Mr Steve's full-figured body strolled into the classroom. His ash-brown curly hair was all over the place and his sturdy hands held a pink file. He sat on his desk and motioned for me to come to sit opposite him. I stood up, holding the paper to my side, and dragged my chair to the desk.

"Emerald Scother." He hoisted his small whiskey eyes, "Where's your paper?"

I brought the sheet up to him and he took it from me, his fingers grazing mine. He examined the paper like he wasn't the one who'd marked it and graded it.

"I still can't quite believe this is your paper, Miss Scother. You're never below eighty-eight in my subject." He squinted, "Only challenge's ever been Emily Aniah and Griffin Greenwood."

"I know, sir," I stretched my lips. I did know. This was so, so unlike me. I scratched my legs through the boyfriend jeans I wore. It was the only thing loose and big enough to cover up that bandage and not attract attention.

"Miss Scother, is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"No, sir. I'll do better next time, sorry." That was an overused phrase. Most of the time, the person who used it was telling a lie. Unfortunately, I was among those people.

With Neba around, I barely had time to open my books.

"See, your reports are not for me." I shifted in my chair, which was almost impossible considering that it was just a wooden four-legged chair with no armrest or a comfortable backrest. I eyed Mr Steve's black swivel chair. "Your reports are for you. To help you get into a good university in the future. Yale, Oxford, Brown, that kind of thing."

"I have already decided Birmingham is okay for me." He pushed his swivel back and it glided across the green wall.

"That public university?" He raised an eyebrow, placed his finger on my sheet which was on the table and moved the paper to me. I yanked my paper and flipped it. I didn't want to see the ‘35/100’ written in bold red on the middle of the paper and circled.

"Yes. That public university." I accentuated the word just so he'd see how wrong it was to devalue such a great public university. I doubt he got it, though.

"So you're telling me that if you gain an admission to Harvard, on a full scholarship, you wouldn't jump on the offer?"

"I cannot be that far away from home... and this has nothing to do with financial problems." Blood rose to my hand, head, everywhere. "Can I go? My lunchtime is almost used up."

He sighed and opened the pink file in his hand. "Miss Scother, I can offer you extra lessons or—"

"No!" That was the last thing I needed. The routine was clear: go to school, get back, take a quick bath, go to Neba, back in an hour, sleep for a straight one hour (because training with Crypta was exhausting), have another bath—a long one this time around—to take off the annoying smell of perspiration, and when I'm done, it's six and I'm hungry so I eat, then I help in the coffee shop for an hour or two.

Leaving me with one or two hours to study.

Extra lessons didn't fit in anywhere. At all!

"Why? I could take you for one hour... for free."

"Sir. I just told you that money is not the problem." I stood up so that I was taller than him at that moment. It made me more powerful and gave me confidence. Crypta was in my head, encouraging me to let it all out, to own my feelings. "I appreciate you trying to help me but I don't need help."

I turned and walked out of the room, crunching my sheet and putting it in my pocket. Even I was ashamed of my score. Hissing, I made my way to the cafeteria.

A pair of hands dragged me into a room filled with mops and buckets, brooms and dustpans, rubber gloves and all. I yelped. I moved my held hand aggressively and tilted my head up. George was hovering over me.

"Let go of me!" I spat when his hands caged my wrists.

I swear I was in no mood for this.

"Like hell I will." He was unreservedly calm. Josh was the opposite, never failing to take advantage of my vulnerable areas: stomach, cheeks, the joints in my elbow.

He shoved me, and I got down on a stack of buckets, my butts sat on one. My legs hauled in the air. The hem of my jeans pulled down, my bandage on half-display.

A sadist, that's what he was.

"I'm not a sadist," he retorted.

Had I spoken my thoughts out loud?

He extended his right hand to me. I pushed it away and tried to get up. Impossible unplanned scheme though. He tried again, offering help, but I scowled at him.

"Stop being so stubborn, you mad?"

I accepted his hand because I had limited options and got out. He seemed to have relaxed at my response. He sighed like he was contemplating something. I took advantage of that, pushed the buckets to his side, enough to distract him, and ran.

