𝔍𝔞𝔯𝔞'𝔰 𝔏𝔬𝔤𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔨

#13

But there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew
All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true
And the games you'd play, you would always win, always win

- Adele, "Set Fire to the Rain" 🎵

*

"Happy New Year!" I hear in the most heartfelt choruses as I inch painfully through the hallway, locating my locker and hauling my books into it. As my eyes scout the area, I hear everyone jabbering about their holidays. Internally, I wish I didn't just have one of the most emotionally gruelling Christmases a person can have in their lifetime, but it's not like wishing things away can somehow miraculously alter the fact that they happened. I try earnestly not to reminisce Christmas Eve. And it didn't matter that it was two weeks ago; the hurt is evergreen.

As I fiddle pointlessly with my locker, the coarse sensation of unshaven stubble grazes against my skin and I truthfully jump, definitely fazed. I turn around and a beaming Ashish is right before me, looking more brawny than he had been prior to Christmas. His beard has also sprouted further and he leaves it untrimmed. He crashes his arms around me and I suddenly feel abashed as eyebrows raise themselves in our direction. I return the hug, embracing him tightly.

He pulls away and grasps my shoulders. I wince slightly as he mouths compliments for the new year. In his currently gleeful state, I don't want to even remotely upset him. So I do what any considerate person would do: I curl my lips in a pretended smile.

"Well, I didn't think you lovebirds would be literally over each other on the first day of our second trimester," an all too familiar, upbeat female voice sounds. My hands disregard the composure I'm trying to retain and run to embrace Reese Buckler, my tears exiting through my ducts. "Happy New Year to you too, twink."

I sniff. "Can you not refer to me with terms from the gay subculture? Not that I don't like it. It's just that my behind is already tender as it is—"

"Say no more," Reese snaps sprightly as she walks over to Ashish and hugs him. I hear her say something to him that's audibly similar to "salaam".

He chortles. "You do know I'm not Muslim, right? The greeting where I'm from is aap kaise ho, mere yaara?"

"That's not Hindi!" She objects, earning another laugh from him and a slight smack to her cheek.

"No, it's not. It's advanced Hindi."

"There's no such thing!" She puffs in feigned indignation, crossing her arms around her chest.

I don't know why their conversation, uninteresting as it is, makes me blush so joyfully. I'm thrilled to know my friends are getting along.

Reese pulls Ashish by the wrist and pulls me once she reaches me. "Come on, we'll be late for assembly!"

"What's got you all perky today? Was your Christmas that good?" Ashish questions her as we walk to the hall.

"Well, I got my first kiss!" She announces mirthfully. Ashish laughs so much I laugh as well.

"Well," he comports himself. "How was it?"

"And why should I tell you?"

His squints his eyes, licking his lip lewdly. "My lips did a lot last Christmas, so you might want to tell the one with actual experience here."

"Not until Jara here," she nudges me and I nearly topple over; "tells us why he's awfully quiet."

"I'm fine," I speak for myself. "How's Asha?"

"She's unpacking into her locker." He replies.

"Then why aren't you with her?" I almost sound like one of those dextrous private investigators drilling suspects and witnesses back on court TV.

"She's got a boyfriend now," he mutters. "He asked him out during the holiday, that too on phone."

"And who's that?" Reese seems genuinely inquisitive. The poor child still cares.

"It's Lake Tiller."

†

I've had a two-hour PE class beginning at eight twenty. I didn't think I could loathe anything as much as I do maths, but I somehow unaccountably seem to loathe this with equal fervour. I'm still dressed in my gym uniform en route to my locker.

Lake's back and I don't think I mind praying twenty decades of the Rosary every day of my life if only it means he won't remember what I did to him. I'm a bit unsettled though. Why hasn't he reported me yet? Is he trying to anticipate my next move or wait for my Catholic guilt to impel me into confessing? Whatever it is, I've got a very bad feeling; and I almost never do.

I walk past Trey and two unnamed boys as I head to my locker. I'd like to think he doesn't know I just traipsed past him unnoticed, but he calls out to me as he truncates his talks with his other guys. "Hey. Happy New Year. How're you doing?"

Oh, you mean after being flagellated like some historic martyr? I'm on top of the world! "I'm fine." I answer tersely.

"I know, Jara," he tell me as his eyes dive into his phone. I'm about to walk away, but an almost invisible gesture of his fingers lets me know he's acting like he's using his phone because people are watching. I continue fiddling with my books until he speaks up again. "I know about your father."

My hands and heart temporarily cease moving. "Y–You know–w what?"

"I didn't hang up when your dad walked in," he informs me, his look acerbic. "I heard him say all those inhumane things to you and how he whipped you like some mule. Trust me, I heard everything."

"Trey, are you high on mushrooms?" I prattle as I attempt to evade his line of conversation. "I think it's got you hearing things—"

"Why are you even defending him?" He's almost yelling. "The man called you a disgraceful person. How can you be cool with that?"

"Trey, I—"

"I am going to murder your father. I promise you that."

Trey is about to speak further when we hear cackling erupt around us. When the vibrant tones louden, I'm terribly shaken to find the hall swarming with students of all levels pointing in my direction; all of whom have phones solidly gripped in their palms.

What is going on?

"Hunt, what the hell!" One of the guys Trey was talking to earlier returns with a phone, breasting the others in their prolonged, roaring, boisterous laughter. "How come you never told us?"

"Told you what?" Tremaine, though discomposed, manages to maintain a tranquil voice. "What's the big deal?" Trey wrenches the phone from his hand and I immediately press my palms together, petitioning God for it to be nothing. But when his eyes widen in mortification, I feel whatever hopes I have hurled out the window.

"No," he gasps. His eyes bore holes into the guy, his hand now so vigorously gripping the phone that I can hear its screen crack. "Where'd you get this?"

"Some girl the quarterback is dating," the guy responds. Wait, where have I heard that today?

I take the initiative to ask Trey. "Would you please tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah, why don't you tell the sub what's up?" I hear someone in the crowd jeer.

Trey is hesitant, so I pull the phone from him and glance at the screen. And that's when my heart rate is inhibited, my eyes well up with scalding tears, my saliva feel dry and my head feel heavy.

The picture captures Trey and me kissing in the locker room.

†

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