It wasn't jealousy, I told myself. But the feeling I had wasn't pleasant, unlike the thrill I got from having things delivered at our doorstep, devouring chocolates, buying the latest manhwa releases, or taking a long ride on Jay's motorcycle.
The drizzly day was perfect for staying indoors and having nothing to do, with raindrops barely soaking through uniforms, or causing them to cling to the skin. It was a gentle patter, less intense than a shower, but I noticed other students huddled under umbrellas held firmly by their mothers as they approached. Some wore fluffy cardigans, while others had their mothers rubbing their hands to warm them up. It was all a bit too much for me – a visual overload that exhausted my senses. Why couldn't they just keep their kids safe at home and spare Floradale gate the drama?
"VIVIAN!" The cheerful shout grated on my morning. I couldn't tell if Vincent was genuinely thrilled to see his girlfriend, even though they'd only been apart for less than 20 hours, or if I was the only one immune to all the sentimentality. Watching Vincent wave wildly and Vivian, the drama queen, wait to be hugged and spun around, her arms spread, irked me. I hoped Mr. Jefferson would catch sight of them.
As if the drama was destined to unfold without end, a group of boorish girls careened into me, nearly sending me tumbling to the wet ground. Like playful lambs, they chattered on, oblivious to the commotion they caused. But I chose to be gracious and let it slide – just for today. Their slim-fitting trousers clung to their legs, and their double ponytails were adorned with an excessive number of pink clips, blinding to the eyes.
Wasn't that enough? The sight of those impertinent girls, sashaying shamelessly as they made a beeline for a group of four boys, left me queasy. But just as one of them turned, glancing over his shoulder, I hastily averted my gaze. My cells still vividly recalled the events of yesterday, and my ears eerily echoed the loud scream and crash in the art studio. I wish it were the weekend already.
The cold had barely begun to seep in a couple of seconds earlier, but now, I yearned to sprint past the eight students ahead, and seek warmth within the school building. Alas, I couldn't. I had to keep my head down, trudge along at an agonizingly slow pace, and pray that "one" of the eight wouldn't glance back.
"Ticia!" The sudden, chirpy call of my name made me almost jump out of my skin, but it was a good feeling this time. I wouldn't have to walk alone.
"Hi," I replied, as Ashley approached me, clad in a super-fluffy cardigan. Her energetic sprint had given way to a more subdued demeanor, as if she already regretted her enthusiasm so easily. We both walked, a sea of silence equally shared.
"I-I'm sorry," I paused and broke the uncomfortable silence, raising an eyebrow, my neck inexplicably itching. Ashley and I never stayed mad at each other for long, and our fights usually ended with us sharing guffaw, like two clowns who'd just realized how ridiculous they looked. Our fights usually revolved around my food waste, anime opinions, or my alleged lack of attention to people's names.
"For what?" Ashley scoffed, raising her knee to give my thigh a playful hit from the side.
"You knowww," I said, my voice laced with a hint of accusation.
"I don't know," she replied, feigning innocence. "I absolutely don't."
"You should apologize to me too," I said, cringing at her stern expression, her hands on her hips like a disapproving older sister. But then, she pounced, her fingers digging into my back, pinching a fold of skin and twisting it until I yelped, despite trying to hold it in.
"Ah, Ah! Stop! I'm sorry for accusing you and waiting for you to apologize first," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"I apologize for ignoring you," Ashley replied, her expression softening.
We finally made up—the only bright spot in an otherwise dismal day. We shook hands, and then headed into school, only to be greeted by another unwelcome surprise: an unexpected assembly for Class 12, which was met with cacophony of grumbles from students all around us.
Mrs. Madden's voice, a menacing threat, boomed through the school's PA system, her final sentence an unmistakable warning. Everyone knew that when she spoke, she meant business. Thankfully, there was still time; even worth cooking noodles before heading to the hall.
The way she'd threatened to make latecomers regret it brought back the memory of her intimidating glare, peering over the rim of her narrow glasses, which I suspected were more for show than functionality. Her voice, always low and husky, sends shivers down any spine.
