DIARY OF THE USELESS ONE

THE TRAP

**JOEL’S POV**

I still think back to the first day I crossed paths with Grace. It was the beginning of senior year, and I had just switched schools, leaving my junior school behind. Everyone seemed to already have a connection with her—like she was some kind of superstar. Whispers buzzed in the hall that morning, and the name “Grace” floated around like magic. I couldn’t help but feel curious about what made her so special. Back at my old school, I was used to being on top, but arriving here, everything felt different. There was an aura surrounding this girl that I couldn't quite grasp.

People truly adored her. They spoke of her as if she were untouchable—brilliant, flawless, always at the top of her game. It wasn’t just about her grades, either. Juniors regarded her as their school mom, while even the seniors, who should have known their place, treated her like their school daughter. Somehow, she effortlessly commanded respect without demanding it. Yet, she consistently turned them down, insisting that she needed to maintain her focus, that distractions had no place in her life.

The moment I finally laid eyes on her, everything seemed to fall into place. She arrived late that morning, stepping out of a shiny car with her sister clinging to her side. I found myself captivated. She radiated warmth, her caramel skin gleaming in the sunlight as if it were drawn to her glow. There was a serene confidence about her, the type that doesn’t need to shout to be acknowledged. Her sister clung to her arm, and Grace's smile spoke volumes about the bond they shared.

My parents, standing right there with me, were just as enchanted by her presence as I was. My dad grinned and playfully pointed her out.

“That’s the star of this school,” he said, half-joking. “Joel, I wouldn't blame you if you found yourself straying off course.”

I chuckled at his comment, but deep down, I knew he had a point. Even before I got to know her, I recognized she was someone special. Grace existed in a realm I had never experienced before. I hadn’t even exchanged words with her, but I already felt the weight of her reputation looming over me. Sure, I was no slouch—I’d been at the top of my class before, and I knew the value of hard work. But attending the same school as Grace? I quickly came to terms with the fact that I had met my match.

As the weeks went by, it became increasingly clear that she was indeed everything everyone said she was. Grace consistently walked away with the title of the best student, term after term. No matter how much effort I put in, she always seemed just a bit ahead. Her notes were immaculate, her focus unwavering, and her energy seemed infinite. But it wasn’t just her academic prowess—Grace was more than just the “bright kid.” She had this magnetic aura about her that naturally drew people in. Yet, she wasn’t aloof, either. She smiled, laughed, and was always available for those in need. She was the kind of person who made admiration inevitable. It wasn’t exactly jealousy—it was more about feeling awestruck.

I can’t forget the day she marched into the headmaster’s office with Petra and me after we received our exam results. The headmaster congratulated me for finally being on top, but even then, he joked that it wouldn’t last long. He turned to Grace with a twinkle in his eye and said, “I’m sure you just let him savor the taste of first place. You’ll reclaim it next term, won’t you?”

Grace laughed and played along, wearing that effortless smile she was known for. But there was something off that day. Even then, I could feel it, though I didn’t know why. She didn’t seem quite like the untouchable Grace I always admired. That smile—it wasn’t as bright or as easy as it usually was. She appeared the same on the surface, but something was definitely missing.

Now, as I watch her walk toward the car, her shoulders slumped as if she’s carrying a weight too heavy to bear, I find myself questioning what happened to that Grace. The girl who always exuded confidence. The girl who never faked a smile. The one who could elevate the mood of the room with just a glance. She knew when to be serious, but she also had a playful side, laughing with friends or sharing jokes between classes. She was focused, yet never so rigid that it felt like she was holding herself together with sheer determination.

Lately, it seems like she’s just… vanished. The spark that made Grace the person we all loved is missing. She rarely smiles now, and when she does, there’s something missing. It doesn’t reach her eyes. She seems lost in her own world, distracted, as though she’s checked out entirely. The hardest part is that she lost the role of the lead in the drama audition to our school rival—something that would have been unimaginable just a year ago.

