Chapter One
Cassius
The only successful thing I’ve done in my life is live up to my name.
One of the clearest memories I have of grade school is the day we were assigned The Name Project. I’m not sure what, exactly, it was supposed to teach us, other than the skills to research and think outside of the box and realize how ridiculous our parents are for choosing the names they did. It was especially difficult for me, not only because of my name’s meaning, but because of my living situation—but that was something I would learn to deal with and eventually accept.
The night before the project was due, I was lying in my bed, dreading going into school the next day because I had nothing to show. I’d get another zero, all because I couldn’t afford a damn thing needed for this project. At that time, I hadn’t resorted to stealing yet—I wasn’t that desperate. But there was a time when I stole everything I needed, which didn’t last long because I realized I was nothing like my mother and felt bad fordoing something wrong. Unlike her, I have a conscience and a moral compass that points in the right direction.
But as I was lying on the lumpy mattress, staring at the space beneath the top bunk, my sister, Cammy, snoring on the bunk beside me, the answer hit me like a bolt of lightning. I jolted upright in bed, nearly smacking my head on the bunk above me, dashed out of my room and into the bathroom. I dug through the cabinet beneath the sink, ignoring the water-stained bins and toilet paper rolls because the pipe under there had leaked for as long as I could remember.
There it was.
The exact thing I needed. It was rare we had anything of importance left lying around, but Mom must have overlooked this. Not that she could get much for it. What would someone do with a cracked fishbowl? It couldn’t hold a fish any longer, though I still mourn that little orange thing, and it wasn’t big enough for another animal—but it was exactly what I needed for this project.
That night, for the first time in a long time, I went to sleep with a smile on my face. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I let myself have it anyway. Just this once it would be okay to be happy about something.
When I woke up earlier than usual, the bowl was still at the foot of my bed, right where I left it. I put it into my backpack as carefully as possible and hurried out to the bus stop twenty minutes early. My stomach grumbled, but that was nothing new. The meals in school were the only meals I ate. The lunchladies gave me extra so I could have late night snacks or eat something over the weekend, but I always shared with Cammy because she was too young for school, and I didn’t know what she was fed during the day.
I was vibrating with excitement all the way to school, and when the teacher asked who wanted to present first, my hand shot up. The inertia caused me to move upward, my knee banging the desk, and everyone stared at the chaos I was causing. I didn’t care though—not that day. Ms. Henry was shocked by my enthusiasm, considering I never wanted to do anything first. Kids in class always looked at me funny, and I didn’t like being the center of attention. They were always mean to me, so I kept to myself.
“Okay, Cassius. You can go first,” Ms. Henry said with a kind smile. She was nice enough.
“Yes!” I hissed under my breath, then carefully pulled the bowl from my bag and went to the front of the class.
With a grin, I held the bowl out in front of me and proudly said. “My name is Cassius. It means ‘hollow’ and ‘empty.’ Just like this bowl.”
It was silent.
Everyone stared.
Not a peep. Not a blink.
Then the whispers started.
“Cassius, I’m not sure you understood the assignment,” Miss Henry said carefully.
“Yes, I did,” I answered confidently. “This is empty like my name means. It’s exactly right. It means the same thing. They’re synonyms. That’s what we learned in English class.”
The whispers got louder and the giggling started. Miss Henry tried to shush them, but it only got worse.
My cheeks got warm. My chest felt tight. Tears burned my eyes and my mouth went dry.
I hardly heard the shattering of the glass on the floor as I dropped the bowl and ran out the door.
I learned early that trying your hardest doesn’t protect you—it just makes you more visible when someone decides to aim.
I learned young that hoping for things only teaches you how to wait for disappointment.
And I learned that you can’t rely on anyone but yourself—because when things get hard, people leave to protect what matters to them.
So, that’s my trauma story, but definitely not the only shitty thing I’ve dealt with in life. In fact, that was only the beginning.
“Do you want another?”
The guy in front of me comes into focus when I blink to clear the fog in my eyes.
I huff a laugh. “Fuck. Forgot where I was for a minute.” I scratch my head and stare at my empty glass. “Yeah, I’ll take another.”