the face of injustice.
"Good," she says, her voice steady as the rain now falling in earnest. "Let them come."