The start of a new school week.
Just kill me.
The weekend ended way too fast, like someone hit fast-forward on my one shot at peace. It felt like just a breath ago I had Aiden in my arms, his head resting against my chest, the world quieter than it had been in months. And now… now I'm back in these fluorescent-lit hallways with sticky floors and loud lockers slamming like war drums.
Sunday? Yeah. Waste of air. I could've called him. Could've texted. Maybe asked him out—like a real date, something simple, something stupid. But no. I chickened out. Again. Just stared at my phone like a moron.
Pathetic.
Dragging my feet down the hallway toward class, I started hearing it. Whispers. The kind that crawl under your skin. My name floated out in fragments. Like it was something dirty. Something rotten.
I turned my head, eyes narrowing. A small group of girls froze the second our eyes met, like I'd caught them stealing. One even flinched. I raised an eyebrow.
"Can I help you with something?" I asked, voice calm, too calm.
They glanced at each other, unsure, like they didn't expect me to actually speak. Then I stepped closer.
"I said—is there a problem?"
One of them finally rolled her eyes with the kind of disgust usually reserved for garbage bins. "Quit pretending like you don't know what happened."
"…Okay," I said, flatly. Still confused.
Then another girl's voice broke through—sharper, louder. "It was you, wasn't it? How dare you? How could you?!"
I blinked at them. That's when the irritation kicked in.
"Alright, I can see you're clearly upset, and honestly? That's not my problem. But maybe instead of yelling accusations in a hallway, you could at least tell me what I'm supposedly guilty of. Because I have no idea who either of you are."
"We sit in the same stats class," one of them snapped.
"Oh," I replied, with the emotional depth of a wall. I still didn't recognize them.
"Angela was fine on Friday," the other one started. "She told us she was going to tutor you. We didn't think much of it and—"
"Wait," I cut in. "Are you seriously blaming me for what happened to Angela?"
"So you do know!" she shot back.
"Yes. She never showed up."
"And we're just supposed to believe that?"
I stared at them. These girls were serious. Dead serious.
"I met her for the first time on Friday. That was it. First and last meeting," I said, already feeling the headache coming. "What, do you think I followed her home? Hurt her? I don't know if it's obvious but—" I hesitated. "I'm gay."
Silence.
Their mouths shut. Faces blank.
Shit.
Did I just come out to two random girls I'll probably never speak to again?
I cleared my throat. "Not that it has anything to do with this conversation, but no—I didn't do anything to her."
One of them looked me up and down. "So… you're saying it wasn't you?"
"No," I said, firm. "It wasn't."
"Well," the first one muttered. "That's… good to know."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave them a tight smile. "So maybe stop spreading my name around like I'm some wanted criminal?"
They didn't respond at first, then one of them spoke again, quieter. "If it wasn't you, then who was it? Angela's condition is bad. Really bad. They're saying she might never walk again."
I froze.
"What?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," she said. "Whoever did it really messed her up. I heard her legs were broken. She's in the hospital. ICU or something."
A cold chill crept up my spine.
"That's… that's insane," I muttered.
"Yeah. I mean, now that I think about it—it couldn't be you," the other girl said, a little lighter now. "No way are you that strong."
"Hey—" I started, insulted.
But before I could save what was left of my ego, the teacher assigned to hall duty came around the corner, barking orders and waving people into classrooms. The crowd broke up and we all scattered like sheep.
As I slipped into class, my mind was somewhere else.
Angela Dickens.
What the hell happened to her?
_ _ _
Of course I'd get summoned to the office of Mrs. Evelyn Pritchard. Why wouldn't I? Monday was already trying to end me and now I had to deal with her too.
By the time I got there, she was neck-deep in paperwork, scribbling down whatever it is teachers scribble down to look busy. Honestly, if you asked me, I'd say she was pretending. Just putting on a performance—like she's some overworked, underpaid public servant holding the entire education system on her back. I wasn't buying it.
She didn't even look up at first. Just kept writing. Power move, sure, but unnecessary.
Then finally—finally—she lifted her head and hit me with,
"Mr. Almasi."
"Hey, listen, ma'am," I said as I sat down, "I don't want to come off rude or anything, but can you not refer to me as Mr. Almasi? Just Isaaq is fine."
She raised an eyebrow. "But isn't that your name?"
I exhaled slowly. "Honestly, I kind of wish it wasn't. And I don't want to talk about it."
She sighed, took off her glasses dramatically like she was about to solve a murder.
"Fine. Isaaq—which is a very interesting name, by the way."
"Wish I could say the same," I shrugged. "Also, I didn't name myself, so if you've got questions, take it up with the universe."
She smirked slightly. "Funny."
Pause.
"Well," she continued, "you managed to catch up on every single pending assignment and project over the weekend. I have to say, I'm impressed."
I gave a half-smile. "Oh, um, thank you, ma'am."
"It seems Mr. Greyman handled you quite well."
I nearly choked on my own spit but managed to keep a straight face. "Oh yeah. He handled me very well."
Greyman? Was she talking about Aiden?
Thankfully, she didn't catch the not-so-subtle innuendo in my tone.
She nodded thoughtfully. "Well, it seems his methods have proven to be quite effective—"
"Oh, they're effective alright."
She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward just a little. "Is there something you're not telling me… Isaaq?"
I sat up straighter. "Nope. Everything's perfectly normal."
"At first, I wasn't sure if the vice president would be able to juggle tutoring and his responsibilities, but he's proven to be quite capable. Honestly, I didn't think we'd see such results after Angela, so…" She paused, locking eyes with me. "I think it's for the best he remains your tutor."
I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. "Ma'am, I couldn't agree more."
The entire conversation was a battlefield. Not of words—of restraint. Her choice of phrasing? Not helping. Handled me, effective methods, remains my tutor—woman, please. My mind kept replaying scenes I should not be thinking about in a school administrator's office. I was this close to betraying my own body with a very unfortunate situation in my pants. Not here. Not now. You're better than this, Isaaq.
"Alright, that'll be all. You may leave."
Relief hit me like fresh air after a fire drill. I'd never felt so grateful to walk out of a room in my life. I shot up from my seat and made for the door like it owed me money.
Then I paused, something tugging at my gut.
I turned back. "What about Angela?"
Mrs. Pritchard tilted her head. "What about Angela?"
"Is she okay?"
She squinted slightly, suspicious. "Is this a trick question?"
"No, I'm just… showing concern."
"She's being taken care of. You don't need to worry about her. Just focus on your grades, okay? Now shoo."
Shoo. Right. Like a cat.
I left, eyebrows furrowed.
So that's it? No real update? No sense of urgency? Just 'focus on your grades'?
Sheesh. I try to be nice for once and this is what I get?
Where's the humanity in this woman?