-TWO YEARS LATER-
The last year of being a high school girl. The last year of walking down the hallway to my locker, watched by a hundred people behind me, all sneaking glances to see what's inside. And the last year of feeling bored and unsatisfied with a young girl's life.
"Hey, girl…" Irin's high-pitched voice comes from behind me. "You look cute again today." She puts her hand on my waist and leans her face on my shoulder.
Her height is slightly taller than mine. Her dirty blonde hair is a bit pink, like a strawberry that faded on the beige canvas. This contrasts with my dark blue cardigan, which perfectly covers my cream shirt and body. She pulls me in closer and looks up at me. "You got thinner, " she tells me with a fuzzy face.
"Have you lost weight? Have you eaten well, Zia?" She's concerned. "Of course," I answer.
"Don't tell me you put yourself in books again and forget to eat." She pulls away her face to get back to the proper posture. "I eat," I answer.
Irin grabs my waist with both her hands and turns my body to face her. She uses her hands to feel my stomach area in the middle of the hallway and lets people watch our show for free. I stare at her with a little smile on my face.
"Take your time, Irin. Everybody's watching," I tease her. "You've been working out?" she asks with sparkling hazel eyes. She's sure a strawberry; her eyes are the little leaves on top of it.
Suddenly, the polo team comes our way. "Oh, Letizia, you deny all the men because you're into girls? You should have said that before, hehe." The bright blonde hair, a sneaky face, and a sneaky smile like how he plays in the field, sneaky behind the component and hits the stick to another horse, shame.
I turn my face to him, and the gaze of the man beside him is more intense than that of the sneaky sunshine boy here. "Manners, Vik," he says. The handsome, charming leader of the polo team speaks up with a locked-on gaze at me.
"Why Vik? You're jealous?" Irin teases him.
"Heh, I don't have to be jealous, right?" Vik answers and gives me dirty looks. He tries to keep the professional, high-status schoolboy characteristic on him, but it doesn't work. It has never worked since he walks in here and opens his dirty, rich mouth.
"Felicia will kick your balls before the game, Vik," I reply, and Irin smiles proudly.
"Oohh." And the sound of the team members behind them raising their voices like stray dogs on the street, except the leader, the ginger, copper hair with bright green eyes.
"Oh my, my, now you're the one who is jealous." As he approaches me closer, Vik talks with a mischievous sound and a proud face. "What an honor that the ice princess talks to me this blessed morning." His face tilts down, almost touched.
"Hey." Irin is about to push Vik.
"Stop." The team leader grabs his arm firmly and drags him back. "Sorry, Captain, hehe." Vik.
I keep my eyes as calm as possible and turn my back to them. Irin follows me, and we walk to our class together. I can tell they're gossiping behind me like they are watching my khaki skirt, bouncing and waiting to see my butt out. But I don't give a damn.
Only a few people on the polo team feel comfortable interacting with me, such as Vik and the team leader, Tytas. They seem to feel relaxed, but I don't. It's more that I'm used to Vik's teasing and Tytas's occasional interactions. But when it comes to talking comfortably with each other about how the day has been, we have barely reached that point. Felicia would lose her mind if they got close to me—especially Vik, her boyfriend. I didn't go to her party two years ago, and she thought I had unfriended her or didn't want to be part of the same hierarchy. As for the others, they simply follow the alphas—their reactions and manners. When they are alone or see me, they're speechless, but their eyes aren't.
I sit on my desk near the window, and Irin's desk is beside mine.
"You get bolder and bolder each year, Zia," Irin speaks up proudly, like a mother proud of her daughter. I say nothing and take out my notebook.
"Hey, tell me something." She slides her chair closer to me. "What?" I ask.
"Why don't you go on a date with him?" Irin asks with wandering eyes. "What?" I ask with a different sound from before while looking at her.
"I mean Mr. Tytas, not the bastard Vik," she explains. I turn my face back. "He doesn't ask me out," I say.
She opens her eyes wider. "Seriously? People know the entire school that he's into you, but he hasn't asked you yet?"
I sigh and look at the whiteboard in front of the class.
"People get it wrong," I say.
"Come on, I know. His team knows. The mother fucking Vik knows. I bet. Even the football team knows." She keeps mumbling, and I tilt my head to her.
"How come you know all this?" I ask while tucking my eyebrows with a little teasing smile.
"James, the football player. He told me," she says. I turn my eyes back to my notebook. "Holland wants your contact, but he's scared of Tytas." She continues.
