Chapter 8: New School, Old Fears

After just one night, I felt much closer to Emily. We stayed up late, talking about everything—her favorite books, my hometown friends, the weirdest things we’d ever eaten. I fell asleep feeling lighter, less alone.

Dad sent a driver to take us both to school. It was a sleek black SUV, the kind you only saw in car commercials. The driver, Mr. Jenkins, wore a crisp uniform and offered us bottled water as we slid into the back seat.

It was a private elite high school—everyone here was from a wealthy family. The building looked like an old university, all brick and glass, with a manicured lawn out front and a fountain gurgling by the entrance. I felt out of place before I even stepped inside.

I was nervous. My palms sweated as I gripped my backpack. Emily offered me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it looks.”

In the stories, poor kids always get bullied in places like this. I pictured snooty girls in designer jackets, snickering at my thrift-store jeans and worn-out sneakers.

And the real daughter is always picked on by the fake daughter’s friends. I braced myself for stares, for whispers, for cold shoulders in the cafeteria. I kept my head down, hoping to blend into the background.

Kids spilled out of shiny SUVs and beat-up Jeeps, some in designer backpacks, others in varsity jackets. The air smelled like winter and cafeteria pizza. I took a deep breath, repeating my brother’s old pep talk: “Head up, shoulders back, you’ve got this.”

But when I walked into the classroom, a group of people gathered around Emily: They swarmed her desk, everyone talking at once, their voices bright and familiar. Emily smiled, looking at ease in her element.

"Emily, we heard you were in a car accident. Are you okay?"

A girl with braids reached out, squeezing her hand. The concern seemed genuine.

"I’m fine, just a minor injury. I’m all better now."

Emily brushed it off with a smile, but I could see the relief in her eyes. Her friends seemed to care, not just about gossip, but about her.

"And we heard… you’re actually not the Young family’s biological daughter? You were switched at birth?"

A hush fell over the group. I felt every eye turn my way, the air thick with curiosity.

The whole class fell silent. Even the teacher, unpacking his briefcase at the front of the room, paused to listen.

Then they noticed me, timidly hiding behind Emily. I tried to shrink back, but Emily grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. I swallowed hard, wishing I could disappear.

"Is she…?"

A tall boy with freckles looked from me to Emily, eyebrows raised. A kid in the back muttered, “Bet she’s got some wild stories,” but Emily just rolled her eyes, and the group laughed.

Emily immediately pulled me forward. She squared her shoulders, making sure everyone could see us side by side. “This is Abby Young,” she announced, her voice clear.

"This is Abby Young—my adoptive parents’ biological daughter. She just came home yesterday."

I nodded, my cheeks burning. Emily squeezed my hand, giving me courage.

Then she smiled. Her grin was bright and genuine, as if she was proud to stand with me.

"It’s true we were switched, but my parents are soft-hearted. They didn’t cut ties with me and let me stay here to study, so I can still be classmates with you all."

She made it sound easy, like this kind of thing happened all the time. I admired her composure.

I was surprised. I hadn’t expected Emily to be so open.

Even more unexpectedly, the classmates all accepted it as if it were nothing, crowding around us excitedly. A girl in a cheerleading jacket clapped her hands, and a boy with braces asked if we’d ever pulled a prank on each other by accident. The tension melted away, replaced by genuine curiosity.

"I thought this kind of plot only happened in books and TV!"

The whole group nodded in agreement. A few laughed, shaking their heads in disbelief.

"Can’t believe kids actually get switched at birth."

Someone joked about writing a screenplay. I relaxed a little, realizing I wasn’t the only one who thought it sounded unreal.

Everyone chatted noisily around us until the teacher arrived and class began. It was chaos for a moment, then everyone scrambled to their seats, still whispering about the drama.

The homeroom teacher was a kindly middle-aged man. He had salt-and-pepper hair and wore sweater vests with tiny ducks embroidered on them. His smile was genuine, and he greeted each student by name.

He called me aside and gave me a few test packets to check my basics. He spoke gently, explaining that it was just to get a sense of where I was at. I nodded, grateful for his understanding.

He’d heard about my background and thought I’d have a weak foundation from my small-town school, but was surprised to find my grades were excellent. He flipped through the papers, eyebrows rising in surprise as he checked my answers. “You must have had some great teachers back home,” he said, his voice approving.

The teachers back home were dedicated, and I worked hard and was smart—so I wasn’t a poor student, but actually one of the top. I remembered all the late nights at the kitchen table, Mom quizzing me on vocabulary and my brother drilling me on math problems. It all paid off.

The homeroom teacher was delighted. He beamed, giving me a thumbs-up. “You’ll fit in just fine here,” he assured me.

He took my test packets into the classroom and praised me in front of everyone, telling the rich kids to learn from me. He said I was an example of what hard work could do, and a few kids looked at me with newfound respect.

I was worried I’d become a target for bullying. I braced myself for snide remarks, but none came. Instead, a few classmates offered me seats at their table and asked about my old school.

But instead, everyone looked at me with admiration and envy. I caught Emily’s eye, and she grinned, giving me a thumbs-up. For the first time, I felt like maybe I could belong here.

Maybe this place isn’t as scary as the stories make it out to be. I let myself hope. Maybe the world wasn’t so cruel, after all.

I felt much more at ease, ready to rein in my cowardice. I straightened my shoulders and let myself smile. I wasn’t invisible anymore.

Suddenly, I heard someone ask Emily: It was a whisper at first, then louder as everyone leaned in to hear.

"Emily, what about your fiancé—the one who said he’d only marry the Young family’s daughter… what are you going to do now?"

The words hung in the air like a challenge. I felt the room tense, everyone waiting to see what Emily would say.

The whole classroom instantly went silent. All eyes swung to Emily and then to me. My heart thudded in my chest, and I realized—happy endings aren’t guaranteed. Especially not for girls like me.