Under His Roof

Dead End

SARAH

I forced what I hoped was an innocent smile, the kind of expression that said, "I am lost. I have no idea what you're talking about." But I was pretty sure the smile looked more deranged than innocent.

His friend reached over and snatched the envelope from his hands before I could think of a reasonable explanation. The friend's eyes lit up eager to unfold spectacularly. Every single internal organ I had did a backflip and fainted.

"Let‘s see," the friend said, holding the envelope up to the light like he was examining evidence at a crime scene. "Is this a love letter?"

I was actually starting to feel sorry for Ann, despite everything she had put me through. Having your personal feelings exposed in front of an entire classroom was cruel, even for someone as heartless as her. But then again, she had probably done worse to other people, so maybe this was just karma coming around to collect its due.

But then Ann's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife through butter.

"Read it out loud!" she called from the back of the class, her voice bright with what sounded like genuine excitement. "Let's all hear it, Jett!"

Wait. What?

I stared at her in complete confusion, my brain struggling to process what was happening. Why would she want her private love letter read aloud to the entire class? What kind of person actively encouraged their own humiliation?

Something was very wrong here. This wasn't how secret admirers were supposed to behave. It doesn't work this way. But before I could figure out what Ann's game was, Jett had already begun reading.

Was this girl alright? What happened to being low-key? That's her problem.

“Dear Rian,” he began, chuckling. “With a red heart drawn in front…”

Students leaned in like it was Netflix.

Rian. So that was his name, a great name for a great guy. Even amidst of my growing panic, I couldn't help but think that it suited him perfectly. I could already imagine writing it in the margins of my notebooks, practicing different ways to say it.

But my romantic daydreaming was quickly interrupted as Jett continued reading, and the contents of the letter became clear.

A chorus of “Ooooooh” rippled across the class.

“I've been watching you and dreaming of the day when we can be together. I want to run my fingers through your hair that shines like oil—”

Someone at the back cut him. “Olive oil or engine oil?” He muttered and a wave of laughter erupted.

Jett raised his hand like a priest silencing a sinful choir.

“… while we study together in the library after everyone else has gone home. I imagine us sharing secret kisses behind the science building..."

I swallowed hard. My soul was already leaving my body, my heart rattling in my chest. My fingers trembled like my body was arguing with itself on whether to scream or die quietly.

“There’s more,” he declared, barely holding his own laughter back. “I dream about you almost every night. You are the only boy I want to—”

He squinted.

“—to climb.”

He stopped and everyone’s eyes were on me.

“What?!” a girl shrieked. “Climb!”

Jett shook the letter like maybe the ink would rearrange itself. “I think she meant be close to or maybe be with,’ but she's here in case we need to confirm.”

A guy shouted, “Yo Sarah, you into hiking? I thought you said you love to read and write.”

And then another guy who was always loud and irritating howled, “You can climb me instead, baby!”

Laughter exploded like fireworks and I wanted to disappear like, literally vanish into the air and become someone’s forgotten memory.

Jett continued, ignoring my dying soul.

“You don’t know how much I want to touch your… mainly chest.”

He paused again and everyone collectively gasped.

He looked at the letter again, frowning. “Wait, she probably meant manly chest?” He looked at me. “Do you know how much headache you are causing me right now with these blunders?”

A girl shouted, “Ewwwwww! Smelly?! Girl, go sniff a bar of soap!”

One guy near the window stood up like he needed fresh air. “I’m choking,” he said dramatically. “Bro, I can’t.”

The letter went on, describing increasingly intimate fantasies in language that made my face burn with embarrassment. It was written like something out of a bad romance novel, full of breathless declarations and detailed descriptions of physical encounters that definitely weren't appropriate for public consumption.

“I wish I was your spoon so I could feed you and accidentally touch your lips. I imagine you licking ice cream off my elbow. Ps: don’t ask why, it’s just what came to mind.”

“What the hell,” Jett mumbled. “This sentence got no brakes.”

The class was falling apart now. A group of girls in the corner yelled, “She’s so nasty!” while someone from the back added, “Don’t let her near the cutlery drawer!”

“I want to sit on your lap and whisper dirty things in your ears.”

Jett looked horrified but powered through, possessed by chaos.

“One day, I want to sing into your microphone in every possible dirty way. And you will begin to call me your Cucumber Princess.”

He read that last part slowly.

Dead silence followed. A second passed. Then—

“Nah,” someone screamed. “What?”

“I’m done. I’m done,” another guy declared, packing his books like the class had turned demonic.

Girls were covering their mouths. Some were giggling, some were glaring at me like I was pure contamination.

“She wants to sing into his what?” someone asked, fake-gagging.

Jett raised the letter in mock triumph. “‘Forever your sugar bum, Sarah.’ With a doodle of— oh God, I think that’s a badly drawn tongue.”

The whole class lost it.

Some screamed, “Climber girl!”

While some, “Microphone!”

My cheeks burned so hot I thought they might peel. I opened my mouth to explain, to scream, and say I didn’t write that filthy disaster, but no sound came out.

Ann walked forward with that evil Barbie smile.