I bumped into a soft green wall. King's cologne: raspy orange and sweat, greeted me. Oh, what was it with meeting people I didn't want to see. First Mr Steve, then George Watson and now this? King's was worse.

He'd lied about my friend.

"Where are you in such a hurry to?" He grinned. Charming, or would have been if he wasn't a snitch. An untruthful one at that.

I pushed him away and he flinched, only slightly. I groaned and just walked past him, but he drew me to him. "Emery?"

"Let go before you say I pushed you."

I avoided his gaze at all costs. If I looked at his brown eyes, our similar eye colours would bond, mine would soften, my legs would tremble, and tears would pool at my eyes. Definitely not what I wanted.

"What are you talking about?"

He tried to drag me away from the door that led to the cafeteria but I stood still. He turned to me, his eyebrows narrowed, confusion written all over his face. Great, he could pretend too. "Emery?"

"Leave me alone."

"She said you should leave her alone." We both turned. Kimberly was standing there. Ms Jeana Smith was beside her, in a skirt suit, and firm thin lips, ready to scream ‘Detention, both of you!’

"Kingsley Isnaul?" She pursed, her hands gripping the folder bag in her hand. Her black stiletto marched to us. "You"—she pointed at me—"to the cafeteria. Isnaul, come with me."

King sough, sending me an apologetic look. One that I didn't return. His hair fell to his forehead. He shook his head and sighed as he tried to put them back in place. Those subtle cool things made me admire him.

I clenched my fist. He was an idiot.

Giving me one last confused glance, he followed the vice principal and Dean, Ms Smith, into her office.

Kimberly called just as I began to make my way to the cafeteria. "Sorry about my brother."

I didn't answer back. There was no good reply for a person like Kimberly. Her wavy caramel hair was tucked between her ears and tied at the back. A few strands lowered at her sides.

"You mind if we go to the cafeteria together. Ms Smith held me in for a long while. She was talking about the class presidency. The school's thinking of pulling it a bit earlier. Maybe before we go for our Easter break." She went on to ramble on about what she and Ms Smith discussed.

I nodded at appropriate times, stretching my lips whenever she said something she expected to smile or laugh at. Even when we had trays in front of us, she was still talking.

Sandra sat not far from us. Luan, Chloe, and Ashley were there, occupying the four chairs at Sandra's favourite table. Ashley stood out with her dark glowing skin, pink pouty lips, and black curly hair resting on her shoulders.

Kimberly was great company, truly. She tried to make small talk, which was impressive.

The automatic bell rang right before I was halfway through lunch. What I didn't expect was for Kimberly's soft pale hands to hold mine. "Can we meet at my house today, after school? It won't be long—"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I have an after-school job."

"One that you can't miss?" Her hazel eyes pleaded. "My mum picks me up after school. You can join us, skip the bus, I don't know, please. I'll beg my brother to drop you off back home."

"Listen, Kim, it's not about transportation or anything..." I trailed off. What excuse did I have? Today was Tuesday, Crypta wasn't expecting me today. But I planned to go, considering that I missed yesterday's training.

We were supposed to start on my physical-strength-improvement training yesterday.

But, of course, I couldn't tell Kimberly any of that. I didn't have a solid reason, one that wasn't fantasy-related.

She looked at me, waiting so that I would finish up my sentence. I breathed out. "I'll come on my own."

A smile etched her lips.

***

Kimberly was a semi-organized animated person. She had a bubbly bed with a thick blue duvet with characters from the Frozen movie. A snowman and a girl, dancing on snow, in the night sky. One edge of the bed was to the wall, the other edge had a circular table close to it, covered with a white satin cloth.

Her velvet room was covered with posters of Disney heroines: Rapunzel, Cinderella, Moana, Elsa, that was the much I knew. I sat on a chaise lounge at another edge of the five-walled room.

There was an etagere above the chaise and I knew there were awards there. Awards from all the cheerleading and every dancing competition she'd gone and won.

Kimberly sat on her bed, in front of the table. She was facing me while downing a bottle of water. I watched her do that, then get up and walk to her en-suite. "Want juice or wine? We've got cookies too."

