CHAPTER 13: NOISE
967 Words
Dawn’s POV
I wake up to soft curtains.
Not alarms.
Not shouting.
Not pressure.
Just sunlight slipping through white drapes and the faint scent of vanilla from the diffuser my mum insists helps “positive energy circulate.”
Our house is always calm in the morning.
Too calm sometimes.
The marble floors downstairs are already spotless when I walk into the dining area. My mum is at the table, scrolling through her tablet, looking composed as always — silk robe, neat hair, effortless beauty.
“Morning, baby,” she says.
Baby.
She always calls me that.
“Morning, Mum.”
My dad is already dressed for work, adjusting his cufflinks. He kisses my forehead before leaving.
“Big week?” he asks.
“Normal week,” I reply.
If only I knew.
Breakfast is balanced. Orange juice fresh. Eggs plated perfectly. Everything in my house looks like a magazine cover.
Perfect.
Stable.
Predictable.
I go upstairs to change.
School uniform pressed. Hair sleek. Lip gloss subtle. Small gold studs. I study myself in the mirror.
Composed.
Unbothered.
No one would guess I almost set a park on fire yesterday.
The driver is waiting by the time I step outside.
“Good morning, Miss Dawn,” he greets.
“Morning.”
The ride to school is smooth. Trees blur past the tinted window. I scroll through my phone lazily.
Then I see it.
Notifications.
Too many.
Messages.
Mentions.
Unknown numbers.
My stomach tightens.
I open i********:.
And there it is.
A video.
The circle.
The dance.
Me.
And him.
Cap low. Mask on. Face hidden.
But the chemistry?
Not hidden.
The caption reads:
“WHO IS MYSTERY GUY???”
Views: 27K.
My heart drops.
Comments flooding.
“She ate.”
“They’re insane together.”
“Are they dating???”
“Reveal his face!”
“Dawn finally met her match.”
I swallow.
The driver stops in front of school.
Before I step out—
A text comes in.
From a name I haven’t seen in weeks.
Korede.
My ex.
“So that’s what you’re doing now?”
My jaw tightens.
I don’t reply.
I step out of the car.
And chaos greets me.
People.
Phones.
Whispers exploding into full conversations.
“Dawn!”
“Is that your boyfriend?”
“Who is he??”
“Was that planned?”
“Say something!”
Aurora appears first, pushing through the crowd.
“What did you DO?!” she whisper-yells.
“I danced.”
“You BROKE the internet!”
I try to laugh it off.
But it keeps building.
More people gather.
Even juniors.
Even seniors who don’t talk to me.
Then—
Yemisi.
She walks toward us slowly.
Too slowly.
Her face is unreadable.
Someone shoves a phone toward her.
“Yemisi, is this Dawn’s new thing? What do you think?”
Wrong question.
Her jaw tightens.
Another voice: “Didn’t you used to dance too? This one is hotter though.”
The air shifts.
Dangerous.
Yemisi steps forward.
Her voice is low.
“Why are you all acting like she discovered oxygen?”
Silence.
A girl laughs nervously. “We’re just asking—”
“Ask her then.”
Her tone sharpens.
“Or better yet, mind your business.”
The crowd murmurs.
But someone else pushes.
“Are you jealous?”
That does it.
Yemisi turns fully now, eyes blazing.
“Jealous?” she repeats softly.
That softness is the scariest part.
“You people think everything is competition because that’s all you understand.”
Her voice rises.
“If she danced, she danced. Why are you suffocating her for it?”
Now it’s not just anger.
It’s something deeper.
Raw.
Unstable.
Everyone falls quiet.
Aurora grabs her arm gently. “Yem…”
“Don’t,” she snaps.
And for a second—
I see something c***k in her.
Not jealousy.
Not exactly.
But pressure.
And I realize…
This video didn’t just bring attention.
It shifted power.
And power always makes people uneasy.
My phone buzzes again.
Korede.
“You move on fast.”
I finally reply.
“We were over.”
Typing bubble.
Stops.
Starts again.
“Does he know who you really are?”
I lock my phone.
Because suddenly…
This isn’t just about a dance anymore.
Emeka’s POV
They think I’m happy.
It’s funny, actually.
If you smile long enough, people stop asking questions.
I’m leaning against my locker when the crowd erupts again.
“Dawn!”
“Show us his face!”
“Where is mystery guy?!”
I grin automatically.
“Celebrity behavior!” I shout jokingly.
People laugh.
They always laugh.
I’m good at that.
Making noise so no one hears silence.
Inside?
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
My parents barely look at me unless I do something wrong.
At home, the TV gets more attention than I do.
So I learned something early.
If you’re entertaining, you’re seen.
If you’re loud, you’re remembered.
If you make people laugh, they keep you around.
Even if they don’t actually know you.
I watch Dawn surrounded by cameras.
Yemisi tense like a wire about to snap.
Aurora mediating.
And I clap dramatically.
“Autographs later please!” I tease.
Dawn rolls her eyes at me.
But she smiles.
That’s enough.
Because when people smile at you—
It feels like something close to love.
Even if it isn’t.
I shove my hands into my pockets.
No one notices when I step back.
No one notices when I go quiet.
They only notice when I perform.
And I’m tired.
But I don’t know who I am when I’m not the joke.
The funny one.
The easy one.
So I stay loud.
Because silence?
Silence is dangerous.
It reminds me that attention is temporary.
And I don’t know how to survive without it.
- Writer
