BEL AND THE FOUR OF HEARTS

Four

As soon as I heard his voice, I felt my stomach drop.

The rich neighbor who had compared my dad's car to his mom's former one. And on top of that, he had a cool gift - giving me every reason to feel jealous. I mean, who doesn't admire a guy who always has a trick up his sleeve?

Mark.

I was 17 and still didn't have a gift. And to make matters worse, I was running into the last person I wanted to see attending the same school as me.

I couldn't deny the fact that Mark's school uniform looked impeccable, just like his wealthy background. The crisp white shirt and navy-blue blazer hugged his fit frame perfectly, while his trousers looked pressed and neatly hemmed. The school emblem was neatly embroidered on his chest pocket, and his polished black shoes shone under the light.

I compared it to my own uniform, which I had taken the time to style to my liking. My blazer was unbuttoned, revealing the black crop top I had on underneath, and my skirt was slightly rolled up to make it shorter than the usual length. Even my socks had a unique pattern to them.

Not bad either.

It's okay Bel, I'll pretend to be interested in his mundane conversation, fake a smile, and act like everything's fine.

"Oh, wow, it's you. What a surprise, Mark, right?”

Of course I didn't forget his name.

He smiled widely. There was just something about his brows that made me want to scratch my skin.

"Yeah, I'm surprised to see you here. You look...different," he said, using his hands to make eye glasses over his eyes.

"Just some little makeover," I said nonchalantly.

In reality, I had put a lot of effort into my appearance. I had cut my hair short to shoulder length. And let's not forget the acne scars that were now non-existent.

Mark nodded, still smiling. "Well, you look great," he said.

"Thanks. Anyway, if you don't mind, I'd like to get to class now. See you later," I said, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

"Sure, no problem," he said, still grinning.

I scurried off.

****

As I stepped into the classroom, a wave of nostalgia hit me like a ton of bricks. The familiar faces, the sound of murmurs, the smell of old books and paper, it was all so familiar. This may not have been the same classroom as before, but it felt like before..

The murmurs suddenly stopped, and all eyes were on me. I felt a bit self-conscious, but I pushed that feeling away and tried to act confident. I quipped,

"What? Y'all have never seen an expelled student return to school or what?"

While the noise slowly picked up again, some students came over to welcome me back.

It felt good to see that at least some people were happy to see me.

But trust me, all I did was force a smile as I sauntered my way to the two empty seats at the far end of the class, my eyes scanning the room for any other familiar faces.

Some more students came up to me, giving me a warm welcome, while others just murmured and stared from afar. I felt a mix of emotions - a bit of pride for being back in school, but also a hint of embarrassment for being expelled in the first place.

I scanned the classroom, searching for any other empty seats. I saw a few people still staring at me, they looked like they were judging me.

As I took my seat, I noticed Keisha giggling away with a girl I wasn't particularly fond of - a known bully called Pauline. I felt a pang of jealousy and anger, wondering what they were laughing about and feeling left out. But I quickly shook off those thoughts and focused on the task at hand - getting through this class and making a fresh start.

The empty seats felt like a refuge from the curious eyes of my classmates, and I sank into the chair with a sigh of relief.

I took out my novel from my bag, running my hands over the hardcover of the novel, feeling a sense of satisfaction as my fingers traced the embossed lettering of the title.

It was the first edition of "Silver of the West," a classic that I knew other bookworms would be envious of if they caught me reading it.

My smile widened as I flipped open the book, savoring the crisp sound of the pages turning.

I began to read, I feeling myself being transported into the story, the characters coming to life in my mind. The world around me managed to fade into the background in a few minutes.

Looking up from the pages, I noticed some of my classmates giving me envious glances, their eyes lingering on the book in my hands.

Smugness. Oh yeah.

You see it, you like it, you want it, you're not getting it.

"Now it seems like we're really made for each other," a familiar voice suddenly interrupted my ears.

I was a little startled, my heart skipping a beat as I looked up from the pages and saw Mark smiling at me.

He was really everywhere.

His backpack slung over his shoulder, I noticed the intricate stitching on it, a testament to his high-class lifestyle.

I tried not to stare as he hung his bag behind his chair, the leather straps gliding smoothly through his fingers. His uniform seemed to complement his confident demeanor, and I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by him.

I furrowed my brows a little, turning back to my book.

After he hung his backpack behind the chair he sat down next to me. I saw his eyes flick to the book I was holding, and he said,

"Silver of the West, hmm, lovely book." He paused and then added, "Fairly actually turned out to—"

I quickly put my finger on his lips.

I felt a quick jolt of surprise as Mark's lips touched my fingers. I quickly withdrew my hand, feeling a sudden awkwardness between us. I looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. I cleared my throat and smiled, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

"Don't you dare try to spoil the book for me. I'm only on chapter five, and I want to figure it out myself."

Mark chuckled at my stern tone and nodded in agreement.

"Okay, okay, I won't say anything. But just know, it's a great book."

I rolled my eyes and smiled, "I know it is. That's why I'm reading it."

Looking up, I saw that everyone was standing up as he walked into the room. The sound of shoes scraping against the floor echoed throughout the classroom as the students quickly got to their feet.

There was a rustling of clothes and the jingling of keys as he made his way to the front of the room.

His eyes swept over the classroom, and he took note of my presence, giving me a nod of acknowledgment. I smiled back, feeling a bit relieved to see his face again.

It was my favourite teacher, Mr Yudrov.

But when I realized, it was almost as if he wasn't surprised to see me back. Unlike how everyone else was.

Did you send me that post, Mr Yudrov?