"I'm fine thank you," I responded politely, as much as I wanted to get my hands on coffee. "What did you want to talk about?"

"See, I don't know how else to tell you this but... you need to stay away from Sandra."

My face shot up and she didn't steer an inch. For a few seconds though. "I know it's somehow but, see, I don't trust that girl. You don't trust a Rose-Gold cheerleader. Not the Goldies."

"So I shouldn't trust you?" I tried to make a point. Tried to sound non-committal.

"I know it's not easy for you to believe me. I'm one grade lower and all that, but I know Sandra Khaling much more than you do. We're cheerleaders."

Her pink-orange-light green glittering cupboard was opened and her green cheerleading outfit was in there, hung on a clothes hanger. It had golden sequins at the hem and chest, and a waistband, too. A bunch of her other outfits were there too, glimmering, just like her room.

I stared around, she waited for my reaction, and I gave none. She rubbed her thumb across the satin material that covered the circular table. "Well?"

I pressed my lips. "Thank you for the advice, Kimberly. It is much appreciated. Can I go now?"

She released her thumb and threw her hands to her thigh. She flung her silver boots off her legs and sat cross-legged on her bed. There, semi-organized.

"Y'know, I wouldn't call you to tell you this if I didn't mean it. I am not trying to ruin what you have with Sandra. I've seen the way you look at her, most times it's rage, most times it's hurt. I've seen the way she treats you too."

I stood. Her door was beside me, covered with a large poster of a girl with amazing golden hair, made-up face and a charming smile. She wore a pink glistening gown that stopped mid-thigh and matching pink sneakers.

"It's shitty. I wanted to avoid this, but because of you, everyone calls you a party ruiner. Everyone in my class. You told me you were running for president, but see, with what everyone's saying..." She sighed, realizing she had to stop there. "Sandra's—"

"The bad one?"

"Hunh?"

"That's what you're going to say? You're going to call my friend a bad person?"

"You don't even like her!" She stood up and walked toward me.

"Who are you to decide that?" I shot up.

"If you aren't, then why are you jealous of her relationship with King? Why are you purposely hanging out with him, especially when Sandra's watching?"

"I'm sorry, is this about Sandra being bad or are you just trying to make me quit talking to King?" I crossed my arms defiantly.

Sandra was mad because King and I had been talking more lately, a harmless friendly conversation when she was out practising with the other cheerleaders? Because I hadn't let myself be hurt by her constant turning me away to have fun with her cheerleading minions and she was jealous about that?

That was it? That was all it took to get her green-eyed?

"Sandra and King have known each other for a really long time. What you're trying to do is selfish."

"What's so selfish of me?" I glanced at the door that led to her en-suite. There was a red ribbon hanging on a nail and flowing down.

"King practically talks to Sandra every day. My dad, her dad, they're acquainted."

"And you're scared I'll ruin that? Can you even hear yourself?"

Kimberly sighed and say back on her bed. She gripped her bedsheet and fiddled with it. "Look, I feel like Sandra's got something coming for you. I've been noticing how close you've been around my brother, that needs to stop."

My eyes burst wide open. "What!"

"Look. Sandra's getting jealous. I've seen her talk during practice."

"Jealous of what?"

"I don't know, Emery, but I feel like you do. Just do what you've been doing before all of this. You were safer then."

Yeah, being a, what did they call me, a nerd! Being unpopular. That's it. I stood up, for real this time.

"Thanks, Kimberly, but, you're telling me to focus on my books and not the real world. To hide in the dark with no friends, while you and everyone have fun. That's the problem with this conversation."

I got the hell out of this room and this stupid house that yelled money at every corner. Gold armchairs, large flat-screen TV in the living room, and a customized metallic door for an entrance.

I huffed as I held the snake-like handle and ran towards the gate, ignoring the interlocked ground and the beautiful bushes that surrounded the house. I needed a real girlfriend to talk to, one who wasn't biased or self-centred.

I needed Tujan.

.

A/N

Why, wasn't that a heated argument?😌

Tell me, whose side are you on in this case? Emery's jealous, isn't she?

Don't forget to drop a vote if you enjoyed this chapter!