I glance at the teacher, who enters the classroom and heads to his desk.
"Who is Holland?" I ask while taking out the pen. "James's friend," Irin answers.
"Back to your seats, everyone." The teacher announces.
"We're not done, Zia." Irin threatens me with a serious face. I chuckle a little.
I am surprised that everyone knows me, although perhaps they know only my name. I've always been the quiet one, ever since my first year—more observant than engaged, never involving myself with anything or anyone unless necessary. I'm reserved but not shy. I'm not afraid to speak; I simply behave reasonably. That has made me stand out as a good student. After all, I listen well, study hard, and give the correct answers when teachers ask questions. This has led to the rumor that I'm the teacher's pet because I don't mind doing teachers a favor. I don't volunteer to help them; most of the time, they are the ones who approach me. Still, it has become a topic for the other students to discuss. I don't get involved.
Well, on the other hand, come to think of it, perhaps everyone knows me because of my good grades, my reputation as the teacher's pet, the way I ignore other people's attention, my occasionally attending parties, school events, or joining a school team, and the way I talk back to scumbags without fear.
I might be the talk of the town because of their own perception of me based on my actions, and I don't give a damn about it anyway.
But I admit that my fiery mouth was always concealed before, and it started to light up and blow out carelessly without pleasing others' feelings two years ago.
"Letizia." The English teacher, my homeroom teacher, calls me.
"Yes?" I reply.
"After class, meet the counselor, alright?" he tells me with a smile.
"Yes."
It's my cue to discuss my grades, classes, and plans for college. Irin puckers her lips to me and puts the book inside her side bag. The sound of the chairs being dragged out hurts my ears. I'm not rushing to pack my stuff, but Irin is already standing waiting for me.
"See you after school then?" Irin asks. I look at her without saying anything. "Why? Do you have other plans?"
"I have to go to the garage," I respond.
"For what?" Her eyes look at me with curiosity.
"I have to go check my father's car." I get up, and she follows me out of the classroom.
"Why do you still…" She holds her tongue. "Let me take you there. Meet me at the yard after
"Thank you," I tell her and hug her while we walk in the hall.
Only Irin and I can show her this side of ourselves. I'm secretly a clingy person who loves physical touch—but only with someone I love.
Then we see Felicia, with her long, curly blonde hair, baby-pink top, and tight jeans. Don't let the faded jeans fool you; they cost more than three vending machines combined. She sees me before I notice her. She glances at me as we walk past each other without saying anything, while Irin gives her more than a passing glance.
"Someone must have told her about this morning," Irin says softly.
Felicia is a pretty scary person. She knows what she wants, and she has to have it. Her high-pitched voice becomes unbearably loud whenever something bothers her or doesn't go her way. Wherever she goes, she walks and talks as though she owns the place. But I wonder why she hasn't managed to keep Vik under her thumb the way she does everyone else. I bet she believes she can; she carries herself like a confident queen. I also believe she has the ability to tame anyone and make them follow at her heels.
Only Irin and I had no interest in joining her private circle. She eventually let me go because putting a leash around my neck proved too difficult, no matter how many times she tried. She must have seen me as a nice, well-behaved girlie who always listened, did whatever people told her to do, and shared her social status. After she learned who I actually was, however, she gave up. The vicious words, bullying, rumors, and gossip she tried to use against me didn't hurt me at all. Eventually, she backed down and minded her own business instead of continuing to intimidate me.
"As always," I say back with a little smile in the corner. "I'll text you."
Irin slaps me on the butt lightly with a sneaky smile and leaves me in front of the counselor's room.
Thud. Thud.
I knock.
"Come in," the counselor calls immediately from behind the door, as though she has been waiting for me.
"Good morning," I greet her.
"Good morning, Miss Serafinne. I've been waiting for you. Please sit down," she says with a genuine smile.
I glance at the nameplate: Serena Quinn. What a beautiful given name and family name. They suit her very well.
Miss Serena Quinn is not a teacher here. The headmaster and the other teachers don't consider her one because her job is to guide students as they plan their futures, offer advice about typical teenage problems, and support troubled students. The headmaster is trying to normalize counseling sessions as part of daily school life, not reserve them only for groups of students who clearly need them.
As for me, I would rather see a therapist outside the school. This place might seem like a comfort zone for us, but it isn't truly safe. Opening up and revealing everything—especially our secrets—is not a good idea when everyone already knows one another, their backgrounds, and the connections between their families. It isn't that I don't trust Miss Quinn; I simply don't trust the school walls.
