"They Threw Their Leftovers at Me and Laughed, Calling Me ""Scholarship Trash."" They Didn’t Know I Was The Reason Their Parents Were Safe at Night. Then the Black Hawk Arrived. I felt the heat before I felt the wetness. It was clam chowder. Thick, lukewarm, and sticky. It hit the back of my neck first, then slid down into the collar of my faded hoodie—the one I’d been wearing for three days straight because the Laundromat was closed on Sundays. The cafeteria went dead silent. Then, the laughter