The students were too busy stealing glances at the back corner, their eyes darting between the empty doorway where Jacob had vanished and the boy who had dared to shove him.
Mel sat as still as a statue. He felt as though his body was made of glass, and one wrong move would cause him to shatter in front of everyone. The threat from Jacob was a cold weight in his stomach, but the presence of Derrick beside him was a searing heat.
Suddenly, a dull thud echoed from the surface of his desk.
Mel blinked, looking down. A sleek, high-end insulated meal box had been pushed into his space. It was heavy, professional, and radiated a subtle warmth.
"Eat," Derrick said.
Mel looked at the box, then at Derrick, who was leaning back with his hands behind his head, looking perfectly at home despite the social explosion he had just caused.
"I... I can't," Mel whispered, his voice caught in his throat. "It's yours."
"My mother made it," Derrick said, his tone shifting into something casually annoyed. "She's a bit... high-strung. She packs these elaborate meals like I'm going off to war instead of senior year. I don't like what's in there. It's too much."
"But—"
"If you don't eat it," Derrick interrupted, turning his head to fix Mel with a piercing look, "I'm going to sit here and pester you until you do. We've got twenty minutes of free period. You're going to need the energy if you're going to go deal with that library. Eat."
Mel's stomach betrayed him then. A low, traitorous growl rumbled from his midsection, loud enough for Derrick to hear. Mel felt the heat rush to his face again. He hadn't eaten dinner the night before out of anxiety, and his late arrival this morning meant he'd skipped both his home breakfast and the school's morning tray. He was hollowed out, dizzy with a hunger he'd tried to ignore.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, Mel clicked the latches of the box.
The lid came off, releasing a cloud of steam that smelled of rosemary, roasted chicken, and buttery mashed potatoes. It was a "mother's meal" indeed—lavish, expensive, and clearly made with a level of care that felt alien to Mel.
Mel picked up the plastic fork provided and took a bite. The food was hot, rich, and delicious. As the first proper nutrients hit his system, his body took over, his survival instinct overriding his social anxiety. He began to eat more quickly, the warmth spreading through his chest.
However, he could feel Derrick's eyes on him. Derrick was watching Mel eat with an intensity that was suffocating. Mel tensed, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. Being perceived while doing something as vulnerable as eating was a nightmare.
In his haste and nervousness, a small crumb of potato and a smear of sauce caught on the corner of his lower lip.
Mel reached for a napkin, but he was too slow.
Derrick leaned in.
The distance between them vanished in an instant. Mel froze, his fork suspended in mid-air, as Derrick reached out with his thumb. The pad of his thumb was warm and slightly rough as it brushed against the sensitive skin of Mel's lip, wiping away the mess with a slow, deliberate pressure.
"Stop being so messy," Derrick murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle right under Mel's skin. "Eat like a human, Mel. I'm not going to steal it back from you."
Derrick withdrew his hand, but he didn't pull back his body. He stayed in Mel's personal space, his gaze lingering on Mel's mouth for a second too long before he finally leaned back into his own seat.
Mel's heart was drumming a frantic rhythm. He finished the rest of the meal in a blur, his mind spinning. Just as he was clicking the lid back onto the container, the classroom door swung open. It was a student runner from the administrative wing.
"Derrick Shane? Mel? The Principal wants to see you both. Now."
The classroom erupted into a frantic, hushed chorus of "I told you so."
"There it is," one boy whispered loud enough for them to hear. "Suspension. Maybe expulsion for the new guy."
"Jacob probably cried to his dad the second he got out of here," a girl added, shaking her head. "Mel's finally going to get what's been coming to him for being a freak."
Mel felt the blood drain from his face. His hands shook so hard he almost dropped the meal box. This was it. The invisible life was over, replaced by a very public execution of his academic career.
"Let's go," Derrick said, standing up. He sounded almost bored.
The walk to the Principal's office felt like a march to the gallows. Students lined the hallways, whispering and pointing. Mel kept his head down, clutching the meal box to his chest like a shield. Derrick walked beside him, his stride long and confident, his face an unreadable mask of indifference.
When they reached the heavy doors of the Principal's office, Mel felt like he might faint. They were ushered in by a grim-faced secretary.
Inside, Mr. Marcos, the Principal, sat behind a massive desk. He looked every bit the stern disciplinarian, his eyes sharp behind gold-rimmed glasses. Jacob was standing by the window, his arms crossed, a smirk of pure triumph lighting up his face.
"Father, this is the one," Jacob said, pointing at Derrick. "He assaulted me in front of the whole class. And Mel encouraged him. They both need—"
Mr. Marcos looked up, his gaze landing first on Mel, then shifting to Derrick.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mr. Marcos's expression disintegrated. The stern, cold mask of the Principal crumbled into a look of pure, startled recognition. His eyes widened, and for a fleeting second, he looked almost... terrified.
"D-Derrick?" Mr. Marcos stammered, half-rising from his chair.
Jacob's smirk faltered. "Father? Did you hear me? He grabbed my—"
"Be quiet, Jacob!" Mr. Marcos snapped, his voice sharp with a sudden, desperate edge. He turned back to the two boys, his face pale. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tie with a shaking hand.
"I... I've reviewed the initial report," Mr. Marcos said, his voice now unnaturally high and strained. "It seems there was a misunderstanding. A simple... clash of personalities. No need for formal disciplinary action."
Jacob gasped. "What? He threatened to break my hand! Everyone saw it!"
"I said enough!" Mr. Marcos roared, slamming his hand on the desk. He looked at Derrick, a pleading, subservient light in his eyes. "Mr. Shane... I apologize for the interruption to your studies. Please, return to class. The matter is dropped. Permanently."
Derrick didn't look surprised, he simply gave the Principal a slow, knowing smile—a smile that held a chilling amount of power.
"I'm glad we could clear that up, Mr. Marcos," Derrick said smoothly. "I'd hate for my father to hear that the school environment was... unwelcoming."
Mr. Marcos flinched as if he'd been struck. "Of course. Of course. Go on then."
Derrick turned, catching Mel's elbow and steering him out of the office before Mel could even process what had happened.
As the door clicked shut behind them, the hallway was silent. Mel's head was spinning. Who was Derrick? What kind of name did he carry that could make a man like Mr. Marcos—a man who terrified every student in the school—turn into a stuttering mess?
Mel looked up at Derrick, the question burning on his tongue. But as he saw the cool, distant expression return to the athlete's face, the words died in his throat. They weren't friends. They were barely acquaintances. He wasn't in a position to ask the secrets of a king.
"You still have to clean the library," Derrick reminded him, his voice returning to that casual, teasing tone. "But at least now you've got a full stomach."
Mel nodded dumbly, the mystery of Derrick Shane growing larger and more dangerous by the second.