"You know why we're here, right?" she asks.
"Yes," I answer briefly.
She turns through the pages of a paper file. I bet it's mine.
"Your grades look amazing, as always. Straight A's all year round. Have you considered getting a B once in a while?" She laughs, trying to make a joke.
I smile at her. "And I heard from your homeroom teacher that you want to get into Harvard?" She glances at me while holding the page.
I never said I wanted to, but it's the best choice. Once again, I smile instead of answering.
"Do you have any backup choices?" I look at her blankly. "I don't mean that in a bad way, Miss Serafinne. I want you to have at least three options to explore. If you truly intend to get into Harvard, you can make it your first choice and place the others second and third." She looks at me with a smile. "Do you have any other choices in mind?" I shake my head. "Then may I ask which subject you're interested in studying?"
"Science… biology, human physiology, medicine, surgery," I say, listing the fields. "I would like to become a surgeon."
"I see. Well, Stanford could be one of your choices. How about Oxford?" She looks at me.
"In the UK?" I ask.
"Yes. Your mother graduated from Oxford, didn't she?" she asks while looking at the page.
I slowly lean against the backrest and stare at the paper in her hands. Well, of course, everything is in the records. The headmaster knows, a couple of teachers know, and Miss Quinn knows. Eventually, everyone will know.
Still, leaving this place—or even this country—isn't a bad idea.
Miss Quinn seems to sense my discomfort, so she closes the file and places it on her desk.
"I apologize for mentioning Mrs. Serafinne. I think Oxford could also be an excellent choice since your grades are off the charts. If you maintain them until you graduate, you could also add some extracurricular activities to strengthen your application. Grades aren't everything, Miss Serafinne. Volunteering, extra classes, and activities outside school could complement your academic record. They would benefit your application greatly."
I nod. "You can take your time considering the other choices." She smiles. "Have you discussed your future plans with your father?" She asks.
"No," I answer honestly. "Is there anything else, Miss Quinn?"
"No, no. You can go. Have a nice day." She smiles.
"You too, Miss," I respond before leaving the room.
I adjust my shoulder bag and walk back into the hallway. I take out my phone and swipe up to check for a message from my father. He has read my texts but hasn't answered in several days. I'm about to type and send another one, but I stop, bite my bottom lip, and let out a sigh. Then I put the phone back in my bag.
The schoolyard is very green—too green for my eyes. It looks very fresh, too fresh for this weather. I stand beside the court, watching the football team practice. Lately, Irin has been asking me to wait for her here.
I can piece it together: she's really into one of the football players. I can see the guy with shiny, curly hair the color of freshly harvested almonds before they are roasted. He's into her too. I smile softly as I watch her flirt with him. She looks so fucking happy.
Then Irin turns her gaze toward me and waves. I tilt my head slightly and smile widely at her. The almond-haired guy looks at me, followed by one of his friends and then another.
"Zia! Come here for a sec!" Irin shouts from across the yard.
She knows I don't like attention, but she does it anyway. She loves joking with me, though never in a bad way. She knows my boundaries, and I know hers.
I walk over to her while a few of them watch me.
"James will take you to the garage." She says. I look at her instead of James because I don't know who the hell James is. "With me, of course," she adds.
The almond-haired guy smiles at me. "I'll go wash up. I'll be right back," he says.
Irin holds my hand and leads me to a seat beside the field.
"Don't tell me you hang out here all day," I say.
"No, I finished my class thirty minutes ago," she replies. "We're dating. But we haven't officially changed our relationship status," she adds. "I haven't told you because I wanted to be sure."
"Is he good to you?" I ask.
"Yes. He's been consistent for the past two months," she tells me. I look at her. "But I still have to wait and see." She smiles.
"You never know until you try, right?" I say supportively.
"Hehe, yes." She chuckles joyfully, holds my face, and kisses me on the cheek.
I will always support her in every situation as long as it makes her genuinely happy.
"But if he…" I begin.
"If he hurts me, you'll hurt him too," Irin says, finishing my thought.
"Only if you tell me to," I correct her.
She chuckles loudly and hugs me tightly. "You're a sweet girl. How could you possibly hurt him?" she asks teasingly.
"I'll punch him in the face," I respond.
"Hahahaha! I think I'll punch him before you do, Zia." She laughs loudly and ruffles the hair at the back of my head.
Actually, I lied. I would probably stalk him, find out who he was interacting with, and uncover the real reason he had hurt her. Then I would do the same thing to him, only worse.
