Halfway Home

Chapter Two: Perfect Gals Get Tired too

azel pov

The smell of starch still clung to my uniform. Not because it was dirty, but because things were expected to look a certain way in our house. Neat. Crisp. Pressed flat, like feelings. I stood at the mirror, fixing the same pleat I’d fixed twice already. Behind me, Dad sat at the table, reading the paper like it was part of his skin. His eyes never lifted. He didn’t look up. He never did.

> “You’re dressed,” he said simply.

I nodded, feeling my shoulders tighten just a little. That was enough. He didn’t need to ask if my homework was done. He knew it would be. He didn’t need to remind me to be polite, to smile, to stand straight. That was already built into me. Like habit. Like breathing. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Everything about him made it clear: There was a way things had to be. Perfect wasn’t praised in our house — it was expected. I grabbed my books and walked out, the silence folding in behind me like a door that never had to slam.

My phone buzzed just as I reached the end of our street. Micah. His timing was always perfect. Just like him.

“Hey, sunshine,” he said, his voice warm like a cup of tea you weren’t sure you wanted.

I forced a smile even as my fingers tightened around the phone.

“Hey,” I replied. “You’re early.”

“Thought I’d catch you before school. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically, tapping my thumb against the edge of my book.

There was a pause, like he was waiting for something deeper. I didn’t give it.

“You sure? You sound… I don’t know. Off.”

“I’m just tired.”

That was the truest thing I’d said all morning.

“Coach’s been pushing us hard for the upcoming regional quiz tournament,” he said.

I listened. I always did. But my mind was somewhere else, counting steps and chewing the inside of my cheek.

“Micah…”

“Yeah?”

“Can we do something this weekend? Just us. Nothing scheduled. No routines. Just… something dumb and fun.”

He hesitated.

“Like what?”

I opened my mouth… then closed it.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I just… I want something that doesn’t come with a checklist. Something where I don’t have to be… anything.”

“You know my mom,” he said gently. “She’ll want to know where I’m going. But maybe we can figure something out.”

“Maybe,” I echoed, even though I already knew we wouldn’t.

His version of perfect didn’t leave room for mess, either. And right now, I needed a little mess.

Micah had asked me out first. Back when we were both fifteen and still looked like kids. He gave me a note folded three times and said he liked the way I always raised my hand in class. It wasn’t some fairytale moment. But it made sense. People looked at us and nodded like, yes that fits. I said yes, not because I felt anything big or wild — but because it was easy. Micah was easy. I grew into being with him, the same way I grew into good grades and tight ponytails. Into his calm voice, his long explanations, the way he always walked on the side of the road closest to traffic. He loved how prim and proper I was. How my blouses were always pressed, my answers always ready. He thought it meant I had everything figured out. And I let him think that. Because loving Micah didn’t require fire. Just consistency. But sometimes… consistency wasn’t enough.

“You look like someone stole your diary and read it aloud,” Rina said, falling into step beside me like she hadn’t just come out of nowhere.

Her curls were doing the most, bouncing with every step. Lip gloss too shiny. Backpack halfway zipped. A slice of bread, warm and slightly squished, in one hand, a pink pen tapping rhythmically in the other.

“Rina…” I sighed. “Why are you like this?”

“Because the world would be boring if everyone was like you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Prim and Proper Azel. Micah’s dream girl. The headmaster’s favorite. The girl who probably sleeps in a perfectly made bed and dreams in black-and-white.”

“Can we not today?”

“Aha,” she smirked. “There it is. The ‘don’t push me’ voice.”

She slowed her pace and glanced at me sideways.

“You okay? For real?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“You’re allowed to say no, you know,” she added softly. “Even you.”

We kept walking.

Then out of nowhere, she grinned. “So… would it be totally insane if I said I think Blaze is hot?”

I blinked at her. “Blaze? As in… black hoodie, detention every other week, never has a pen Blaze?”

She shrugged, unapologetic. “There’s just something about him. That whole ‘I don’t care if the school burns’ energy. It’s hot.”

I made a face. “You seriously like that?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never looked at him and thought maybe.”

I shook my head, firm. “Nope. Not once. I don’t like boys who act like the world owes them something.”

Rina snorted. “Of course you don’t. Perfect Azel wouldn’t dare.”

I didn’t see him at first. Just felt something — like a shift in the air, a pause that didn’t belong.

Then I turned. And there he was.

Blaze. Leaning against the wall like he’d been there all along.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, watching.

Then,

“Not your type, huh?”

My throat went dry.

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just walked past, brushing by me without looking back but I felt it. Felt the air shift. Felt the heat rise in my chest for no good reason.

Rina's eyes were wide.

“Tell me you saw that,” she whispered.

I didn’t answer. Because for the first time that day, my heart wasn’t tired it was racing.

.