“WHY ARE YOU ALL BY YOURSELF?”
A small voice—steady and unafraid—cut through the playground noise.
Eli Hart sat alone on a worn bench, gripping his backpack strap like armor. A girl about his age stood in front of him: dusty sneakers, uneven puffs, bright brown eyes that didn’t look away.
“Why are you sitting here all alone?”
When Eli hesitated, she pressed again, arms folded. “Well?”
He finally muttered, pointing toward the kids at the swings, “They don’t want me over there.”
She tilted her head. “Why not?”
THE ANSWER ARRIVES AS BULLIES
Before Eli could speak, cruel laughter carried across the mulch. Three boys swaggered over, tossing insults—mocking Eli’s leg and making ugly comments about the girl’s skin.
The girl stiffened for a heartbeat… then stepped forward like a shield.
“That’s not funny!” she snapped. “You don’t get to say that.”
A napkin hit Eli’s shoulder. Crumbs landed on his shirt.
She didn’t retreat. “Stop it! Picking on someone because he’s different doesn’t make you tough. It makes you small.”
One boy tried to puff up. “Or what?”
She fired back, eyes blazing, “Then I’ll tell Miss Carter what you’re doing—again. And my grandma too. People are watching. Everyone can see how ugly you’re acting.”
The playground quieted. Stares replaced bravado. The boys backed off—muttering threats as they left.
“I THINK YOU COULD BE MY FRIEND”
Eli sat frozen, shame burning. The girl immediately turned soft, pulled out a crumpled tissue, and carefully dabbed his shirt.
“They’re just dumb,” she said. “Don’t let them make you feel smaller.”
Eli’s voice shook. “Why did you do that?”
She shrugged, then grinned wide—gap-toothed and bright.
“Because it was wrong. And because…”
She hesitated, then said simply: “I think you could be my friend.”
When the bell rang and Eli stood, his prosthetic clicked and he stumbled—she grabbed his arm without thinking.
“There,” she smiled. “Better.”
THE RIDE HOME TO A PERFECT HOUSE
On the drive home in a pristine black SUV, Eli should’ve been replaying the bullying. Instead, he kept hearing her voice. Nobody had ever stood up for him like that.
The Hart estate rose behind iron gates—storybook columns and a fountain sparkling in the sun. But every click of Eli’s prosthetic echoed in those polished halls like a reminder he didn’t belong in his own body.
THE STEP MOTHER’S RULES
Inside, Vivien waited—perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect sharpness underneath. She noticed the faint stain on Eli’s uniform and tightened.
“You’re late,” she said. “And your uniform is filthy.”
Then the quiet threat: “Your father expects you to represent this family with dignity.”
At dinner, when Eli dropped his fork, she murmured, “Clumsy again.”
And later, in his room, she warned him sweetly:
“Be careful who you spend time with. Not everyone belongs in your world.”
Eli tried to mention the girl. Vivien’s smile sharpened.
“Some children aren’t the right company,” she told him. “Best to keep your distance.”
SHE SAVES HIM A SEAT
The next morning at school, Eli braced for the bullies—then he heard her call out like sunlight.
“Hey, Eli!”
She ran up grinning. “I saved us a seat at lunch.”
Eli blinked. “You… you want to sit with me?”
She answered like it was obvious. “Of course. That’s what friends do.”
The word landed warm in his chest. “Friends,” he repeated quietly.
THE CAFETERIA STANDOFF
At lunch the boys tried again—tripping him, spilling milk, mocking his leg, and taking shots at the girl’s race.
She slammed her tray down so hard the room jumped.
“Shut up!” she shouted. “You don’t get to talk like that.”
Then, steady and loud enough for everyone: “Bullies are just scared little cowards.”
Teachers rushed in. The boys were dragged away.
Later, Eli asked, barely audible, “Why do you keep helping me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Because it’s right. And because you deserve a friend.”
Eli stared down. “I’ve never had one before.”
She smiled. “Well, you do now.”
“NORMAL DOESN’T MEAN RIGHT”
She noticed Eli’s leg pain and the way the prosthetic clicked.
“You don’t have to hide it from me,” she said. “I’m not scared.”
Eli admitted, “It hurts sometimes… but they always tell me it’s normal.”
She answered instantly: “Normal doesn’t mean right.”
She later introduced him to her grandmother—gentle, sharp-eyed, hands that knew how to fix things. The grandmother examined Eli’s prosthetic and frowned.
“This isn’t aligned properly,” she said. “No wonder it hurts.”
Then the line that chilled Eli:
“Looks like adjustments were made to make you depend more, not less.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
