Beneath The Surface

2

Sophie

The morning started with the smell of coffee and the sound of rain easing to a drizzle. I was the first one downstairs, the house still and quiet-except for the occasional creak of wood settling. My mom would emerge eventually, with her hair in a messy bun and the soft shuffle of slippers, but for now, I had the kitchen to myself.

Navy-blue sky. A kind of in-between, not yet light, not fully dark. That's the space I liked to occupy-edges and pauses, where nothing felt too overwhelming. I pulled on my favorite jacket, zipped it up to my chin, and glanced at the clock. I always liked to arrive a little early, claim my spot near the window, and watch as the day began for everyone else.

When I got to school, the class was already half full, my classmates buzzing in clumps around desks. I slid into my seat, the one that gave me the best view of both the board and the sky outside. The November chill hadn't fully lifted, and the radiator by the window wheezed softly, trying its best to keep up.

I spotted her then-Ms. Lawson. Cate Lawson. Always calm, always composed. Her hair was pinned back neatly, though a strand had escaped and rested just behind her ear. She moved with this strange kind of quiet authority, as if she carried an invisible shield around her. It wasn't unkind, but it wasn't warm either.

The thing about Ms. Lawson was that you didn't just see her; you felt her presence. Even when she wasn't looking at me, it was like she knew. Knew who was paying attention. Knew who wasn't. Knew that I couldn't stop noticing how she carried herself-measured and careful, like she was holding back more than she'd ever let anyone see.

I couldn't decide if that intrigued me or frustrated me.

The assignment had seemed straightforward. At least, I thought it was. Something about interpreting a passage from a novel and linking it to the larger theme we'd been discussing in class. I liked this kind of thing-digging for meaning, finding connections.

But apparently, I'd dug too far, or not in the direction Ms. Lawson wanted.

"Ms. Carrington," she said, her voice slicing through the low murmur of the room.

I looked up, startled. She stood at the edge of my desk, holding the sheet of paper I'd turned in. Her expression was neutral, but her tone wasn't.

"This wasn't the assignment," she said.

I blinked. "I thought you wanted us to-"

"I wanted you to follow the instructions," she interrupted, her voice sharper now. "This isn't what I asked for."

The air felt thinner suddenly, and my throat tightened. I could feel the weight of the room's attention shifting toward us. My fingers curled around the edge of my desk, gripping it for stability.

"I... misunderstood," I said quietly, heat rising to my cheeks.

Her eyes flicked to mine, and for the briefest second, I thought I saw something soften there-but it was gone just as quickly.

"Next time, pay closer attention," she said, before turning away and moving to the next row.

I stared down at my desk, the words I wanted to say caught in my throat.

I replayed the moment over and over in my head, as if turning it around would reveal something I'd missed. Ms. Bennett's voice had been so steady, so firm, but there was something else beneath it. A hesitation? A crack?

I couldn't decide if it was just me, projecting my own thoughts, or if there really was something about her that didn't match the cool exterior she projected.

As the day wore on, I tried to shake it off. There was no point obsessing over one moment, one exchange. And yet, it lingered. Her words. Her tone. The way her gaze had pierced through me like she could see past whatever shield I'd built for myself.