Seeking to make sense of the aftermath of all that had happened, I had isolated myself within the familiar walls of my home for days, dredging up the past. I had no idea what to feel anymore, even more so than ever. A war was being waged within me.
The cold reasoning of my mind stubbornly clung to the present—it screamed at me to hate her, to despise her for her selfish motives, for her calculated lies. But my heart had its own memory, carrying imprints of people, of emotions, events, and moments within its fibers. It played an age-old tune, harking back to days filled with laughter and sun-kissed afternoons, ice creams and bike rides, shared secrets, and the raw sting of scraped knees.
At times, I found myself longing to confront her, to seek answers, to understand her motives. But in the same breath, the memory of her betrayal would surface, like a rug being pulled out from under my feet. The anger was there, lurking below the surface, now muddled by the confusion and the remnants of affection that once existed. Frustration had lost its crisp edges, no longer a stark contrast of black and white, but rather a confusing hue of grey.
Caught in the tug-of-war, I could no longer trust my own feelings. I could not tell if the love for my childhood friend or the anger for my manipulative teacher was the truer emotion. And so, I spent the subsequent days marooned in this fog of confusion, in mindless scrutiny of walls and ceilings, waiting for clarity that seemed to forever evade me.
As the fog of emotional intoxication began to recede and the sobering clarity returned, I found myself back within the walls of school, hungry for a resolution. A confrontation was inevitable. But it wasn't about unleashing my anger or getting an apology. It was about making sense of everything.
I was prepared for anger, remorse, even indifference. What I was not prepared for was that my eagerness to piece together the puzzle would be met with a perplexing shift in Alex's demeanor. The stern gaze I had come to expect was replaced with a disconcerted avoidance, a jarring departure from the recent apology she had offered.
Her evasion felt worse than an outright confrontation. As class wrapped up, I wished to linger and confront the elephant in the room. But with almost pre-emptive haste, she snatched a book from her bag and walked out of the classroom with an urgency palpably designed to dodge any possibility of us being alone together. The woman who had been instrumental in creating this mess in my life now seemed intent on tiptoeing around it.
Thrown further off balance, I shook off the disconcerting encounter and spent the rest of the break in the quiet of the library. Knowing that my grades were teetering on the edge of catastrophe, having missed so many school days, I tried to mend the damage and catch up on some neglected homework. The lingering intoxicant in my bloodstream provided just the clarity I needed to concentrate.
But a fleeting flutter in the corner of my vision eventually disrupted the stillness I had woven around myself. I managed to spot her coming from the other end of the library with a book in one arm and a cup cradled in the other, engaging in hushed chatter with the librarian. And when our eyes met, I could have sworn her pupils rolled to the back of her cranium before she quickened her stride toward the door.
Fueled by a burning desire to speak to her and discover why her behavior had grown even colder than ever, I hastily scooped my belongings and raced after her. But right as I maneuvered around the corner, jamming notebooks into my bag mid-stride, I found myself suddenly drenched in a warm liquid. In an ironic twist of fate, I had obliterated any space that separated us and propelled us into an uncomfortable closeness.
"Fucking ssh..." Alex caught herself, drawing a sharp breath. "Really?"
The soaked fabric stuck to my skin in an uncomfortable and inescapable embrace. And since it was too late to remedy the situation, I tried to find some humor in the fact it hadn't been scorching hot, or else we might have found ourselves bandaged side by side in the same burn unit.
"Chamomile? Great choice," I said, glancing at the wet patch on my chest. "And to think I almost didn't wear a bra today. You'd be seeing more than you probably should."
When I finally lifted my gaze to meet her unimpressed one, I found her also drenched in the liquid. The damage was way more grievous than mine, her book and cup held aloft, teardrops of tea spattering onto the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
"I'm drenched in tea, Kayla. And from the way you're staring, I'm guessing it's see-through."
I tried to suppress my smirk and maintain eye contact. "Don't worry. I won't say anything about that tattoo on your chest."
Detaching the wet shirt from her body, she rolled her eyes. "Just stop talking."
"Take this." I slipped my jacket off.
"You're also wet."
"Trust me, I'm anything but," I muttered to myself. "I'm not exactly into my clothes being ruined, but you do you."
Her sigh echoed my words, yet the subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed the ghost of a smile before she averted her gaze. "This just had to happen on the only day when I decide to wear my only white shirt."
"Shouldn't have been lurking around the corner then," I shot back. "If you were so intent on running away from me, why did you stand there?"
"Because you confuse me, Kayla."
