Chapter Text
“Zyanya!” Kirra yells out a hushed whisper, brows furrowed tentatively.
Zyanya looks back, pulling her hair over a shoulder as she does so. “Hm?”
“This,” Kirra motions to their surroundings— a single, long row of lockers decorated against the pale walls, moving in descending order as they walk further down the hall. “Is truancy!”
“No, it’s called avoiding a pointless class.” The bronze-skinned woman shrugs, the rough fabric of her sweat-damp gym uniform rubbing against her skin uncomfortably.
They’d just gotten out of gym class, and while it usually wasn’t much of an issue, Summer was around the corner. Worst of all, the lesson had been held in the outdoor court.
“Thus, truancy.” Hazal retorts, hands dug deep in the pockets of her gym shorts.
Rolling her eyes, Zyanya trailed the well-manicured nail of her pointer finger along the wall of lockers, lightly scratching the metal doors.
“Would you rather listen to professor Liam go on and on about differentiation and integration?”
Iselin chuckles. “He’s not that bad.”
“Don’t even start, Lin. He’s horrible and boring.” With a groan, Zyanya rounded the corner at the end of the hallway.
She leads the group to one of the few vending machines on campus, the vibrant glow of its lights beaming across her tan skin.
“You’re only saying that because you’ve already mastered the topic.” Kirra retorts behind with a scrunch of her nose.
“No,” she scoffs, fishing loose coins from her pockets as she slots them into the vending machine. “It’s because professor Liam just doesn’t explain it well.”
“Anyways, thirsty?” Zyanya gestures to the brightly-lit glass display of cold, refreshing beverages.
“Depends. Are you paying?” Hazal teases with a smirk on her lips and an upturned brow.
Zyanya throws a nasty finger over her back as she selects her drink of choice, watching it gracefully slide over the shelf and landing—
“What the hell?” Zyanya exclaims out loud when the plastic bottle gets caught between the glass pane and the shelf it once sat on. In fact, it was still partially sat on it.
At this, Hazal couldn’t help but let out a boisterous laugh that echoed throughout the deserted hallway. “Serves you right.”
“You can actually kiss my—”
“Okay now! Let’s not get vulgar here.” Iselin interrupts as she pulls her partner back, sliding a soft palm over Hazal’s mouth.
Kirra can only sigh at their usual antics with her hip jutted out and her hands placed on each side. She throws a cautious look to the side, weary of how loud they were being.
“There’s still classes going on, incase you forgot.” Iselin points out, suddenly realising that they were, in fact, supposed to be in class as well.
“And— are we forgetting that professor Vincent’s lecture is right by us?” Kirra adds on, pointing to the daunting lecture room right by the vending machine.
Professor Vincent was known as the stuck-up bitch— for lack of better words. Everyone on campus knew of him, almost like some academic urban legend, and no one liked him.
“Isn’t that the professor that’s got a stick up their ass?” Zyanya grunts, palming the clear display with a less than soft thump.
“Mhm. And just to remind you, we’re right outside of his—”
Before the Australian could complete her sentence, she is cut off by a near-thunderous growl of the machine’s metal frame. She can only stare in stunned horror as Zyanya grips both sides of the vending machine and rattles it with wild, furious strength.
Zyanya finally lets go, sporting a victorious look as the bottle slips between the glass and drops down, landing in the collection area.
“There we go.” She huffs, exasperated and relieved.
“Zyanya,” Hazal chuckles, unravelling herself from Iselin’s hold. “We’re gonna get in trouble because of you.”
The athlete gulps down her drink, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.
“You just jinxed it.” Zyanya nods in the other direction as the door to the lecture room slowly creaks open, resounding through the emptied hallway.
She watches as the blood drains from their faces and responds with a cheeky grin.
“Go. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Kirra’s face contorts into one of uncertainty, but she doesn’t get the chance to voice her worries when Hazal and Iselin tugs her away, hand-in-hand and sprinting in the opposite direction.
“I’ll be fine!” She waves, watching their figures slowly fade into the distance.
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Sabine scribbles a few faint equations on her exam script, the smooth graphite of her pencil sliding across the paper.
At the top right-hand corner of her script—written in bold red ink— a proud 95 sits beside a cheerful ‘Great Job!’ stamp.
As she flips through the pages of her script, she notices sharp, precise red ticks scattered throughout, marked cleanly with only two or three crosses worth noting.
“Sabine!” Tayane whispers from the side, confusion laced within her features.
“Hm?” She hums back, turning to face the girl.
“I don’t understand how to do question 3.” The girl frowns, lightly tapping the tip of her pencil against the thin surface.
“Ask Klara.” Sabine teases, reaching for Tayane’s paper regardless.
“I would,” she grumbles under her breath, taking a quick glance in Klara’s direction. “But she’s busy with her tuition assignments. Don’t wanna bother her.”