"Ugh, why our class?" Ash groaned, dumping her backpack onto the table. She usually started her day with pastries and milk, so I understood her crankiness.
"Beats me," I replied, rolling my eyes lazily. I was probably the most exhausted person in Floradale, but I wasn't about to risk being late and facing Mrs. Madden's wrath.
Ash offered me flavored candies, but before I could respond, she filled both my pockets as if she hadn't heard me. "None of them are apple or banana flavored," she said, as I shook my pockets, enjoying the rattling sound.
As I tried to pop a few candies into my mouth, Ash suddenly grabbed my arm. "Everyone's rushing out. We don't want to be punished." I dropped the candies, and they scattered on the floor.
The sudden assembly didn't pique my interest, and I was only attending to avoid detention. I hoped the day would pass quickly and quietly, and I could soon be back in bed. But, not after what I'd done yesterday. I had a nagging feeling that something significant was about to happen, something that would be too good or too bad.
"Hi."
We were abruptly blocked by Maverick's blonde-haired friend, who grasped the entrance's sides, his gaze locking onto mine. What is this about?
"Hi," Ash replied, exchanging greetings. I rolled my eyes, giving her a sidelong glance, and noticed her raising an eyebrow.
I mouthed, "I don't know." Maverick's friends were never my concern, and this one was eerily similar to him; like crumbs from bread.
"Are you okay?" Ash asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
I had forced a natural-looking smile, my face twitching with the effort. Ash's gaze narrowed, but how could I blame her when he was being overly friendly out of the blue?
"It's nothing," I said to her, tapping his arm and gesturing for him to move away. The corridor was empty, most students having scattered away to avoid Principal Madden's wrath. But not us.
"Scrap that," the blonde punk said, grabbing my arm and releasing it from Ash's grasp. "We need to talk."
"About what?" Ash stood up for me, her voice firm, and I smiled in gratitude as she grasped my other arm. If he was going to mess with me, he should know I had a fearless friend. She was taller and sharper, so I let her take the lead. "Let go of her."
"About yesterday—" His words were like a trigger, and I instinctively slipped my arm out of Ash's grip, accidentally shoving my hand into his mouth instead of gagging him. I meant to silence him, but this was not what I intended.
"I'm sorry!" I didn't realize how loud I'd become, but I had to keep what he intended to say from Ash's ears. "I'll talk to you at brunch. I promise?" I raised my hand as he wiped his mouth with his cardigan, his grimace evident. I knew my hand tasted horrible, but couldn't he at least pretend not to be disgusted until I left?
"It'll only take a minute. I have to ask—"
"Ash, I'll catch up with you," I said, intercepting him before he could utter another word. In a flash, I grasped his sleeve and pulled him into the classroom, waving frantically at Ash to take her leave.
My gaze swept the room, finally settling on him. "What?"
His hands pointed accusingly at me, his intensity palpable. "What did you do to Maverick?"
I shrugged. "I didn't do anything."
He chuckled, a mocking tone that made my skin crawl. "You're not even looking me in the eye. I can't trust that."
I shrugged again. "It's none of your business, anyway."
He groaned, exasperated. "Did you break up with him?"
My jaw dropped. The casual way he dropped the question sparked a jolt of surprise. He, of all people too, should know that Morticia dating Maverick was a more absurd concept than any Disney happily-ever-after plot. How could he even suggest that?
I snapped back to reality, realizing I'd been staring at him. "Why are you glaring at me?" He asked.
"I don't know what Maverick told you, but let me set the record straight: we were never in a pleasant relationship, and we never will be. I hate him, he dislikes me, and that's it."
He opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "Yesterday was a mistake. I admit I lied about him having diarrhea. I locked him up there, and when I came to get him, he locked us up, and then you showed up. That's all."
"Morticia."
"What?!" I stepped closer, my toes straining to reach his level, my glare intensifying. "What?!"
"You're hiding something." His index finger jabbed at me, and I fought the urge to snap at it, just as I would have if it were Maverick.
"I've never seen him that... that furious," he continued. "He never throws tantrums. He never breaks things."
