Chapter 1
The first spoonful of leftover mashed potatoes hit my lunch tray while three girls laughed and asked if I could even tell what they had dumped on my food. They had no idea who my father was.
I tightened my fingers around my white cane and tried not to react.
It was Friday lunch at Westbrook Academy outside Boston, and the cafeteria was packed.
“Careful, Hannah,” Madison said loudly. “Wouldn’t want you eating something ugly.”
Her friends laughed.
I heard another tray scrape beside mine.
Then cold gravy splashed across my sandwich.
“Oops,” Chloe whispered. “Guess I missed the trash can.”
I stood up slowly.
“Please stop.”
Madison leaned closer.
“What are you going to do, look at us?”
The table behind them erupted in laughter.
My face burned, but I stayed still.
I had been at Westbrook for only three weeks, and nobody knew much about me.
They thought I was there on financial aid because I never talked about my family.
Madison tapped my cane with her shoe.
“My dad says this school lowers its standards every year.”
Someone nearby whispered, “Leave her alone.”
Madison snapped, “Mind your business.”
Then she lifted another plate.
I heard students gasp.
A pile of leftover spaghetti landed across my tray and spilled onto my hands.
That finally made me shake.
I reached into my pocket for my phone.
Chloe laughed.
“Calling your mommy?”
“No,” I said quietly.
I pressed one saved contact.
“My father.”
Madison snorted.
“Tell him to bring you a new lunch.”
The cafeteria doors suddenly opened.
The principal hurried inside with two men I had never heard before.
Behind them came a voice I knew better than my own.
“Hannah?”
Every table went silent.
My father crossed the room so quickly that his security team struggled to keep up.
Madison whispered, “Why is Daniel Whitmore here?”
I wiped sauce from my fingers and turned toward his voice.
“Dad.”
A chair crashed behind me.
Because everyone at Westbrook knew Daniel Whitmore as the billionaire whose foundation had donated twelve million dollars to the school the year before.
But when my father saw what was on my tray, he didn’t look at me.
May you like
He looked directly at Madison.
And then he said, “Principal Harris, I want to know why my daughter has been coming home hungry for three weeks.”
