THREE
640 Words
The next day at school was brighter than I expected it to be. I actually understood what was being taught in calculus and Alia, although tempted, didn't disturb me the whole day. It was as if a part of her understood that any further annoyance would lead to a bald spot..
I was on my way to attend the second day of my week's worth of detention when I spotted them.
The girl — laughing, bright and quick.
The boy — leaning against the lockers, teasing her about something.
They looked easy together. Effortless. A part of me wondered if I would fit right in with them. The scenario was clear as day. I tightened my grip on my backpack straps and looked away, heart punching against my ribs.
It was better this way. I wasn't built for easy.
I wasn't built for soft things like friendship.
Not anymore.
I walked past without looking back.
Mr. Dermont barely glanced up when we walked in.
"Same seats," he grunted.
I dropped my backpack onto the floor with a thud and collapsed into my chair.
The boy came in a minute later, sliding into the chair two rows over.
His hair was freshly braided — long, clean cornrows that carved perfect lines along his scalp.
His hazel eyes flicked up to mine for a second.
No smile.
No words.
Good.
I stared at the clock, willing the time to move faster. Ten minutes.
Silence.
Fifteen minutes.
More silence.
The boy tapped a pencil against the desk, slow and rhythmic.
I found myself tapping my foot to match without thinking.
When I caught myself, I stopped, furious, and shot him a glare.
He smirked.
A small, knowing thing that made my stomach flip. "You're a fighter," he said under his breath.
I turned fully toward him.
"What gave it away?" I snapped.
He shrugged, lazy.
"Your busted lip. The fact you're always in here." I had hurt my lips when I bumped into a pole on my way to school, but he didn't know that, and I wouldn't clarify. It's better to be perceived as someone who shouldn't be messed with than otherwise.
I snorted and leaned back.
"At least I don't hide behind stupid braids and pretty eyes," I muttered.
He laughed. Actually laughed — low and rough.
"I don't hide," he said. "I'm just selective about who I show my teeth to." That shut me up fo your a second. Because somehow... I understood that. Too well.
"And you have pretty eyes too" I almost didn't hear him, his voice was so low that the words almost slipped past.
We sat there, tension hanging between us like a live wire. It wasn't the bad kind. It was... interesting.
Mr. Dermont came into the class 5 minutes later. "I realize that I haven't actually punished the three of you enough for your offenses, seeing as you've all been sitting in this room for two days, doing nothing. So, instead, I have an assignment for you." He looked down from his round frames, staring directly at me.
"Amara, Zayn, and Naia, you'll be handling the marking of my grade 8 'history of music' project. You'd have to read up on the whole topic. I give you two days for that." Groans erupted from every single one of us.
"But Sir! Um, Mr. Dermont, I have several classes to catch up with and there's no time for me to-"
"Not my problem. If you have a problem with it, speak to the principal" Mr Dermont said firmly, cutting off the girl— Naia — from her rushed speech.
I didn't have anything to say, honestly. I had expected some sort of hard labor. Maybe not this torturous, but still.
Zayn turned to me "Isn't this lovely?" he practically hissed. "Stuck with the emo girl"
- Writer