His words slipped past my defenses, lodging in my throat like a stubborn splinter. I tried to swallow, to force them down, but they refused to budge. Should I ask him to—No. No.
"Tell me, if it's not about you guys dating, why is he so shaken? Have you seen him this morning? He looks like a thousand-year-old Dracula!"
I managed a weak nod, my throat constricting. Maybe yesterday's actions would somehow continue to haunt me today. Maybe I had hurt someone more than I intended. Maybe I was the bad person here. Maybe I was too blind to see it.
"Dude!"
My heart plummeted. I shouldn't have looked, but I already had. Maverick stood right behind the class, his presence confirming his friend's last words. My limbs strangely stiffened as I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes wide with trepidation.
"Apologize if you wronged him," His friend's whispers urged, giving me the strength to look away. But my guts shrank, frozen onto the photocopied image of Maverick's imposing figure I had unknowingly taken in. I didn't think I was brave enough to approach him. The nightmare from last night still lingered, and he looked even more intimidating than in my dream. I gulped down my fears, reminding myself to breathe.
"Hurry," he whispered again, but I raised a shaky hand, hesitating.
"I can't." I whispered.
"Ugh!" He finally raised his voice and strode past me, leaving me feeling hopeless. I had let an opportunity slip away. I knew that if I wanted to apologize to Maverick, I'd have to do it alone, without anyone to back me up now. It was no wonder I had a feeling that today wouldn't be a good day. My mistakes seemed to be closing in on me, pointing at me like accusatory fingers. I had to tread today with caution.
Finally, I was the only one left in class. My knees buckled, and I forced myself to take deeper breaths. I wasn't the victim and Maverick looked even worse, so dying wasn't an option.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
The 30-second sprint was a matter of life and death. It wasn't like any athletic race, where we were competing against each other. Our sole objective was to burst through the hall door, even if it meant squeezing in by a hair's breadth. While others managed to maintain their stride and not fall, I struggled to keep my heels from wobbling and I sprinted like a penguin in a frantic bid to defy gravity.
Luckily, I made it in, but those who lagged behind by just four steps were left stranded, their pleas falling on deaf ears as the two male teachers stood guard, their determination as unyielding as white blood cells fighting off a flu virus.
The dutiful students already stood at attention, lined up like soldiers before the podium, awaiting the day's speaker. Meanwhile, I attempted to refine my gait, trying to exude elegance until I finally joined the queue meant for girls from our class. I was satisfied with the way I carried myself amidst some prying gazes, that is, until I felt an urgent tap on my shoulder and a whispered warning: "Your shirt."
My fleeting confidence vanished when I followed Ash's gaze and spotted one of my shirt's wings sticking out with unruly enthusiasm. Ugh, I must have looked ridiculous.
Good morning, students." The MC of the day began her speech, but I was already a million miles away. Her slow, drawling tone was like a sedative, threatening to send my eyelids crashing down. I fought the urge to yawn, my gaze wandering instead. It skipped from unfamiliar faces of girls from other classes to the familiar faces of boys in Class 1, all of whom seemed eerily serene, as if Mrs. Madden's voice had cast a spell over them.
Among them, Maverick stood out, ramrod straight, his fist clenched and his gaze fixed. His face was pale, drained of color – is he sick? Had I somehow caused this? The thought sent a wave of anxiety through me, and my mouth went dry. A gruff sigh escaped my lips, snapping me back to reality, only to find a sea of gazes fixed on me, piercing and accusatory.
"Who sighed just now?" Mrs. Madden's voice cut through the silence, her tone sharp as a whip. Could I even pretend it wasn't me, when I was already the center of attention, with all eyes upon me? My hands grew clammy, and my mind raced to concoct a plausible excuse, something to deflect the blame. I was only thinking about my past mistakes—
"Who?!" Mrs. Madden's voice rose to a yell, and even the innocent girls around me shuddered, their fear infectious. I felt their jitters transmit to me, making my heart race with anxiety.
"I," I eked out, my hand rising slowly above my head. Her eagle eyes locked onto me after scanning, and I was suddenly, inexplicably singled out from the column of girls. Before I knew it, everyone else had formed a different queue.
"YOU," Mrs. Madden barked, her anger now palpable. My face must have triggered the rage already simmering within her, because I couldn't hold it as she glared at me, her eyes blazing with intensity. If she kept this up, my legs might melt.
"Why am I not surprised?" she began, her finger jabbing in my direction as if trying to pierce me with its tip. "It's always been you. Unruly, unrefined, pugnacious, and immature!"
I heard snickers from the others, and my self-esteem took a hit. The last snort came from Mrs. Madden herself, and I felt my confidence dwindle to zero.
"Don't sigh just yet, there's more to come. You stupid girl," she spat.
My eyes stung, but I refused to look away. Maybe it was because I was still locked in a stare-down with Mrs. Madden, who seemed perpetually in a bad mood.
"Look at her staring rudely," she clicked her tongue, and I finally had an excuse to drop my gaze, relieving the stinging sensation. She's just mad, I told myself. She's always in a bad mood.
Mrs. Madden continued her tirade, but I lacked the courage to move, to slip into the line and salvage what was left of my self-esteem. I just had to disappear into the queue that had regrouped. What if Maverick was watching? What if he was gloating over my misfortune? What if he had snickered or smirked?
"... all in grade 12, so you have to act it!" My ears finally tuned in to her speech. I hadn't intended to listen, but what if she used "Morticia Katz" as a cautionary tale? The typical bad example?
"Words keep coming to me regarding your conduct. This isn't the time to indulge in puberty, thinking it's a sweet indulgence. I've been observing many students, and I'm warning you now: if I catch you red-handed, making out, smooching, hugging, or holding hands, you will be expelled, and I mean it."
Her blunt words made me feel queasy, exacerbating my condition. Ash had once shown me a Googled picture of "smooching," and I recalled how my dad and stepmom do that – it all seems crude and unhygienic.
"Boys, suppress your urges. Girls, be cautious. As long as you are within Floradale's walls, no one is allowed to date anyone, not even students from other schools. So, wait until you graduate and you're no longer our responsibility. Right now, you all are royals and you should carry yourselves as one." Shouldn't this lecture be for the entire student body?
I was certain my blood sugar had plummeted, but thankfully, I had many candies in my pockets to stabilize it. Passing out from low blood sugar would only add to the mortification still lingering around me. What if people thought I was too weak to shrug off Mrs Madden words, unscathed?
I cast a surreptitious glance around, ensuring no one was watching me, before shifting my attention to Maverick. He wasn't even looking my way. His rough appearance almost made me mistake my feelings for concern. That's when I met the gaze of his blonde friend, whose narrowed eyes almost made me assume he was purely short-sightedness. Was he still suspicious of me? He blinked, glanced at Maverick behind him, and then smiled at me.
"What?" I mouthed, my annoyance growing. At least, he was the only one paying attention to me, so I slipped my hand into my pocket and retrieved a handful of candy, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. My hand trembled, and I could see it. The candies seemed to fall in slow motion, and I knew I could catch them before they hit the ground and echoed like beads. I was confident, but I didn't anticipate the chaos that would ensue.
As I bent over, my head knocked against the girl standing ahead of me. It was as if I had recklessly pulled a brick from a Jenga stack. The queue ahead of me dissolved into an unstable mess, with the girls tripping and falling in sequence. Oh my God! Oh, my—
"MORTICIAAA!"
No one needed to spell out trouble for me; I knew I was in for it. My hands raised involuntarily, like a criminal ready to surrender. The chills I got from my name being yelled and echoing through the four walls were reminiscent of the ones I felt when my dad whispered about the trouble I was in. It was strange how two contrasting things could have the same effect on me.
"YOU INSOLENT BRAT! GET OVER HERE!"
The candies I had tried to save from gravity had already fulfilled their destiny, sounding like beads. Maybe I should have let them have their way in the first place.
Even in the midst of chaos, I made a strange discovery: my name shared a weird number of letters with "mortification." Maybe it was my name, bringing all the bad luck and troubles, because I never intended to disrupt peace all the time.
"Not that way." Mrs. Madden sprinkled chili over my injury as she twirled her finger, motioning for me to face the other students in the most humiliating position imaginable – kneeling. I wished someone had poisoned my breakfast.
"Good," she said, her tone almost suggesting she was relieved no one had poisoned my breakfast. Would I ever recover from this public shaming? "Raise your hands."
The only options now were to bite my tongue and die from embarrassment or make a break for the window and fall to my death. The hands that had shielded my face from the crowd now had to be raised, inviting my classmates to sign autographs of notoriety on my face.
"This student...,"
I tried to distract myself from the horror unfolding before me. My insides were churning with the most unpleasant feeling, so I had to avoid meeting anyone's gaze at all costs. What if I ended up crying? No, not me.
"...step out once I call your name..." Mrs. Madden paused, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for a student worthy of her praise. It was likely she'd call out someone to serve as a role model for the rest of us. Maverick, perhaps?
"Maverick Cooper, Class One," she announced.
I waited for the obligatory standing ovation, but it never came. The hall remained silent as a grave, except for Mrs. Madden's voice. My gaze was now fixed on the floor, but I could track Maverick's black air Jordan as he approached. He stood close, deliberately highlighting the contrast between us. He was the school's golden boy, its pride and joy, while I... well, I was the troublemaker, the immature and uncultured one. Sometimes, I still wondered how Ash was friends with me.
...Watch this," Mrs. Madden's voice cut through my thoughts. Was she about to present Maverick with an award?
Driven by curiosity, I finally lifted my gaze, tracing the line of her angled neck and, until my gaze landed on a movie being projected.
Very unlike Mrs. Madden, I thought.
Alas!
"Ah," I gasped, but my sound was quickly swallowed up by the chatter of the students as they watched the mov—video.
Slowly and excruciatingly, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I remained on my knees, but my body had gone numb. My hands lost all strength, dangling limply like jelly. The chatter from the other students hit my ears, but my brain refused to process it, leaving me in a dazed, zombie-like state, waiting for the inevitable fallout.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
"I told you they were dating."
"My hundred bucks."
"No way, that's cheating. The footage shouldn't convince anyone they're a couple."
"Come on, did you forget the part where he swept her off her feet and carried her over his shoulder? Oh, baby! It was like a scene from a romantic drama!"
"No, no. Everyone knows they're always at each other's throats!"
"He took her lollipop but didn't toss it away. He popped it in his own mouth."
"That still doesn't prove anything."
"It's an indirect kiss, for crying out loud!"
"And let's not forget how he carried her on the table...!"
"But Morticia's a sly fox. No wonder her claim that he had diarrhea yesterday sounded suspicious. What a liar! Eewww!"
"She's so gutsy."
"And disgusting."
...None of them bothered to whisper or gossip behind my back. Yesterday's encounter with Maverick was played on a massive screen for over 200 pairs of eyes to see, with no detail left out. I could hear every gasp of shock, rage, and disbelief. Girls hissing and boys sounding thrilled.
The girls used to chat about makeup, concerts, celebrities, crushes, and dresses, while the boys would discuss football, video games, and pretty girls from other classes or schools. But now, Morticia and Maverick was the only topic on everyone's lips. Those who despised me wouldn't stop cursing, while those who were rooting for Maverick and me to get together claimed the footage was proof we were a couple. The neutral ones just couldn't stop snickering and laughing ever since we were dismissed from the assembly.
As though the punishment Maverick and I received wasn't enough, we had to sit amidst the chaos, listening to all the unpleasant chatter until the first teacher arrived, and if they don't show up early, our ears might start bleeding. If only I hadn't let my emotions get the better of me. If only I had listened to Ash. I longed to hear her scoldings or reassurances, but ever since I saw the footage, I was partially paralyzed. It took an eternity to get to class, and I earned piercing glares the moment I stepped in. Not to talk about how I found my backpack on the floor, with several shoe prints.
On normal days, Maverick would have asserted his authority, silencing everyone with a single command. But today, he remained still, seated behind me. I could barely muster the courage to glance over my shoulder to observe his reaction to the chaos unfolding around us. At first, I heard only teasing remarks from his friends, but it was clear he was ignoring them. Now, I could hardly hear the sound of his breathing or any movement behind me. I wished the world would end right then and there.
"Quiet down."
Thankfully, it was a teacher's voice, and the commotion would subside for several minutes, giving me time to breathe normally, without being afraid of making the slightest sound.
"Morticia!"
I flinched to the bones, my limbs still feeling weak and useless. Now, another teacher was already piling on the negativity, devaluing my name. Yelling it like he had a grudge on me way before today and it's all gotten piled up.
"Quite a show, kid. I had no idea you were too mighty to stand up and greet—"
My gaze snapped up, and, as if orchestrated to humiliate me, everyone was already on their feet. Maverick usually gave the command to stand and greet, but I hadn't heard it this time. And, it is none other than the Mathematics teacher—he probably remembers I lied about Maverick having a diarrhea.
I couldn't take it anymore. What if everyone sees me shaking?
The only escape from this was to flee. It was simple: I just had to stand. I just had to move my knees and rise.
"Morticia, I'm talking to you! You brat!"
And that, was the unforseen stimulus that got me standing and sprinting past him, far far far away and as my head navigated.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
The first time you experience something leaves an accomplished feeling that echoes "I did it. I just did it" across the walls of your heart. I had never skipped school, not even when I was ill. I couldn't recall ever playing truant like this, darting out of class as if staying any longer would incinerate me. Tears streamed down my face like the books on the shelves had onion-skin covers, and before I knew it, the clock read 4:31—no, 4:13 pm.
It was the longest I'd slept all week, and it was soothing, though I knew I was back to facing the harsh reality. I needed to do something to erase the mortification I'd endured, to become deaf to gossips and blind to glares and pointing fingers.
A deep yawn caught in my throat as my gaze fell on the table. I remembered how empty it was when I arrived, but now it seemed to pique my curiosity even more. Who could have left a table pillow beneath my head, handkerchief, and a bottle of... I picked it up, reading the label, and it said it was an organic Apricot juice.
I gulped, setting the bottle down, and shifted my gaze when I felt eyes on me. They could be judging eyes, considering my current predicament, but my sight landed on Maverick. He seemed to have regained his color, but his creased brows and piercing gaze reminded me of everything. He had said he "disliked" me, but now I knew he "hated" me enough to strangle me and get away with it. If only I hadn't let my emotions get the better of me and locked him up yesterday, he wouldn't have suffered his share of mortification, and he wouldn't have been fined for vandalism of the school property. Then, I realized he deserved to feel wronged, and that was why he had brought me Apricot juice. He had probably hoped I would down the drink without checking the label, choke, and have an allergic reaction all over my skin, begging him to save me. Begging him as though he were God.
My eyes stung, and I hastily averted my gaze, hoping he'd stop staring. I loathed it, but from the corner of my eye, I could see he remained fixed on me, as if intent on tormenting me. Yet, I lacked the courage to push my chair back and make a swift exit.
Stop staring. Stop staring. Stop staring. Move. Do something different. Stop staring.
Swish.
Finally, the chair beside mine creaked, and my gaze involuntarily strayed in that direction. Maverick was busy stacking books from the other end of the table, his section highly demarcated from mine. His brows were still furrowed, and his lips and cheeks moved in a repetitive motion, accentuating his dimples. Was he chewing gum?
Plunk!
I quickly looked away when something fell from him. As he bent to retrieve it, I slowly slid my legs to the side, struck by how light they felt compared to the weighty regret I harbored for wearing heels today. Something was amiss, and maybe someone had already swiped my shoes. Could this day get any worse?
Maverick straightened after grabbing his fallen item, and I shifted my legs into view, only to find my feet snugly ensconced in a pair of fluffy slippers. No. No.
No longer concerned about disrupting the air, I bent down, popping my head below the table.
My eyes widened. My heels were there, arranged together more neatly than I could have done. But why would Maverick—
Bang!
I flinched, bonking my head against the underside of the table. It felt like someone had intentionally slammed their hand against the table to startle me. Rubbing my sore head, I emerged from under the table, shooting Maverick a bewildered glance. Even with my crystal-clear vision, I couldn't decipher what was going on in his mind. My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I tried to process everything with a sense of urgency. Should I yell at him, thank him, apologize, or simply stop breathing? My mind scrolled through the harmless items – pillow, handkerchief, slippers – and the not-so-harmless ones – Apricot juice and the head-banging incident. What was going on?
I snapped out of my trance, and Maverick suddenly thrust something big at me. My eyes scanned it hastily, half-expecting a ticking time bomb, but it was only my backpack. Without a word, he plopped my books in front of me, another loud sound sending me flinching.
Could I make sense of this chaos without asking? I'd just woken up after hours of passing out like sleep deprived Koala, and now this drama was unfolding?
"Hey," Maverick said, breaking his silence, and I parted my lips, though no words came out. I was mute, caught between bubbling embarrassment and confusion.
He spoke again, his words muffled by the gum he was chewing. I followed his pointing index finger to a book, where I saw his handwriting on the left page and my own "scribbles" on the right. The crooked lines I'd ruled were unmistakable – it was one of the notes I'd written for him yesterday. Was he about to protest?
"What is—?" He halted, as if preserving his words for future use. His raised eyebrows snapped me back to my senses.
"Uh... hypothalamic." I cleared my throat, feeling a twinge of uncertainty. I glanced at other parts of the note, wondering if I had made similar mistakes, like this, writing four letters together like a super tangled cursive.
I looked up, bracing for more questions or criticism, but he simply nodded, closed his biology notebook, and tucked his pen into his front pocket. Without a word, he turned and walked away, his posture impeccable, his hands free from his pockets. His perpetual frown lingered until I realized how foolish I must have looked to anyone watching.
Attempting to connect the dots, the library bell jolted me back to reality. That meant I'd be locked in if I didn't hurry, especially since I was seated at the rarely used back.
I hastily packed my books into my backpack and after a quick shoe change, I slung my bag over my shoulder. But what about the slippers and Apricot drink?
As a token gesture, I pushed the slippers aside and propped the pillow against the side of the table. The drink seemed like a cruel joke, a message from Maverick to get myself dead. I placed it beside the pillow, a small act of saying I don't wish to die especially not because of him.
The chair was already in its place, and the area was tidy, but something at the other demarcated side of the table caught my attention. It looked like a shopping bag, but I wasn't curious enough to investigate. I turned to leave, taking three steps before my curiosity got the better of me. I turned back and peeked into the bag.
Pulling out a book, my eyes widened. "My manhwa!" I squeaked, incredulously. "Why? Why?"
My comic books and magazines were soon stacked on the table, and I counted them twice. None were folded or crumpled, and they all carried the scent of new papers mixed with sandalwood, as if the bag had been sprayed with cologne. In there was also my purse too, intact and without a single scratch.
"But, why—" I dug deeper into the bag, hoping to find a note, something typical of Maverick's sarcastic—sadistic humor, a message that would crush my growing excitement. A note typical of Maverick, and probably beautiful handwriting of curses at me or something telling me to read those manhwas and die after reading them.
Truly, I didn't deserve to feel so happy, not after everything that had happened today, and certainly not because of Maverick's actions. He had only annoyed me and made me feel small every single day, so this must be a trap.
Expecting a sticky note, my hand closed around a metal object at the bottom of the bag. I pulled it out and examined it. It was a phone, eerily similar to the one Maverick had smashed against the glass window yesterday, but this one wasn't blue.
Quitting any attempt to waste time trying to connect the dots which no matter how hard I tried, never seemed to fit; every connection made, only leading to more questions, and the answers always seeming to slip through my fingers like sand, I hastily packed everything into my backpack, phone in hand, and sprinted out of the library just as the librarian was closing up.
My frantic dash down the staircases and through the corridors left me breathless, but I couldn't spare a moment to catch my breath. Our classroom was empty, with only five students present, and none of them were Maverick or his friends. I scanned the faces of students as I sprinted through the floors, but that only left me with one option: to check the field for his sports car.
I seethed with anger towards Maverick for destroying my beloved phone with priceless memories and making me search for hours yesterday, only to go home empty-handed, for bringing Apricot juice to me, for making me lose the Archery yesterday, for the humiliation I'd gone through today, and for his infuriatingly inscrutable expression. I hated him for messing with my head, for turning me into a frantic, frolicsome puppy, darting around school in search of him.
My heavy bag bounced against my back as I sprinted down the last set of stairs, finally reaching outside. In the distance, I spotted the red sports car, a welcome sight. Good. I still hadn't decided how to approach him – whether to shove the replacement phone at him or yell at him not to pity me, especially after he had returned all my belongings he hoarded. I was going to do something, driven by some crazy impulse, but my legs came to an abrupt halt when Ash suddenly stepped into my path.
I expected her to scold me, and probably tease me later, so I forced a nervous laugh. "Were you waiting for me?"
"I was just... hanging out... you know—" I fumbled for words, but my brain refused to cooperate. I waited for her to say something, or perhaps stick her tongue out at me for never listening to her. But instead, her hazel eyes sparkled, and her sclera turned red in an instant. Wet drops streamed down her cheeks, and the sight prompted me to draw closer, grasping her shoulders.
To my utter astonishment, Ash yanked my hands off her, her grip on my elbow firm. A multitude of thoughts swirled in my mind, each possibility pointing at me like an accusatory finger. My hands stiffened, and my lips couldn't even form a gasp. Ash had never been this unfriendly, not even to the classmate who constantly bullied her and called her "Messy hair Merida." It had to be me. Something I'd done.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
On messed up days like today, it was always easy to escape into breathing therapy, savor some cold ice cream, and lose myself in a comic with a happily ever after ending. To escape into an unrealistic world better than mine would ever be. But not today. My ears felt like they had wells filled with water, and Ash's single, damning word kept echoing non-stop. It wasn't a joke; her expression had been one of sudden loathing, as if she hated me enough to push me down five stairs.
Think. Think. Think. I hit my head for the fifth time, but no explanation came to mind as to why Ash would suddenly label me a "whore." I continued to rack my brain, hitting my head, until someone grasped my hands.
"Young Miss!"
Mr. Ezra's forehead was creased with concern, his eyebrows raised. He had jumped out of the driver's seat to stop me?
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It had been a long, grueling day, and I yearned for someone to listen, to tell me everything would be all right. Maybe someone would even scold me, telling me I was being emotional and childish.
I nodded, taking in our surroundings. We had arrived home, the journey passing in a blur. The temptation to ask Mr. Ezra to drive me back to Floradale and back again was strong, but I resisted.
I grabbed my bag, hefting the heavy weight onto my back and adjusting it to a comfortable balance. Whore? Whore? Whore? Whore? Whore?
A pair of white cotton slippers with smiley emoticons suddenly intruded into the lines of the only word I could see, walking along the cobblestone pathway. The intruder should moved away after deliberately stepping in my way, but since she seemingly happened to be my stepmom, I stepped aside, and the words became visible once more. I was determined to continue reading them, until I understand why I had been called that and why I supposedly deserved it.
Frustratingly, those slippers blocked my path again, forcing me to raise my gaze. To my surprise, I felt something wet trickle down my left cheek.
Before I could even wonder if it was raining, a swift force struck me, and a burning sensation seared across my face from the slap.
That was it. I was done with people ruining my day. But what could I do? Despite the shock of being slapped so suddenly, all I could do was stare at my stepmother. I gazed at her intently, but all I saw was a blurred image of her, shrouded in red dress.
My lips trembled, as if they might quiver, but no words could escape, not even accidentally. And as if today couldn't get any worse, another slap across my face extinguished the faintest glimmer of today's happiness, reducing it to ashes before my eyes.
Am I really a whore? Does Mrs. Madden hate me, or am I the faulty student? Should I have gulped down the Apricot juice? Why didn't I apologize to Maverick? Why does it have to be dark and turbulent today?