The sentiment was mutual, dense and palpable in the air, her conflicting emotions radiating through. She was relentlessly striving to keep an arm's length away, yet beneath her impassive exterior, the struggle was as plain as day.
Matching her pace as she began to stride away, I lowered my voice to a hush, conscious of the people milling around us in the busy hallway. "Can we talk?"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"There's a lot to talk about. Like seven years worth of talking, Alex."
"It's still Miss Martin," she uttered, her stiff demeanor unflinching.
A puzzled frown crept onto my face as I wondered aloud, "How does one grow up to be so annoying?"
"Could ask you the same thing," she said to herself, fumbling with her keys. As soon as she unlocked her classroom, I slithered past her. "Yeah, sure," she sighed out. My presence was clearly unwelcome. "Why don't you come inside and make my day even worse?"
"Isn't chamomile supposed to relax you?"
"I think you're supposed to drink it, not soak it up through your skin," she retorted, sighing as she retrieved a sweater from her bag. "Can you just leave? I think I've made it very clear that I want to be alone."
"But why? It didn't seem that way days ago. All you wanted to do was talk to me."
"If you're so stubborn, at least turn around."
I complied by swiveling to face the door, her movements echoing in the silence. "There's no use in hiding your tattoo anymore."
"I don't care," she said with a sharp huff of air from her nose. "I'm just not so sure that my student should see me changing."
At the sound of her settling into her chair, I slowly pivoted back around, my brows drawn together in confusion. "You know that I'm not just your student, Alex."
The steel-edged sternness etched into her gaze was enough to inspire an instinctive retreat. "Do I have to repeat myself? Don't call me Alex."
Her unwavering adherence to the masquerade of formality confused me and clouded the years of familiarity between us. Addressing her as Miss Martin felt alien, a mismatched cog in our relationship, especially now as she stood before me—no longer a distant authority but the girl whose friendship had once colored my world.
An unfamiliar ache weighed my heart down, a yearning to peel back the layers of resentment and talk to her as one would to an old friend. However, the invisible barrier was more than just a metaphor for us. Each spoken word appeared to translate into bricks for an impenetrable wall.
"Why are you shutting me out all of a sudden?"
Offering little in the way of easing my discomfort, my question was met with a sarcastic smile. "Changed my mind."
She had transformed too much. Where once resided unwavering trust, now sprawled a tangible barricade of bitterness and animosity, as though some unvoiced resentment had been left to marinate, as if she cradled a grudge against me within the silent recesses of her heart with no explanation as to why.
My heart pined for that comforting familiarity, for that time when life was uncluttered, when the only race was to beat the setting sun home, and when Alex was just that—the girl who had always radiated warmth and kindness, simple and innocent. The gnawing need to understand everything consumed me. It felt a lifetime ago, and yet, the longing remained.
But my hopeful sentiments were met with stony silence, whittling away my patience. "You're confusing," I breathed, my tone measured despite my growing frustration.
A snort of incredulity echoed around the room, her eyes securing onto me. "You are extremely confusing, Kayla. You couldn't even stand straight when I last saw you, but now you're prancing around like nothing's wrong. Like nothing ever happened."
"I think you're mixing me up with yourself."
"How do you do it? How can you live by hiding behind humor, temporary highs, and your overconfidence?"
I rolled my eyes at her remarks. "I'm not hiding behind anything, so forgive me for not being miserable enough for you. At the end of the day, I know I have responsibilities. You're the one acting like nothing happened. You were like my best friend, so why are you acting like this bitch all of a sudden?"
"It's been years. Just let it go and let me live my life."
"Let you live your life?" I scoffed. "Weren't you the one standing on my doorstep and begging for forgiveness just now? Weren't you the one who kept squeezing herself into every corner of my life and acting like you knew everything about me?"
"Don't worry, I won't bother you anymore. I'm your teacher, so get used to it because we're gonna be spending some time together. I'd just like to do my job."
A sarcastic smile painted my lips as I pushed the door open, acknowledging defeat in the wake of her successful attempt to chew me out of the room. "Okay then. I'll make sure to never talk to you again because you're clearly not that good at it."
"Do what you want," she muttered. "And please stop at the principal before your cigarette break. He's been expecting you for a while."
"Did you just say please? What happened to ordering me around?"
"Looked like you enjoyed it too much."
Sighing heavily, I left her behind, apparently along with any trace of my childhood friend. My heart pounded dread as I trudged down the hallways like a condemned woman walking the green mile, the strap of my bag held captive in my tight grasp.
