Not So Perfect

Position

 The uneasy truce from Tony's apartment dissolves the moment they step into the school's main hall. Angela, clad in Tony's oversized hoodie and jeans, feels exposed, vulnerable. The clothes, a temporary comfort, now amplify her sense of displacement. Tony, usually a figure blending into the background, is now a beacon, his presence drawing even more attention to her.

The whispers start immediately, a low, buzzing hum that follows them like a swarm of angry bees. Heads turn, eyes narrow, and conversations abruptly cease. Angela's stomach twists into knots. She feels the weight of their scrutiny, the unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air.

"Is that... Tony's clothes?" a voice hisses, laced with a mix of curiosity and judgment.

"What happened to her?" another whispers, their tone laced with a morbid fascination.

Angela clenches her jaw, forcing a blank expression onto her face. She straightens her spine, attempting to project an air of nonchalance she doesn't feel. She won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. She will maintain her facade. Everything is fine.

She focuses solely on Tony, her gaze fixed on his back as he navigates the crowded hallway. He is her anchor, her only point of stability in the swirling chaos. She refuses to acknowledge the whispers, the stares, the snide remarks that cut through the air like shards of glass.

"She looks like she slept in those," someone snickers, the sound echoing through the sudden silence.

Angela's hands tremble, but she keeps her gaze forward. She won't give them the reaction they crave. She won't let them see her crumble.

Tony, sensing her growing distress, subtly shifts his position, creating a barrier between her and the prying eyes. His presence, usually unnoticed, now feels like a lifeline. He doesn't say anything, doesn't acknowledge the whispers, but his silent support is a tangible comfort.

As they reach her locker, a small group of students linger, their eyes fixed on Angela. She ignores them, pretending to search for a nonexistent book, her movements deliberate and slow.

"She's acting like nothing's wrong," someone whispers, their voice laced with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

Angela slams her locker shut, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. She turns to Tony, her expression blank, her voice flat. "Let's go," she says, the word a silent command.

She won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. She won't let them win. But the whispers, the stares, the unspoken accusations, are a constant, gnawing reminder of the secret she carries, the facade she is desperately trying to maintain. And she knows, deep down, that it won't last.

As Angela and Tony begin to walk away from her locker, Jessie and Maggie materialize at her side, their presence a silent, unwavering support. They don't ask questions, don't offer platitudes. They simply stand beside her, their shoulders brushing against hers, a tangible shield against the prying eyes.

Jessie's expression is hard, her eyes narrowed, daring anyone to say a word. Maggie's usual bubbly demeanor is replaced with a quiet, fierce protectiveness. They form a united front, a silent declaration that Angela is not alone.

The whispers continue, but they seem to diminish slightly, losing their venom in the face of this united support. Angela, though grateful, keeps her gaze forward, her expression a carefully constructed mask of indifference. She won't acknowledge them, won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

The day unfolds in a blur of classrooms and hallways, each passing moment a test of Angela's resolve. She forces herself to participate in class discussions, to answer questions, to maintain the illusion of normalcy. She's a performer, playing a role, and she refuses to break character.

The fragile sense of normalcy they've managed to create shatters as they make their way towards the cafeteria. The usual lunchtime bustle, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversations, is suddenly punctuated by a sharp, authoritative voice.

"Angela Torres?"

Angela freezes, her breath catching in her throat. Two uniformed police officers stand a few feet away, their expressions grim and unreadable. The scent of disinfectant and authority replaces the usual lunchtime aromas.

Tony's hand tightens on Angela's arm, a silent, protective gesture. His eyes narrow, his posture shifting into a defensive stance. Jessie and Maggie, their faces mirroring Angela's alarm, move closer, forming a tight, protective circle.

"We need to speak with you," one of the officers says, his voice flat and official. "Regarding the disappearance of Sophie Mendez."

Angela's heart pounds against her ribs. Sophie. The name, a dark secret she carries, now hangs in the air, a chilling accusation.

"What's this about?" Tony asks, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes fixed on the officers.

"We're conducting an investigation," the officer replies, his gaze unwavering. "We have reason to believe Ms. Torres may have information relevant to Ms. Mendez's disappearance."

"Information?" Tony repeats, his voice laced with suspicion. "What kind of information?"

"That's what we'd like to discuss with Ms. Torres," the officer says, his tone firm. "In private."

Angela's legs feel like lead. She looks at Tony, her eyes pleading for him not to let them take her.

"She's not going anywhere," Tony says, his voice hard, his eyes flashing with a protective fury. "Not without me. And not without her lawyer present."

"Sir, this is a police matter," the officer says, his voice hardening. "We're simply asking a few questions."

"And she's not answering any without legal counsel," Tony counters, his voice unwavering. He steps closer to Angela, his body a solid barrier between her and the officers. "You want to talk to her? Get a warrant."

"It's fine," she says setting a hand over his, "I'll talk to them."