Chapter 1
THE VISIT DIARY THAT RUINED HER PERFECT IMAGE
a student ceremony in Tucson centered on hanging hummingbird nectar bottles looked like a celebration of student work, but the way Xandra Goldwyn watched me made the room feel unsafe.
My name is Adela Novak.
I was 16, a mixed Slovenian-American student with bright fair skin, in a side braid dark-blonde hair, and a small face, gray-blue eyes.
I wore an old gray sweater, a faded long skirt, and old boots.
I knew exactly how poor I looked beside the polished display tables and sponsor cameras.
For weeks, I had been quietly responsible for hanging hummingbird nectar bottles.
Nobody clapped for that work.
Nobody interviewed the girl who stayed after school with sore hands and dirty sleeves.
But the project survived because I kept showing up.
That morning, the organizers announced that I had been chosen to open hummprintgbird garden route.
For one second, I forgot to breathe.
Then the audience applauded, and every camera turned toward me.
That was when I saw Xandra Goldwyn.
She was 18, white American, tall and polished, with elegantly styled, long blonde hair, sharp features, and the kind of smile people obeyed.
She wore a wine-red cocktail dress, a designer handbag, and pearl earrings.
Everyone knew she was the daughter of a powerful wealthy sponsor family tied to the event.
Everyone also knew nobody said no to her family.
Her motive was simple: she wanted to take the spotlight and erase my contribution.
Her smile disappeared the moment my name came through the speakers.
She walked toward me slowly, like the ceremony had insulted her personally.
I tried to step around her and keep my eyes on the stage.
She blocked me.
Her jaw tightened so hard I could see the muscle jump near her cheek.
She whispered, "You stole my family's moment."
I said, "I earned this."
That was all it took.
In front of the guests, cold sesame noodles splashed across my clothes.
The room gasped before I even understood what had happened.
The cold mess ran down my shirt while the cameras kept recording.
Xandra Goldwyn pointed at me like I was the criminal.
She yelled, "She does not belong near this project."
My hands shook, but I refused to cry in front of her.
I looked at the organizer and said, "Check the records."
She laughed so loudly that even the reporters turned toward her.
She said, "There are no records that can save you."
That was her first mistake.
Because the whole reason I had been chosen was not pity.
It was not luck.
It was not charity from adults who felt sorry for me.
It was because of the visit diary.
The event director had kept it sealed in a folder under the main table.
I watched his face change the moment he opened it.
Xandra Goldwyn stopped smiling.
Her friends stopped recording me and started recording her.
The room went so quiet I could hear the display equipment humming.
The visit diary proved that I was the student behind the work on hanging hummingbird nectar bottles.
It also proved something worse for her.
The accusation she had just screamed in public was completely false.
Xandra Goldwyn reached for the folder, but the director pulled it away.
Then he lifted one page toward the microphones.
He said, "Everyone needs to hear what Adela Novak actually did."
