clandestine

THREE

Mr. Raz led us to his office, situated atop the reception building, where we'd all entered five years ago, shaking and sweating, crying and smiling, for our first day of highschool. Now, we brush right past the desk where we were greeted that day, into the staff quarters, a hallway filled with various offices of various teachers and professors, names engraved on the doors. He leads us up to a set of stairs, and we trudge after him carefully, quiet in his wake. The only sound for minutes is the pounding of our footsteps as we climb, and the shortness of breath climbing three flights of stairs leaves us with.

"Here." He calls at the end of the staircase, signalling for us to all wait as he unlocked the door to his office. Under normal circumstances, those directed to the principal's office would sit on a small bench outside the elevator, and wait for his assistant to come and pick them up. Fancy school shit I know. But, for some reason, he led us personally up the stairs, a grand gesture for a grand problem I suppose.

He finished unlocking the door, and opened it, beckoning us into the office.

"Take a seat." He says, gesturing to three chairs strategically placed across from his desk.

We glance at each other, unsure. Then, Amaia sits down in the middle seat, directly in front of Mr.Raz's chair. Khoi and I followed shortly after.

"Now," Mr. Raz starts, surveying the three of us with an eye of superiority, recognising that us, his students, are at his mercy. "I'm sure you all know why you're here, but I'll explain the situation to you all anyway." He reaches for a mug at the side of his desk, filled presumably with tea, taking a sip slowly. "Last night, I have multiple reports of you three allegedly sneaking out of Woodbridge sometime around 11pm, and arriving back, covered in blood in the early hours of the morning."

I gulp. Shit. Does he know where we went? Does he think we killed his son? Why isn't he more distressed? His cool, calm and collected aura bugged me. It seemed suspicious. His son died last night and he was more pressed about a group of teenagers sneaking out?

He continued, eyes fixated on our faces. "What do you have to say about that?"

Amaia looks around nervously, and Khoi fiddles with his fingers distractedly. I take a deep breath then try to get us out of this mess.

"Did you see us?" I ask, hoping that my plan won't backfire on me.

"Excuse me?"

"Last night," I continued, still praying, "you said you had multiple reports, but do you have any proof?"

He glanced at me, surprise glistening over his features. "Well, no, but I'd assume, with multiple reports from multiple students, that the most cohesive part of their story is indeed correct."

"And that is?" I ask, eyebrows raised, questioning.

"That you three returned to school in the early hours of the morning, covered in blood." He responds, hands clasped together on the table, no nonsense look upon his face.

"Okay," Khoi starts, "but I don't believe that we did that."

"No?" Mr. Raz asks, face bemused albeit infuriated, like he knows what game we're trying to play. "Well I believe you did."

"Well now Mr. Raz, that's just assuming." Amaia speaks now, playing innocent victim perfectly. "You know how the kids at this school treat us, wasn't it merely a few months ago we were in here every day, courtesy of the rumours spread about us by various members of the student body?"

Mr. Raz stiffens. "That was a matter of the endangerment of student wellbeing and mental health. This is different."

"How so?" I inquire.