Stella's Side
I'm standing in front of my school. The façade is made of brownish-orange bricks, with a central section of lighter stone that stands out. That central part is taller and decorated with geometric patterns, with large vertical windows lined up neatly. The main entrance sits in the middle: three dark doors reached by a stone staircase. On each side, the wings of the building have several rows of identical windows, giving it a very orderly look. In front, there's an open green lawn, a sidewalk, and two trees framing the entrance.
I walk up the steps to the main entrance and go in through one of the three dark doors. I head to my locker and shove my worn backpack inside.
I look at my schedule for the day.
I have...? Math...
Fuck. First thing in the morning? With that weird teacher.
I grab my math stuff, then head toward Bi.
— Bi! I say when I see her.
I haven't told her what happened yesterday. First, I need to know who this Jessica is.
— Hey, Stella, she says, more tense than usual.
Is she okay? Why is she so tense? She usually isn't—she's more nonchalant. Her shoulders are stiff, raised. Her jaw is tight; her teeth might even be grinding. Her fists are clenched. Her body looks rigid, unnatural. Her breathing is short, quick, almost stuck. She seems impatient, defensive. Ruby looks constantly under pressure, like something is weighing on her.
She's not very good at hiding things from me. Not from me.
— Are you okay? You're tense, I say, worried.
I step closer, and she pushes me. She looks angry. Her muscles are tight, especially her jaw and shoulders. Her fists clench without her realizing it. Veins stand out at her temples. Her gaze is hard, burning, almost piercing. Her breathing is heavy, uneven.
— Fuck! What are you doing?! Back off! she snaps.
Her voice is lower, sharper.
-Bi? I... I'm sorry...?
I step back, a little surprised. She's never spoken to me like that.
Ruby walks off quickly without looking at me.
She's really weird. Ruby is really, really weird...
I head toward my classroom. I set my things down on the chair. The frame is silver-gray metal, with four slightly angled legs for stability. Under the seat, there's a small metal basket meant to hold books or a bag.
The seat and backrest are dark blue plastic. The backrest has a triangular cutout in the center, which lightens the design a bit and makes it easier to grab when moving the chair.
On the right side, there's a light wooden writing tablet attached with metal brackets. It's wide enough to place a notebook or a laptop.
The teacher is sitting on his desk. The desk is dark wood, fairly wide, with a surface that's completely covered. On top of it, there are several stacks of folders and open binders, scattered sheets of paper, a vertical document holder with papers displayed upright, a pen holder filled with pens, a metal travel mug, and a small gray box. There's also a phone and a laptop resting on a cabinet behind him.
The space gives the impression of serious, organized work, even if it's cluttered. Everything seems within reach, as if the person spends a lot of time managing papers and forms.
His sideways glance is icy and unsettling, loaded with silent suspicion.
I notice the classroom is empty. So I head toward the exit, still ashamed of what happened yesterday.
I can still feel his stare—cold and distrustful—as if he's judging me without saying a word.
I notice Ruby is there. I smile, almost forgetting how she acted earlier.
Maybe she's just not in the mood?
I see her close the door, and I hear a click that tells me she's locked me inside this room with that teacher.
I throw myself at the door, terrified. I pound on it hard, almost violently. The wood vibrates under my blows. The noise shatters the silence of the hallway.
— Ruby!! Open the door!!
I cast a pleading glance toward the narrow vertical window built directly into the light wooden door. Ruby looks at me with a sorry expression before shifting her gaze to the person behind me.
I turn around and bump into the teacher's broad chest. He pins a piece of paper at the height of the window.
We're too close... way too close... I don't like this. I can smell his strong cologne—maybe something spicy, black pepper or cardamom—sharp enough to sting my nose slightly. Not fresh. Not light. Direct. Intense.