“I didn’t write that,” I choked out finally. “I didn’t even know his name until now. I swear—”

“But it was in your name and you tried to slip it in his bag Sarah, wasn’t it?” Ann cut in, sending her fingers dancing in front of me.

“No one else here goes by that name. Aside from you, unless you’ve suddenly developed memory loss from all the fantasies you keep writing,” Ann countered.

My eyes welled up. I couldn’t stop it anymore. Hot and ugly tears blurred my vision and ran down my cheeks like betrayal itself. I wasn’t just embarrassed, I was exposed, and naked, down to my bones in front of the same people I’d already been hiding from.

Some of them whispered. Some laughed. Some took out their phones like maybe they could film the moment my heart cracked.

Rian stood, his face unreadable, but I could feel the weight of judgment in every inch of his perfect posture.

“Use your time to study hard because I will never find you attractive,” he said coldly, throwing my wrist off like I was some disease he had just touched.

He walked away without another word.

And I stood there, crying even more, the so-called crush was no better.

I was set up.

Ann didn’t just embarrass me, she buried me alive.

I walked directly to Ann and landed her a slap. “For humiliating me this way.”

Another round of “ooouu” came from everyone’s mouth.

****

I stood in the middle of the room, absolutely still. The walls were a creamy white, kissed with golden flourishes, with wall decors hanging on the wall. It didn’t even look like a housekeeper’s room to me, it looked like those catalog pictures people drool over and save in Pinterest folders titled Dream Home One Day.

I never thought a room like this could be mine. Not even in ny wildest dream.

I sank to my knees beside the bed, letting my fingers dig deep into the plush bed. The mattress gave way just enough to feel like it was hugging me back. I dropped my head against the edge and murmured, “If you don’t chase away nightmares, I’m switching you out for the floor.”

The wardrobe stood like a majestic thing—four wide doors, with gold knobs and mirrors that stretched from top to bottom. The kind of wardrobe you’d expect to be filled with satin dresses and designer heels, not… whatever I brought. I wonder if this is how all the rooms were, or if they just decided to give me a better one because of the damage the house caused my Grandma.

I zipped open my worn duffel and pulled out my modest pile of folded shirts and jeans. Holding up one of my faded blouses, I looked from it to the shining wardrobe and then back.

“Yeah,” I muttered, “You don’t belong here.”

Still, I tried. I placed the clothes inside spacing them out so they’d look more than they were. But the moment I stepped back and saw my two shirts trying to colonize an empire-sized wardrobe, I let out a snort. It looked like a scam, they don't belong here.

With a dramatic sigh, I snatched them all back and stuffed everything into my bag again. I zipped the bag and sat beside it.

That was when a knock echoed gently on the door, followed by a warm voice, “Sarah?”

It was Mrs. Walker.

She didn’t wait long before opening the door slightly, her elegant face peeking through. “I need you to come with me to the kitchen so you will get used to how things work here.”

I scrambled up like a guilty child caught doing something suspicious—which, to be fair, I kinda was.

As I followed her down the hallway, the walls screamed money with artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum hanging on the walls. The staircase twisted grandly down to the main floor.

I hadn’t dared to explore earlier. I was too scared to breathe wrong or made a mistake letting me in and sending me back before I touched anything.

The kitchen was something else. I had never seen an oven without buttons before, not even at the restaurant where I work. Everything looked too elegant to touch. Cupboards ran wall to wall, wide and seamless. And the freezer? Massive.

“Our chef doesn’t work on weekends, so you will be the one preparing today’s meal.”

How do I even use all of these appliances? Was the only thing screeching in my head like a fire alarm.

“Ma’am…” I muttered, scratching my scalp like the answer might be hiding under there.

She barely blinked, probably seen this performance a dozen times before, from trembling hands and stammering lips just like mine.

“Sorry,” she said softly, then without judgment, she stepped in and began showing me how to use every blinking button and steaming gadget in the pristine kitchen.

*

After tasting the meal for the one hundred and one time— maybe more if I’m honest, I finally decided to dish it.

I really don’t know why I’m nervous.

But my heartbeat was sauteing faster than the onions had.

The dining room was straight out of a movie. A long table stretched across the room, lit by another chandelier. The chairs were high-backed and regal. At the far end of the table, Mr. Walker sat in a throne-like seat, flipping through something on his phone, with his wife sitting next to him.

After setting the table, I stood next to the empty chair, clasping my hands in front of me, waiting for them to dig in or obviously hear them say you’ve been dismissed.

This was rich people's sadness. No kids. Where you cry in a golden bathtub and hire someone to hug you. So there's no one to inherit all of this wealth.

Before I could dig too deep into my overthinking rabbit hole, I heard the sound of the chair beside me dragging. I fixed my eyes rooted to the floor.

They were waiting for someone.

Mrs. Walker cleared her throat gently and uttered, “Darling, this is Sarah, our assistant housekeeper.”

I smiled softly, mostly to be polite. My eyes finally drifted toward the seat beside me. Time to meet the child of the mansion.

My smile dropped faster than a trap door. You wouldn’t believe who sat there.