I still recall my parents’ surprise when I finally topped the class instead of Grace in the last term’s exams. They always viewed her as the one to beat, and when I pulled it off, my dad joked, “Is Grace okay? Is she unwell?”

At that moment, it felt like a victory, but now? It doesn’t sit right. I can’t shake the feeling that something is genuinely wrong, that the Grace we all cherished is slipping away, and I’m at a loss for how to reach out to her. This term, she’s been so distant, and I can’t fathom why. It’s as if she’s shouldering a heavy burden that she’s unwilling to share, and it’s consuming her. And it aches me to see her like this. I hate watching her suffer.

Unknown to me, tears began to roll down my cheeks—just a few, but they stung. They were the quiet tears that come when everything feels off, and you feel powerless to fix it. My hand tightened into a fist until I felt something soft pressed against it. I blinked and looked down. A handkerchief.

I raised my gaze and found Petra watching me, her eyes puffy and red. She didn’t say anything right away; she just sighed and sat down next to me. It was clear she’d been thinking about Grace, too.

“I wish she’d just open up about what’s going on,” Petra finally said, her voice soft and filled with concern. “You know how she used to be—she was always the first to share what happened during her day, no matter what. We’d barely step out of class before she’d start telling us about something funny a teacher did, or how she aced a test.”

I nodded, my heart feeling heavier. That was Grace. Always the first to share, always bubbling with excitement, as if she couldn’t wait to let us in on her day. We all did it—shared our highs and lows—but Grace? She led the way. If she wasn’t in the mood to talk, though, it felt like running into a brick wall. She would just shut down, needing her own space before she could open up again. It was just how she was.

“But now...” Petra said, her voice trailing off. “Now she hardly talks to us at all. Do we push her to share, or do we wait for her like we normally do?”

I sighed, leaning my head back against the school wall. “I don’t know, Petra. I’ve been pondering the same thing. If we push her too hard, she might just pull away even more. But if we wait... what if she never decides to share?”

“That’s what frightens me,” Petra confessed. “What if she never does?”

I had no answer for her. Grace was always so strong, so self-assured. But lately, that strength seemed to waver. The girl who never offered a fake smile was now hiding behind a mask, and none of us knew how to help her take it off.

"I hate this," I said quietly, looking down at the handkerchief in my hand. "We’re supposed to be her best friends. But I feel like I don’t even know what’s happening with her anymore."

Petra nodded, dabbing her eyes. "It’s like she’s drifting away, and we don't know how to reach her."

I swallowed hard, fighting the lump in my throat. “Maybe she just needs a little more time. She’ll come around eventually. She always does, doesn’t she?”

Petra frowned, clearly doubtful. "She’s not the type to let something like losing the poet drama audition get to her. She has always bounced back and learned from her mistakes. But now... I don’t know, Joel. Something feels off."

“I know,” I said softly. “But maybe it’s best if we just wait until she’s ready. If we push too hard, we might make it worse.”

We sat in silence after that, lost in our worries, both anxious about the same person but unsure of what to do. Petra let out a shaky breath, crossing her arms.

“I just wish she’d let us in, like before,” Petra murmured, her voice quivering. “We’re her friends. We’re supposed to support her.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Yeah. I wish that too."

Our rides arrived one after the other, their headlights slicing through the dimming evening light. Petra stood up first, her hand briefly brushing against my shoulder.

“We’ll talk more in the group chat later, okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice thick. “We will.”

As Petra walked to her car, I lingered for a moment, staring at the empty spot where Grace’s car used to be. Something had to change. I just didn’t know how to reach her anymore. And that... that terrified me the most.

————-

**GRACE POV**

Here I am, sitting in the study room, dressed in the comfy clothes I quickly changed into after Dad insisted I take off my school uniform. The atmosphere feels heavy, almost suffocating. My tutor is seated across from me, flipping through his notes, and I can sense his gaze lingering on me, even when I’m not making eye contact.

