Marcie didn't know. She had grown up middle-class, happy home, never had to fight to have her basic needs met. Even her shitty tiny apartment she'd barely lived in anyway, and all her clothes were still nice. And now she had all Aphrodite's money to keep her happy, and give her enough to buy something nice for a kid who just needed to catch a break. She hadn't seen the Hole, hadn't lived with abuse, hadn't had to scrape by on her charm and wits alone.
But she did care, felt a great deal of sympathy for an awkward teenager feeling shitty about being suspended over something that wasn't his fault. More than anything, she could relate to that feeling of isolation and being misunderstood.
"We all make mistakes," she said, coming over with a nice suede bomber jacket with a hood. "Just have to watch your mouth next time, right? I can tell by looking at you that you're pretty good at talking." She gave him an encouraging look, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze.