The Mate Who Couldn't Remember

Maya’s POV The hallway has thinned to a trickle of footsteps, and the clock above Mrs. Grey’s office ticks past the number 12. Each second hammers into my head until I feel a migraine coming. She told me I would only have to wait five minutes. I have been here for sixty. “Miss Oreva, your turn.” That isn’t me. The girl seated next to me, who only arrived a minute ago, jumps out of the seat and skips to the door. More than a hundred students have gone in and out already, their names sweetly called, echoing through the hallway. They walk out with smiles on their faces, their problems solved, while I sit, wedged to this hard wooden chair like a shadow that has blended into the walls. I shift uneasily, hugging my bag tighter. My palms are damp, and my sweater has become too warm. But I can’t leave now. If I do, she’ll call my name in my absence, and that means one extra month of this nightmare. The door clicks. Miss Oreva steps out with someone behind her. My heart leaps. But it isn’t Mrs. Grey, the person I am here to see. Summer Walker steps out of the office like she owns the room and everything in it. Her glossy hair gleams under the light, perfectly curled. She spots me instantly, her lips curving into a smile that has never meant kindness. “Well, well. Maya Alaric.” Her voice drips with amusement. She folds her arms around her frame. “Still waiting? Don’t tell me… Mrs. Grey forgot you here?” She lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my God, she did.” Heat burns in my cheeks. “She’ll call me soon,” I mumble, though my voice sounds so thin like I am trying to convince myself. I scoot farther up the seat, away from her perfume. Summer angles her head, her eyes dancing. “I doubt that, Maya. Really. Weren’t you sitting here when the girls went in earlier?” She snaps her fingers. “Yes, I remember. That sweater. You’ve worn it so many times that it should have its own seat. Looks like something my grandmother would wear.” Pausing, Summer leans close enough that I see the glimmer of cruelty in her eyes. “And my grandmother is dead.” My chest thumps hard as I push myself even further away from her. My fists curl instinctively, nails digging into my palm. For a fleeting second, I imagine punching that smug smile off her face. But nothing happens. Just silence, her grin widening like she’s dared me to fight. Then she bursts out laughing, loud enough to turn heads down the hall. “Really? You? Hit me? Come on, Maya, even ten of you couldn’t scratch me.” The door behind us opens again, and finally, Mrs. Grey peers out. She takes in the scene in one glance, the assumption already brewing before her lips part open. “I knew I heard the beginning of chaos out here. Maya, what are you doing to Miss Summer?” “What?” My eyes snap wide. “I wasn’t…” I don’t know why I even bother to respond. “That’s what they all say.” Mrs. Grey’s gaze moves past me like I’m nothing. “Summer, get to class. Maya, my office. Now.” Relief and dread crash together inside me, finally, after an hour. When I grab my bag and make to hurt forward, I feel Summer’s nails hook into my arm. It stings instantly, and I resist the urge to wince. “Maya,” Summer purrs with false sweetness. “You’re not thinking of dropping Weapons and Martial Arts, are you? What would we do without our favorite target?” Fear dips in my stomach. This is how it always goes. Threats at the locker, her and her friends making sure I never escape. “I… I’m useless there anyway,” I whisper. Surprisingly, she releases me. Angry red marks are visible, but this is one of the good days where she doesn’t take it any further. “Good luck,” she says with a smirk, her heels clacking on the marble floor as she pulls away, her perfectly manicured nails waving over her head. “See you in class, Maya. And don’t be late.” Releasing a breath I didn’t know I had been holding, I squeeze my bag harder to my front and force myself into Mrs. Grey’s office. I nearly trip as I find my way instead. She looks up at me from behind her glasses and sighs loudly. “Sit.” My butt meets the oversized chair, and I seem to further shrink into it. “What do you want?” “I want to change my classes,” I whisper. Her brows arch. “You’ll have to speak louder, Miss Alaric, if you have a request to make.” My pulse races as I clear my throat, drag myself closer to the edge of the seat, and try again. “Please, can you change my classes?” Mrs. Grey’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. She leans back, folding her arms across her large chest. “Does this look like a wish-granting factory? You picked those courses. You finish them.” “You don’t understand,” I say in one breath, feeling blood roaring in my ears. The migraines are back, harder each week, threatening to knock me out cold right here. “They…they throw weapons at me. I still have a scar.” A chuckle escapes her lips. “Oh yes, that accident. Children bully each other all the time, Maya. Builds character. Prepares you for the real world.” “What?” My voice breaks. “They’ll kill me.” She waves her hand dismissively, her eyes searching the clock hanging above the door. “Don’t be dramatic, Maya. You need this. People like you… You won’t survive in competition unless you toughen up. Best to let them get it out of their system.” Tears sting the corner of my eyes. I try to blink them away. “Please!” I sob. “I can’t go back.” She rolls her eyes. “Crying isn’t going to change my decision, kid.” “I really need to change classes, Mrs. Grey. I feel like I am going to kill…” “Fine!” She raises her hands in mock surrender, then yanks open a drawer and pulls out my file. “There’s only one spot left.” “I’ll take it,” I say hurriedly before she changes her mind. My nails dig into my palms as she scrawls something across the form, then nods at me. I jump out of the chair, stumbling for the door. “Thank you, thank you…” “Maya?” I pause, turning around slowly. “You didn’t ask what class you’re taking instead.” Something in her voice makes everything in me stop. She leans back with satisfaction on her features, like she’s been waiting all day for this. “Supernatural Politics and History,” she says. “What?” It feels like firm hands have clamped around my neck. “Professor Koa’s class.” Her eyes flick to the clock, then back to me. “And you might want to hurry, Miss Alaric, if you don’t want your very first lesson in hell to begin without you.” Professor Koa, as in, the most feared Professor in the whole of the school. My life is about to end. But maybe he will be able to explain why I keep having these episodes. My phone buzzes with an unknown number. “Do not go to Koa’s class.”