My stomach gives a soft growl, but I keep quiet. I haven't eaten since lunch, and that was ages ago. I'm so hungry, but I know better than to ask for a break. No food until I wrap up the lesson, my homework, and the never-ending list of responsibilities weighing me down. It doesn’t matter how drained or famished I feel—I can’t let myself show any signs of weakness.

Especially not after what Dad said.

*"I expect a full report on her performance, every detail."*

Those words circle in my brain, each repetition cutting deeper. I can’t shake the thought of them. Every action I take, every moment that ticks by feels like it’s adding to my burden.

What will he report back to Dad? That I wasn’t paying attention? That I was daydreaming again, like I always do? That I’m falling short of what’s expected of me?

I clutch my notebook a bit too tightly, the pages bending beneath my grip. I know I’m not fully present in this lesson. How could I be? My mind is tangled in worries about Dad’s disappointment, the pressure of being the oldest, the overwhelming need to be flawless.

The tutor’s voice drifts around me like a soft buzz. I nod when required, jot down notes that I hardly understand, and try to appear interested. But my thoughts are a whirlwind, swinging between anxiety and sheer fatigue. I can barely keep my eyes open, but there’s no way I’m letting that show.

“Grace, did you catch that?” His voice slices through my fog of thoughts, yanking me back to the moment.

“Yeah,” I respond quickly, forcing a faint smile. “I got it.”

But in reality, I didn’t. Not at all. I’ve been staring at the same sentence for what feels like forever, and it still makes no sense to me.

He gives me a tight-lipped smile, the kind that hints he knows I'm not fully there, but he holds back from saying anything. Not yet.

I steal a glance at the clock. Dad will want his update soon. The pressure escalates, twisting my stomach even tighter. I can't afford to mess this up. Not today. Not with Dad shadowing my every move.

Another soft growl from my stomach. I bite the inside of my cheek, shoving aside the pangs of hunger. Food can hold off. Everything else can wait. Right now, the only thing that matters is finishing this lesson and hoping my tutor has something—*anything*—positive to share.

But the truth is, I’m barely hanging on.

————

The ticking clock feels louder in the silence of the study room, counting down the minutes until the inevitable report. I scribble notes, my hand shaky, while my mind drifts in a fog of hunger and worry.

My stomach growls again, louder this time. I freeze, hoping my tutor didn’t hear, but he stops mid-sentence, looking at me with furrowed brows.

“Grace,” he says softly, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “When was the last time you ate?”

I glance down at my notes, pretending to focus on the equations I’m writing, even though none of it is sinking in. “I’m fine,” I say quickly, avoiding eye contact.

“You’re not,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re exhausted, and you’re hungry. You need to eat something.”

I shake my head, forcing a smile that I hope comes off as convincing. “I’ll eat after we’re done.”

He sighs, setting his pen down on the desk. “Grace, you won’t be able to focus if you don’t take care of yourself. Go grab something to eat, just for a few minutes. You’ll study better once you’ve eaten.”

The suggestion only tightens the knot in my stomach. The thought of stepping away, even for a moment, feels impossible. My dad’s voice echoes in my head: *"Make sure you report her performance to me before you leave."*

“I can’t,” I blurt out, my voice barely above a whisper. “Dad wants me to finish everything first.”

My tutor’s eyes soften, and for a second, I think he might argue. But then he sighs, his gaze dropping to the open textbook in front of him. “Grace, your father’s expectations are… high, I know. But starving yourself isn’t going to help.”

I feel my chest tighten. He doesn’t understand. Eating means wasting time, and wasting time means another failure. Another disappointment.

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat, though the words don’t feel convincing, not even to myself.

My tutor watches me for a moment longer, then finally relents with a nod. “Alright,” he says quietly. “But if you need a break, even for five minutes, just say so. You don’t have to push yourself this hard.”

I nod, but we both know I won’t ask for a break. I can’t. Not with everything hanging over my head.