The Queen 33

Andrea stood outside her old high school, staring up at the familiar brick building. It looked the same as it had the day she left: worn steps, cracked paint on the railings, and the faint sound of a distant bell signaling the end of a class period. But for some reason, it all felt different. Smaller.

She pushed open the heavy doors, the smell of old books and floor polish immediately filling her nose. Students rushed past her in groups, their laughter echoing through the hallways. Andrea took a deep breath and stepped inside, her footsteps slow as she took it all in.

The lockers, the posters peeling off the walls, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor—it was all so familiar, but she felt like a stranger here now.

Her eyes drifted to a corner near the staircase.

The memory hit her like a wave. She was fourteen again, clutching her books as she tried to walk past a group of girls blocking the hallway.

“Look who it is,” one of them had sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “The charity case.”

Andrea had kept her head down, her cheeks burning.

“Nice shoes,” another girl had said with a smirk. “Did your mom get those at a garage sale?”

They’d laughed as Andrea hurried past, the humiliation twisting in her stomach. She remembered gripping her books so tightly that her knuckles turned white, determined not to let the tears fall until she was alone.

Shaking off the memory, Andrea blinked and realized she had stopped walking. She exhaled, her fingers brushing against a nearby locker as if grounding herself in the present.

“Miss Riley?”

Andrea turned sharply to see Mrs. Hensley, her former English teacher, standing a few feet away. Her hair was streaked with more gray than Andrea remembered, but her warm smile was the same.

“Mrs. Hensley,” Andrea said, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

Mrs. Hensley walked closer, her eyes lighting up. “Andrea Riley, as I live and breathe. Look at you—you’ve grown into such a young lady.”

Andrea laughed softly. “It’s good to see you.”

“What brings you back?” Mrs. Hensley asked, tilting her head.

“I’m home for winter break,” Andrea explained. “I just… felt like visiting.”

Mrs. Hensley nodded knowingly. “It’s funny how the places that once felt so big seem smaller when we’ve grown.”

Andrea glanced around the hallway. “Yeah. It’s strange being here again.”

Mrs. Hensley’s smile faded slightly as she studied Andrea. “I know high school wasn’t always easy for you. But you always carried yourself with dignity. And look at you now—you’ve made it to Blackthorn. That’s no small feat.”

Andrea felt a lump rise in her throat. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don’t stop now,” Mrs. Hensley said, her tone firm but kind. “You’ve already overcome so much. Keep striving, Andrea. The world can be tough, but so are you.”

Andrea nodded, her chest tightening. “I’ll try.”

Mrs. Hensley patted her arm gently. “You won’t just try. You’ll do it. I believe in you.”

That evening, Andrea sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, sifting through a box of old notebooks and papers she had pulled out from under her bed. Most of it was junk—doodles, old assignments, and faded photos—but one small book caught her eye.

Her old diary.

The worn leather cover felt soft under her fingers as she opened it, the faint smell of ink and paper wafting up. She hadn’t written in it since her early high school years, but as she flipped through the pages, the memories came rushing back.

March 12th:

“Mom’s working late again. I tried to help with dinner, but we barely have anything left in the fridge. I heard her crying last night. I think it’s because of Dad. The credit card company called again today. I hate how scared I feel all the time.”

April 5th:

“There was a bake sale at school today. I didn’t go. Mia said something about how I probably can’t afford a cupcake anyway. Everyone laughed. I just walked away. I hate this place.”

Andrea paused on one entry, her heart tightening as she read the words written in her younger self’s messy handwriting.

June 18th:

“Dad’s gone again. Mom says he’s at a meeting, but I know she’s lying. She always tries to protect me. I wish I could protect her too. I don’t know how much more she can take.”

She closed her eyes, the weight of the memories pressing down on her. Those were the days when her world had felt like it was crumbling, when every day was a fight to keep going.

Flipping to the final page, Andrea froze. The last entry was short, the ink slightly smudged as if her hand had trembled while writing it.

“To my future self: No matter what, don’t let anyone make you feel small again.”