Sabine nods with a smile. “I see. Let me take a look.”
She does a quick scan of the page, analysing the latter’s mess of a writing; numbers every where, scribbled equations littered against every corner, answers written-over one another.
“Tayane, we need to get you a correction tape.” Sabine jokes, running the pads of her fingers across the ink-filled paper.
Sheepishly, Tayane rubs the back of her neck, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “Klara bought me one. I just haven’t used it.”
“I wonder why.” Callas sighs, shaking her head as the blush on Tayane’s cheeks deepens.
Sabine shifts her seat closer to Tayane, grabbing a clean sheet of paper as she revises the question with her once more.
“You’ve a good foundational understanding of Integration. The only problem i can see is that you have trouble substituting its integrals.” Sabine explains, copying down the first few equations the shorter girl had written.
“You’ve to substitute the lower limit first.”
Sabine illustrates it on paper, re-writing the equation with the substitution of the lower limit.
“Then, substitute the upper limit,” she writes again, only taking a pause in-between to ensure Tayane’s clarity.
“So why’d i get it wrong, then? I did the exact same thing.” Tayane sighs, running a hand over her face.
“Your presentation is all over the place, Tayane. It’s just a matter of careless mistakes— write neater, clearer, and you won’t lose the mark.”
Tayane has a blank look on her face— like she’s a lost child in the middle of a mall.
“Like over here,” Sabine chuckles, tracing her pencil around an error in her equation. “You confused the integrals. The values are mixed, so you won’t get the right answer either way.”
“…I really do need to use my correction tape.”
“Y’know, if you’re so persistent on conserving the tape Klara bought for you, i can always get you one to use.”
“Miss Callas.” Professor Vincent’s voice is laced with razor-edged clarity, slicing through the air with commanding silence.
Sabine instantly turns back around, straightening her back as professor Vincent addresses her with sharp eyes, complimented by the elegant frames of his glasses.
“Yes, professor.”
“Is there something more worth discussing than what i’m teaching, miss Callas?”
He pushes the bridge of his glasses up with a gentle push of a finger, the glare of the lights reflecting off of his lenses.
“No, professor.” Sabine shakes her head softly.
Professor Vincent resumes his class after a second-long stare off with Sabine, returning back to the pages of his textbook as he writes down the next question on the whiteboard.
“Moving on. Question 4; I realise that many of you struggle with—”
BANG!
With a sharp turn of his head, professor Vincent glances at the door, his brows etching into a deep frown at the sudden interruption.
He waits for a beat, then another. When silence follows, he continues his lesson.
“As i was saying. It seems that many of you struggle with area under the curve for integration. Especially with—”
BANG!
With yet another interruption to his lecture, he chokes back an irritated sigh.
“Especially with the substitution of integrals. I will revise this topic more thoroughly, so listen—”
BANG!
“Pardon me for a moment.”
The book lands on the table with a soft thud as professor Vincent approaches the door with large strides, rounding his fingers around the door knob and twisting it open with a click.
Instinctively, Sabine looks up from her exam script at the man’s sudden and quick movements, watching as he steps foot into the threshold of the hallway.
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Zyanya stands with her hands by her sides, fingertips fiddling with the edge of her gym shorts.
“And what might you be doing out of class?” Professor Vincent glances at her figure— hair loose, gym attire, and definitely not in class.
“Uh… Toilet break, professor.” Zyanya throws a lame excuse his way, her hands balling up into a fist by her sides.
He raises a brow— not a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Name?”
The athlete stands with a slouch to her posture, shoulders slightly hunched over while her chin angles towards the floor beneath her feet.
“Zyanya Mondragón.”
Seemingly pleased with the answer he received, he offers a curt nod.
“Follow me, miss Mondragón.”
When he walks back into the lecture room, Sabine notices a new face that returns with him. The girl follows behind sheepishly, hands clasped behind her back.
The newly introduced stranger’s purple hair was striking— flashy, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore. It tumbled freely over her shoulders in soft, deliberate curls, untouched by the restraint of a hair tie.
There was a kind of wild elegance to it, the way it caught the light, shifting from violet to deep plum as she swayed on her feet, side to side.
Sabine couldn’t look away. The girl’s bronze skin glowed under the overhead lights, smooth and sun-kissed, and her beauty was the kind that lingered; dangerous and magnetic. Her gaze trailed slowly, deliberately, and when their eyes met, something tightened in her chest.
“Whose lesson aren’t you attending currently?” He questions, grabbing a red piece of paper from the side of his desk.
“Professor Liam’s.” She mumbles in return, her right hand pulling at the collar of her gym shirt.
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know of your whereabouts.”
His sarcasm leaves a bitter taste in Zyanya’s mouth, and she bites back a laugh.