Irin would do the same for me, but in her own way. She's fiercer than she looks. Like me, she speaks her mind and doesn't care what people think, but her tongue is quicker than a gun. She handles everything immediately. She doesn't wait, plan, or use tactics to pay someone back; that is where we differ. I don't like playing games, but I want people to feel the same way they make others feel.
They may be certain that they're the predators, but in reality, they're the victims.
"Now, talk," Irin says. "Tytas."
"I think you guessed wrong, Irin. He hasn't shown any interest in me or asked me out. I don't know why everyone thinks we're dating. We barely talk to each other," I explain calmly.
"You know you're the only one who doesn't see him that way." Irin smiles sneakily. "He asked you to watch him play a couple of times, but you turned him down, right?" She gives me a knowing look. "So, he stopped. He also stops Vik whenever he bothers you, and he asked me whether you would come to the party after the game."
"When?" I ask.
"Yesterday." She glances at me.
"Why didn't he ask me himself?" I mumble.
"Because you would turn him down again," she says while swinging her legs up and down. "Trust me, boys cannot handle rejection from their crush—especially again and again," she says while looking across the empty green yard. "It hurts his pride." She turns toward me as she says it.
I still don't think he does all of that because he's interested in me. Tytas is a top-tier student and the son of the Oskar family, the richest and oldest family in town. From what I've heard, he's the captain of the polo team, and his grades are excellent. He's as handsome as a Greek god, with striking ginger hair and green eyes. I would even say that his copper hair is more dazzling than the golden sun. The perfect boy needs to be with the perfect girl, doesn't he? I'm not perfect—not even close. I know no one is perfect, but someone can come close to the meaning of that word, and I think that person is Tytas Oskar.
He's reserved like me and not as loud as his teammates, although he tends to be more talkative than I am. He's good at socializing and engaging with people, whether they are older adults, his peers, or especially young children. Boys see him as an idol, while girls see him as a dream boyfriend. Because of his high status and upbringing, he knows how to conduct himself properly in society and maintain his manners in public. For all those reasons, I assume that he behaves that way simply out of politeness.
"Uh-uh." I make the sound and shake my head.
Irin exhales, holds both of my cheeks, and shakes my face. "Your brain is too intellectual. That's why…" she tells me in frustration before sighing again.
"Ready?" James interrupts.
James, the almond-haired guy, gets into a fancy silver convertible. He backs the car up so we can get in easily. Then I hear a group of babbling monkeys talking about something I can't hear clearly. Irin glances behind us toward the source of the noise. She holds my hand and pulls me closer.
"Felicia and Vik are watching you," she whispers.
I shake my head, irritated by their childish behavior.
"Get in," James tells us with the widest smile on his face before glancing at the group behind us. He gets out of the car, opens the door for Irin, and then quickly opens the back door for me.
I glance at Irin, and she smiles slyly. Okay, he's a gentleman.
"Thank you, James," I tell him with a smile.
"You're welcome." He closes the door after I settle into my seat.
I decide to turn around and look at them.
Felicia hugs Vik tightly. He wraps one arm around her waist as they sit on top of his posh bronze car, which is almost as golden as his hair. What a uniquely hideous choice—far too bright, but it suits him. Felicia's besties are on her left, while Vik's buddies are on his right. They are all doing their own thing, giggling and watching. But the captain is nowhere to be seen.
Wait, why am I looking for him? This is because of you, Irin. You've mentioned him too many times today.
I'm about to turn my face forward when I notice Tytas's orange hair. He's wearing a light-blue shirt with black jeans and holding the polo-team jacket in his right hand. He has changed his clothes.
Then I realize that he has noticed me too. His left hand freezes just before he returns another guy's fist bump.
Really? That proper, neat guy over there? Does he have a crush on me?
I wonder about it as we hold each other's gaze for too long. Then I become uncomfortable and turn my head away as James drives off.
It takes less than thirty minutes for us to arrive at the garage. James gets out of the car and opens the door for me again.
"Thanks," I tell him with a small chuckle.
Irin pulls herself up and leans toward me. She wraps one arm around me while using the other to support herself. "Text me when you get home."
I nod.
"Hey, if you're not dating anyone…" James begins.
"James," Irin warns him.
"I'm sorry, but Holland is losing his shit right now," James explains loudly.
I raise my eyebrows and look around. I notice a huge black sport bike nearby. Its rider is also dressed in black and wearing a helmet. His body is pretty, pretty buff. I don't know whether he's watching me, but his helmet is pointed directly at me. I quickly shift my gaze back to James and Irin.
