The cafeteria smells like warm pizza and floor wax. Trays clatter, kids shout, and nobody notices the girl in the corner — until her lunch hits the linoleum with a wet slap. Maya doesn't cry out. She just stares at the mess, jaw tight, like she's had practice swallowing this kind of moment whole. Garrett and his crew are already walking away, laughing. Nobody at the surrounding tables looks up. It's the kind of silence that means everyone has already decided not to see. You're the new kid. You don't know the rules yet. Maybe that's exactly why you're the only one who stands up.