With everyone's eyes on her, Zyanya sat frozen. Meanwhile, Professor Vincent scribbles down God knows what, and she seizes the opportunity to let her eyes wander around the classroom.
Eventually, she notices a tall girl seated in the back of the class— tallest in the class at that, it seems.
The latter’s blouse and skirt was immaculately pressed, her short hair, falling just above her shoulders, framing a face as sharp as it was captivating.
The athlete's gaze lingered, caught by the pale complexion and those green eyes that seemed to cut right through her.
It was then that she realises she’d been blatantly staring, and was pulled out of her trance when piercing green eyes met her gaze. They both held the other’s gaze, locked in place with a quiet, pulsing tension.
Sabine was the first to waver, looking away as she rubbed the back of her neck. She’d felt something— indescribable, subtle and charged.
Zyanya, however, challenged on, her stare unwavering and sharp, embedding itself deep into the back of Sabine’s mind, almost as if it was meant to stay.
It wasn’t until Chamber called for her that she finally tore her gaze away from the girl.
“Miss Mondragón,” Chamber calls out, the slip of red paper pinched between his fingers. “This is your detention slip. You can serve your hours after school today in this lecture hall.”
Begrudgingly, Zyanya takes it off his hands and shoves it in the pocket of her gym shorts.
Her head hangs low, overgrown fringe falling over her face like a curtain, shielding her from Chamber’s unyielding, piercing stare.
“And for the record, miss Mondragón— you should be in appropriate attire with your hair tied up when i next see you.”
“Yes, professor.” Zyanya sighs.
With his pointer finger, Chamber pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose, offering s curt nod to the latter.
“You may go now. To class.”
Zyanya’s shoulders sag with relief, and she doesn’t hesitate to turn on her heel and head for the doors.
The walk to the door was brief, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her—watching, following, burning into her side. She instinctively looks up, and she isn’t surprised when she finds the same piercing green eyes looking at her.
Sabine doesn’t even realise it, but she sits up a little straighter the moment violet eyes catch hers and hold.
Zyanya winks teasingly, and a playful smirk pulls at her lips when the tall girl flushes, her cheeks dusted pink.
Zyanya mouths a subtle ‘bye’ as she pulls the door open. She lifts her free hand in a quick wave goodbye— casual, maybe, but it sends Sabine’s heart into a small spiral.
And Sabine just… sits there, blinking like she forgot how to function. It’s only after the door clicks shut that she realises she didn’t wave back. Or breathe.
“Cool,” Sabine mutters softly to herself, staring at the closed door like it might reopen if she just wishes hard enough. “Very smooth.”
She exhales sharply, dragging a hand over her face and letting her head rest against her palm, elbow against the desk.
Sabine tries to convince herself that the stranger was just another girl. A girl with stupidly pretty eyes and a wave that short-circuits your brain. Chill.
Except she absolutely isn’t chilling. Her heart’s still doing that ridiculous flutter thing in her chest, and she’s pretty sure her ears are warm.
God help her if the girl actually had looked back.
Tayane stares at Sabine and simply blinks.
Sabine Callas— the smartest in the school, known for her stoicism and unbothered attitude, was blushing.
And for a moment, Tayane thinks she must be imagining it— because in all their years of friendship, she’s never seen Sabine show the slightest hint of affection for anyone ever since the incident. Not until now, at least.
Sabine knows she’s being stared at. She knows her flushed demeanour is obvious to the naked eye. She knows the girl is a stranger, and yet she’s feeling all sorts of feelings for her.
“…Sabine?” Tayane mumbles out, lightly tapping her finger against the wood of her table.
“Don’t.” Sabine forces through gritted teeth, her voice wavering ever so slightly.
The tremble in her voice wasn’t noticeable, but Tayane is observant.
“Sabine.” Tayane mutters out more firmer this time when professor Chamber announces the end of his lesson.
The girl doesn’t answer right away. She grips the edges of her table, contemplating whether or not it was a good idea to talk.
“Yeah.” Her body deflates with the word, and she’s now slumped over her table, head in her hands.
“It doesn’t hurt to try again.” The Brazilian reassures, her gaze softening when Sabine peeks through the gaps of her fingers.
“It could. It did.”
“And if it does, we’ll be here to pick the pieces up.” Tayane nods towards LingYing and Klara, both girls absorbed in their own conversation.
“What if she’s just like her?”
Tayane shakes her head in disapproval, a gentle frown pulling at her eyebrows.
“Don’t let your experience with her ruin what could be with a new person.”
Sabine only manages out a sigh.
“It’s scary.”
As Tayane was about to respond, Lingying interjects, her ears perked up in curiosity as she approached the two.
“What’s scary?”
“Let’s go to lunch,” Sabine stands from her seat, carefully storing her study materials in her bag. “We can talk then.”