Chapter 2

I stood at the door of my off-campus place, looking at Mrs. Miller, our academic advisor, who had her usual "just-following-protocol" face. Behind her stood a middle-aged couple practically dripping in designer labels, and Chloe, my roommate, leaning against the hallway wall with a smug smirk.

"May," Mrs. Miller said, adjusting her glasses. "If you really have nothing to hide, you should let us and Chloe's parents take a look inside. It’s the best way to clear your name."

Chloe’s mother sneered at me, scanning me from head to toe before her eyes settled on my faded, worn-out canvas sneakers. She let out a loud, dramatic sigh.

Chloe stepped forward, lowering her voice, but making sure everyone in the hallway could hear:

"May, you could barely afford the tuition deposit, right? I heard you’re only here on financial aid. With your background, who else would steal my four-thousand-dollar Tiffany necklace? Who's going to believe you?"

I ignored her and looked straight at Mrs. Miller. "Mrs. Miller, can we please just handle this through the campus board?"

"Why are you so scared?"

Chloe’s father took a step forward. He had a massive gold pinky ring and pointed his finger right in my face.

"My daughter's necklace is the latest Tiffany collection! Four grand! If it wasn't you, then who? We are searching your place today. I want to see what kind of trashy family raises a thief!"

Chloe laughed out loud beside him.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

"Fine," I said. "Let’s go."

As we walked out of the campus gates, Chloe kept pace right next to me, her high heels clicking loudly on the pavement.

"May, do you even know who bought me that necklace? My boyfriend. The one who drives the Mercedes," she said, tossing her hair. "Honestly, you're not ugly. Why do you do stuff like this? Why not just find a guy to take care of you? What’s the point of finishing college if you’re just going to be broke forever?"

I stopped and turned to look at her.

"Was that Mercedes rented or borrowed?" I asked flatly. "Because last week, I saw him riding a rental scooter outside the gate."

Chloe’s face went rigid.

Her mother overheard and immediately rushed over. "How dare you speak to my daughter like that! Chloe's boyfriend is in business! What does a charity-case student like you know about anything?!"

I didn't reply. I just kept walking.

But my mind drifted back to my twelve brothers.

When I was six, my birth mother, Eleanor, abandoned me under a highway overpass because I was getting in the way of her marrying a rich guy. She left me with twenty dollars and never looked back.

I huddled under that overpass for two days, dizzy with hunger. Then, I saw a crew of guys walking down the alley.

The leader had bleached blonde hair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and walked like he owned the streets.

I was tiny, but I had survival instincts.

I rushed out and wrapped my arms around his leg.

"Hey, big brother, your boots are dirty. Let me wipe them for you."

"Hey, big brother, are you thirsty? I can go steal some water for you."

The crew looked down at me.

"Kid’s got game," the blonde guy said, spitting out his cigarette. "Fine, we’re keeping her. She’s our little sister now."

From that day on, I had twelve brothers.

The oldest was Jax, the blonde leader.

The second was Leo, the big guy with a scar across his face.

The third was Blade, skinny as a rail.

The fourth was Hammer, the one with fists like iron.

All the way down to the twelfth, whom we called Gizmo. He picked the name himself, saying a weird street name keeps you safe.

They never taught me morals. They only taught me one rule:

*If anyone messes with you, let your fists do the talking.*

So, for twelve years, the twelve of them were never all together. Someone was always in county jail for breaking a collarbone or cracking a rib.

But they loved me fiercely.

When I was a kid, we were dirt poor. We lived in a rundown trailer park that leaked rain in the summer and let in freezing wind in the winter. But my plate always had the best cuts of meat, scooped out of my brothers' own bowls.

When I was seven, a boy at school cut a chunk of my hair off and mocked me for having no parents.

I didn't cry. I didn't say a word when I got home.

But Jax somehow found out.

The next day, that boy showed up to school with a completely shaved head, crying his eyes out all day.

When the teacher asked who did it, the boy just whimpered that someone had pinned him down in the bathroom with a razor.

When I asked Jax about it, he was eating instant ramen and didn't even look up. "What? I was at the internet cafe all night. Don't look at me."