I stop just outside the English classroom, questioning everything that led me here. I could've picked literally any other course. Music. Physical Education. Lying on the floor and staring at ceiling tiles 101. But no, I picked English. Because of Mike and Lollie. I must've been sleep-deprived when I signed that form.
I push the door open, already regretting it, and there they are—sat right at the back like they own the place. Lollie's scrolling through her phone with her usual concentration, and Mike has his nose buried in a textbook like he's never met the concept of fun.
I make my way over, slinging my backpack off my shoulder.
"Yo," I say, leaning in and tapping his book. "What ancient torture are you putting yourself through?" I smirk.
Mike looks up, and I catch a glimpse of the cover. Shakespeare. I squint. Then I double-check. Yep. Shakespeare. I stare at him for a second.
"Wait. You're reading Shakespeare? Who even are you?" I lean back with my brows furrowing.
I press the back of my hand to his forehead. "You burning up or something dude?" I say followed by a short lived chuckle.
He swats my hand away like I just insulted his entire bloodline, then slams the book shut like it's incriminating evidence.
"It's the Shakespeare test today," he mutters, serious as death.
I try not to laugh, I really do, but it starts in my stomach and works its way up. I grab my water bottle, hoping to cool the laughter before it escapes. One sip, and it's game over. I snort, choke, and accidentally spray Mike directly in the face.
"Eden!" he yells, jumping up like I set him on fire.
I'm too busy dying of laughter to feel bad. Lollie looks up just in time to see Mike wiping his face with his sleeve. She lets out a chuckle whilst hiding her face with her hand.
"That's what you get for trying to be a nerd," she says, sliding her legs off the desk and sitting up properly.
Mike glares at me like he's considering transferring to another college just to escape the betrayal.
Then the door creaks open again, and in strolls Mr. Ferguson, dressed like he was rejected from a wedding in the 70s. Brown suit, checkered shirt, maroon bow tie, and the kind of smug look that makes you want to fail on purpose just to spite him.
Mike and I scramble to our seats, chucking our bags under the desks like nothing happened. Mr. Ferguson walks down the rows, dropping test papers onto desks with the same energy as someone slapping down bills you forgot to pay.
When he gets to me, he slams the paper in front of me and leans in so close I can smell the stale coffee on his breath. I recoil slightly.
"Make sure you pass this one, Eden," he says, like it's a threat.
I watch him move on and fight the urge to mutter something I'd definitely regret.
Mr. Ferguson is... well. He's a professional-grade a-hole. I've had bad teachers before, but he has a special talent for making you feel like crap without saying much at all. Honestly, if I ever snap one day, there's a 90% chance it'll be because of him.
He settles behind his desk, kicks his feet out like a smug gremlin, and says, "Okay, class. You may start your quiz. No phones. No talking. No cheating."
I stare down at the paper. It stares back. Empty. Like my brain.
I dig around in my bag for a pen and start scribbling whatever comes to mind. Is it accurate? Probably not. Is it spelled correctly? Also unlikely. But at least it looks like I'm trying. That counts for something, right?
The room is dead quiet. You could probably hear a spider sneeze in here. I chew on the end of my pen and glance at the clock. Thirty minutes have passed. Feels like three hours. I sneak a look at Ferguson, and—yep—he's watching me like I'm plotting to burn the school down.
I pretend to write harder.
Eventually, the bell rings. Sweet, sweet freedom.
Mike and I grab our bags, and Lollie joins us as we flood out into the hallway with the rest of the half-dead student body. The noise hits us instantly—people yelling, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking on tile. It's chaos. The good kind.
At my locker, I toss my English stuff in like it personally offended me.
"What've you got next?" Lollie asks, leaning against the locker next to mine.
"Double Physical Education," I grumble. "Then back to English. Because the universe hates me."
She snorts. "Could be worse."
"Could it, though?" I say, giving her a dramatic look.
Mike shows up then, tossing his arms around Lollie and shooting me a smirk. "You're totally failing English, dude." He leans in looking smug with his reply.
I slam my locker shut.
"Probably. But I only picked it to hang out with you losers. I could've been doing five periods of Physical Education and living my best life." I snap.
"Liar," Lollie says, grinning.
The Day goes pretty quick. We complete our English exam then say our goodbyes until next term. Summer awaits us.
The final bell rings, and we all head toward the gates. I shoot a quick message to Dad—On my way. When I look up, Mike and Lollie are walking toward me, waving.
"Finally! Done, finished, gone!" Mike throws his hands in the air like he's been released from prison.
"Another chapter over," I say, smiling.
Lollie jumps on my back, makes a whooping noise, then hops off again before I fall over. We're laughing, goofing off.
Then it hits me.
Mum's birthday.
That thought slices through everything. My smile fades before I can stop it.
"I'm heading straight home tonight," I say. "See you guys tomorrow, nine sharp."
They pause. Mike gives me a look but doesn't press. Lollie just nods.
I turn away before they say anything else. I can't deal with the sympathy right now.
I climb on the bus, slide into a seat, and stare out the window. It's a short ride, but today it feels long. Too long.
All I want is to be home, but I'm not even sure why.