"Who's Holland?" I ask.
"James's friend. I told you about him in class. He wants to—" Irin begins.
"He wants to ask you out," James interrupts. "Are you seeing anyone? You're not dating Tytas, right?"
James is trying his best to help his friend without crossing the line, even though he doesn't know where I've drawn it.
"James, come on." Irin hits him lightly.
I chuckle. "Why do people want to ask me out so badly but can't ask me directly?"
I gently run my fingers through my hair and flick it behind me before putting my bag over my shoulder. I look down at my black stockings, which have almost slipped to my knees.
"Because…" James stutters.
"If Tytas asked you out, would you say yes?" Irin interrupts this time.
As I pull my right stocking back up to my thigh, I laugh softly under my breath.
"I won't give an answer through messengers," I reply. "Thanks for the ride." I turn and walk away.
They should man up and ask a girl out themselves. How hard could it be? I don't bite.
I walk toward the garage, where a few of the usual customers are waiting outside. I bet they heard our conversation. I pause before going inside. When I look down at my left leg, I realize that I forgot to fix the other stocking. I pull it back up to my thigh. Then I look up and realize that the guy in the black helmet is beside the garage.
Whenever I see a helmet, my body stiffens slightly, as though an electric shock is running beneath my skin. I ignore him, just as I ignore the goosebumps running down my spine, and enter the open-front garage. Anyone outside can see what the mechanics are doing and what they are repairing.
"Hey, hey! Have you come to check on your baby, Miss Letizia?" The manager approaches me with a big smile.
"My baby?" I repeat. "She's more like my sister." I chuckle.
"Hahaha, yes, yes," the manager says.
He looks happy today. He's usually quite grumpy with his staff, although he tries to hide it around me. Today, however, he seems genuinely cheerful.
He leads me to my father's car, which is parked in the second row near the helmeted man. The man remains seated quietly on his bike, his face hidden behind the visor. I try to ignore him, but I can feel his eyes on me.
"We just changed the oil filter. Come here. I'll show you something."
The manager leads me to the front of the car. I stand beside him as he opens the hood and shows me the engine.
My eyes go wide.
"H–How? Where did you find it?" I stammer.
I lean closer to examine the dark emerald-green engine gleaming before me. Its polished surface reflects my image beautifully.
"It was delivered yesterday. Kay found it," he tells me with a smile.
"Kay? Wow…" I'm still flabbergasted.
"Was it your father's order?" The manager asks.
I shake my head. "No, it was mine." I'm still smiling. "I should thank him. Where is he?"
"Turn around," Kay says from behind me. I quickly turn and run toward him.
"Hahahaha!" He laughs as he catches me and lifts me up. "Are you pleased?"
"Yes," I answer.
He smiles widely and puts me down. "You don't have to come here every day, Zia. She's under my care," Kay tells me.
"Ahem." The manager clears his throat.
"And his, whenever he has time after working on his bike," Kay adds, teasing the older man.
"Hey, come on." The manager shakes his head and leaves us.
"Can you keep her here a little longer?" I ask. "I don't want to drive her just yet."
I tell him the truth, though not in detail.
"Of course, but how long?" He asks.
"Until the time is right," I answer vaguely.
He looks at me gently and places his hand on my head. "Tell me whenever you're ready," he says.
"Thank you." I smile at him. "Then I'll go. I have so much to do."
"Homework?" There's a teasing note in his voice.
"Yesss," I say, drawing out the word.
"I'll take you," he offers.
"You just arrived," I remind him, but he ignores me. "Kay, I can go home by myself," I say.
"I know you can," he replies.
I sigh. Before he can head toward his car, I hurry out of the garage.
"Hey!" Kay shouts.
"Get back to work before you get fired," I tell him, leaving him standing there.
I glance toward the helmeted man, who is still sitting on his bike, probably waiting for something—or someone.
Is he watching me, or am I just paranoid?
Then, I leave the place.
"Did you let her go home by herself?" The manager asks the man with faded brown hair, who is standing nearby.
"I offered, but she ran off."
"Fuck, man. Kay, you're such a loser," the manager says.
"I managed to get that engine for her, man. You know how difficult it was to find." Kay turns toward him.
"You're not going to win her heart with a car," the manager tells him. Then he walks over to the man in black—the rider of the powerful sport bike.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. Here." The manager hands him a large toolbox.
The rider takes it, places it on the fuel tank in front of him, and immediately rides away.