When I stepped into the principal's office, I met the gaze of the young man seated behind the desk with a book in his hand—his blonde curls wild, his blue eyes burning into me. I could feel the memory of our last encounter lingering in the air between us, as if he were pondering whether to bring it up.
"Daniels, finally," Mr. Harris initiated, his tone cool and controlled. "I hope you remember why you're here."
"Unfortunately."
"Anything you'd want to say before I cut to the chase?"
My heart and mind were at odds with each other. I felt a pull toward apologizing for my actions, but the truth was, I wasn't sorry. Not for finding ways to cope with my anxiety, not for clinging onto whatever lifeline I could to cope with a world that seemed to be slowly tightening its noose around me, and not for trying to face a past that continued bleeding into my present.
While my feelings found themselves locked in a deadlock, one question managed to emerge in my mind, wondering how he could possibly tolerate her as his girlfriend, or whatever she was, and how he could handle her abrasive attitude. That intrigued me more than anything.
Mr. Harris let out a deep sigh at my continued silence. "Given the previous situation and the fact that you've missed more than two weeks of classes without an excuse, I was actually thinking about expulsion," he said, causing a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "But then one of your teachers assured me you're not so bad of a student. I believe the exact words were that you're very bright, only easily distracted and in need of some motivation."
Clearly, he expected some sort of response, so I timidly offered, "I manage."
"Not exactly the point. In this school, we strive for excellence in each student, and we really do want you to succeed."
As he droned on with his pretty speech, his tone firm but not unkind, I felt like a chastised child under a parent's stern gaze, offering him a vacant stare while mechanically bobbing my head in agreement every few moments.
"That's why, starting next week, you'll have after-school detention until I decide you don't need it anymore. You can use that time to study and catch up with everything you've missed. Even though it might be, don't look at this as punishment. It's an opportunity for you to improve your grades and show that you're serious about this. Okay?"
Despite my aversion to enduring detention, an unwelcome extension to an already long day that stretched until the hour of three, I had somewhat acclimated to it. Back in Toronto, I had been a very cherished student in the eyes of most of my teachers. An extra hour in my afternoon was always preferable to expulsion.
"It's quite funny though," he said as he leaned back in his chair, the subtle curve of his lips forming an enigmatic smile. There was something unsettling about that smirk, a glimmer in his eyes that stirred a sense of foreboding. "I reached out to almost every teacher, and none were available for that period. I was already thinking about going through with the expulsion, but then... oh, actually, I've heard you guys aren't on the best of terms. What's going on with that?"
"What?" I murmured, an ominous premonition clouding my thoughts.
"I was a bit surprised when she volunteered to accompany you. Martin, I mean."
"Oh, please," I couldn't hold back the words, "just expel me."
None of it made any sense. As though the universe relished in its perverse sense of humor. She was the absolute last person I wished to spend my afternoons with, and the sentiment was evidently reciprocated. It felt as if the whole cosmos was colluding to my detriment.
The principal heaved a deep sigh, his face clouded in displeasure. No doubt due to my inadvertent insult of his girlfriend. "Is there a problem?"
"No," I mumbled. "None at all."
"Okay then. From now on, you talk to her. Let us work together to find a solution that benefits us all. I hope you understand that we're meeting you halfway here," he said before straightening out in his chair. "So, no more marijuana during school, no skipping. Oh, and while we're on it, who did you get it from?"
I couldn't help the smirk, almost unintentional. "You're gonna make me take the fall for smoking it and then ask me where I got it?"
A frown with a tint of disbelief crossed his face, yet the corners of his mouth danced with the promise of a forthcoming smile. The principal seemed a genuinely pleasant person, eliciting an involuntary flutter of satisfaction at his candid reaction before he ushered me off, surrendering to a resigned sigh and a casual flick of his hand.
Uncertain of how to digest the unfolding scenario, I made a dash for the exit, heart heavy and twisted in frustration, my body yearning for the embrace of the outdoors. As if on autopilot, my feet carried me away to the crest of my secret spot on the hill that was my refuge, often bathed in contemplative puffs of smoke.
My thoughts were consumed by the formidable challenge looming ahead. I had to devise a plan to wriggle myself out of that detention entanglement. Alex had clearly accepted it to keep the reins of control firmly in her grasp. Though she was good at her job and wonderful as a teacher, her personality was something that fell markedly short of desirable.
It was glaringly apparent that none of us harbored any desire to share each other's company, and I knew that patching up the fractured connection between us would take more than groveling apologies. I had no idea where to even begin.