Beneath The Surface

3

Sophie

The alarm blares before the sun has fully risen, a shrill, unrelenting sound that pulls me from the haze of sleep. I groan, slapping my hand around the nightstand until I finally find the off button. For a moment, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the world waking up outside.

Max scratches at my door, his nails a soft rhythm against the wood. I roll out of bed, shivering as my feet hit the cold floor. "Alright, alright," I mumble, opening the door just enough for him to bound in, his tail wagging like it's the best day of his life.

"Morning, boy," I say, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. His tongue lolls out happily, and for a moment, the warmth of his presence makes it a little easier to drag myself into the day.

The shower is quick-warm enough to wake me up, but not long enough to make me late. By the time I'm pulling on my favorite sweater and wrapping my navy scarf around my neck, the house smells like coffee and toast.

"Morning, sweetheart," Mom says from the kitchen, holding out a steaming mug as I walk in. She's already dressed for her work-from-home day, her hair pulled back into a loose bun.

"Morning," I reply, taking the mug and leaning against the counter. Dad's nowhere to be seen, probably already off to the office.

"You sleep okay?" she asks, slicing an apple for her breakfast.

"Yeah, I guess," I say, which isn't entirely true. I slept, sure, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. Ms. Lawson's face kept flashing behind my eyelids-her sharp gaze, the way she carried herself like she didn't want anyone to get too close.

Mom doesn't press, and I'm grateful. After a quick bite, I grab my bag, give Max a goodbye pat, and head out into the brisk morning air.

The walk to the bus stop feels quieter than usual, like the world is still tucked in under its blanket of autumn leaves. The chill bites at my cheeks, and I pull my scarf tighter as I wait for the bus to rumble down the street.

By the time I get to school, the hallways are already alive with chatter. Ethan is leaning against the lockers when I find him, his arms crossed casually, a slight smile on his face. Mia shows up a moment later, a whirlwind of energy, as usual.

"Another thrilling day at Carrington High," she announces, tossing her hair dramatically.

"You're late," Ethan teases, and she waves him off like it's not even worth addressing.

"Do we have Lawson first thing?" Mia asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah," I say, glancing down the hallway toward her classroom. "Looking forward to it?"

"Not even a little," she says, linking her arm through mine. "But at least we'll suffer together."

We make our way to Room 205, the noise of the hallway fading as we step inside. Ms. Lawson is already there, standing at the front of the room with that same stiff posture, her arms crossed. Her eyes flick up as we enter, scanning the room with a gaze that feels sharper than the morning air outside.

She doesn't say anything right away, just waits as the last stragglers shuffle in. The silence stretches until it's almost uncomfortable, and then, finally, she begins.

"Let's get started," she says, her tone as clipped as ever.

The lesson is efficient, methodical. She moves through the material like she's checking boxes on a list, leaving no room for distraction or conversation. Every question is met with a short, direct answer, and every moment of hesitation from a student earns a pointed look that makes you want to sink into your chair.