Chapter Text
Black on white. Words are being written quickly on the dusty blackboard; the teacher has now used it so frequently that the chalk has nearly turned to dust. Yet she refused to throw it away until it was used up entirely. The desks were pushed together, forming small groups of four, while the students continued to discuss their most recent task to collaborate on. Although it was noisy, the chatter was pleasant and productive. Unlike a chaotic one, which would always find itself in a classroom at the start and end of each lesson.
As your friends' chatter fades into the background, you focus your attention on the board, watching your teacher with expected eyes. "Here they come," You mostly whisper to yourself, but your friends catch on when you say "The exam results." You finish by uncrossing your legs and crossing them again. You tug at your tie, fidgeting with the edge, "Bet you've got the top score again." Tara, your best friend, nudges you with a confident smile before returning her attention to the conversation your group was having.
Yes. Surely. There was no reason for you to be so anxious, wiping the sweat from your palms on your pants. You spent the week rereading the contents material even after the exam has been over long ago. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing.
You take a few looks at what's been written. The distribution of results. A sloppy arrangement with the best on top and the worst at the bottom.
Naturally, each column was filled with as many lines as were required to indicate how many students had earned how many points.
Unfortunately, this time there was another line next to the top score. Two. Two students had achieved the best results out of everyone. Your feet feel cold, numb. Your eyes tighten; surely she's made a mistake.
"Miss," You raise your hand as you call out to your teacher, your lips tightening as you wait for her to finish the final portion of distribution. It takes a while before she turns to you, brow perked up, her hand dusted with chalk. "Yes?" She approaches you, not taking many steps because you were seated at the front. "How are you doing with the task?" she turns to ask. "Good. Almost finished." You rush to explain for your group before your posture straightens, "Miss, A question." "Yes?"
“Who else got the top score?”
You swear you saw a twitch on her lips. You could swear you felt her eyes shift from unassuming to hostile. As if she was happy that someone else had finally gotten close to you.
"Well naturally, dear, you. However," her gaze shifted to the left. Your gaze follows, immediately focusing on the newcomer. He’s someone who moved here in the middle of the school year.
Who moves in the middle of the school year, especially when it’s their last anyway?
"Mr. Li," she calls out softly so that her voice does not carry throughout the room and disrupt the class's focus. He finishes writing his notes before turning to face the voice. Hazel eyes hidden behind square glasses pass you by, his focus fixed on the teacher. "Congratulations," she says with a smile. "Someone finally managed to dethrone our dearest top student."
You don’t bother to catch his reply.
You feel yourself sinking, falling. Getting caught up in her statement. Dethroned. Your throat dries up, and your hands become extremely sweaty, causing the pen you had gripped so tightly until your knuckles had lost all color to slip from your grasp. You feel cold. Lifeless. Dethroned.
Congratulations.
You avoid his gaze and his entire person while biting down hard on the inside of your cheek and bending down to pick up the pen you dropped in the hopes that the motion will restore some heat to your body. But nothing. Everything was becoming too much. Too cold. Too loud. Too much of everything. Squeezing your eyes shut, you allow the taste of iron in your mouth to settle.
Once your teacher had finished discussing your results and handing out the exams, class was over. You wanted to sprint out of the room, away from what had happened. But you couldn't move, glued to your seat and staring at the returned piece of paper.
"Good work," You barely caught Nero's words as he nodded at your result with no surprise. His glasses, combined with his bowlcut, effectively concealed his eyes, leaving you wondering if he ever truly meant the compliments he bestowed upon you. "You too." You manage, but your voice is quieter than usual. Your heart still hung heavy. Dethroned. Tara groans as she leans on your shoulder, her entire weight dragging you down with her. "Man, maybe I should've taken you up on that tutoring offer." She pouts, and you almost relax. Almost.
Andrew comes from behind you, you feel him stare at your paper before smiling a little and sitting down next to you. "Oh man, the final days must be approaching." You inhale deeply, already anticipating what he will say next. He points to the side where the new student sits, head bowed as he quietly reads through his paper. He appears very small, as if he is attempting to merge with his seat. Andrew speaks again. "He's gotten two points ahead of you."
You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. You don’t dare say anything. Unsure if your voice had any strength to disagree. To prove him wrong.
Zayne Shen Li. His family had moved here unexpectedly because they were following a patient in critical need of their care. They did not want to leave their son behind, so they brought him along without much discussion. That was the explanation he had given to the class during his introduction. Apparently, he also skipped a class. Despite his height, his posture gave the impression that he was shorter. His hair was well-kept, black, and short enough not to interfere with his vision. He always wore his glasses and kept his uniform clean and tidy.
Your heart beats quickly just thinking about his presence, and you clench your fists tightly.
Zayne is to blame for the anger and disappointment you felt.
Your resentment has led you to a rather dim place of clear thinking. You approach his desk quickly, crinkling your results before slamming the paper down, drawing his attention to you. "What's your problem?" You begin, words squeezing themselves between your gritted teeth.
He does not look up at first. His gaze is drawn to your paper, and he murmurs something to himself with unease. Inhaling sharply, you give yourself permission to look at his own results; an unspoken agreement to exchange papers had occurred, and you were now holding his exam, flipping through the pages and comparing them to your own answers. Nearly identical. Sometimes he went deeper into the content, but nothing that made you doubt your own answer.
"Where did you get those extra two points?" You hiss, leaning in and invading his space. "Show me." You demand and he freezes. He was still going over your own paper before taking his in the other hand, flipping through and comparing each line. "Here," He points to the 45th question, very quietly. His voice is gentle. Drawn back.
Rereading each line in disbelief, you get a lump in your throat. Shit. Those were well-deserved two points. When you turn to meet his gaze, he looks down and clears his throat. "You did well." Is what he says, and it makes your blood boil. Well. You did well. With a huff, you grab your paper and head to your desk, collecting everything from it. You almost missed the chuckle that the other students gave you. It's not surprising that they would celebrate your first loss. And to a newbie in school at that too.
After gathering everything, you hasten to excuse yourself from your friends with a quick goodbye and leave. The chilly metal of the door handle hardly cools the heat that's building inside of you. Rarely were you angry. Rarely were you dealing with such an issue. This guy, however, was exceptional. Your breath shakes as you run your hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself.
He wasn't just smart; he possessed natural intelligence that was a threat to you. Because you weren't. All you were was hardworking. So hardworking that it had an impact on your very being.
If you weren't the best, smartest, or top student. What could you ever be?
Knowledge was the one thing in life that you were certain would keep you afloat, safe from everything, and everyone. Maintain your independence, so that you can rely on the one person who you know will never disappoint. You.
Swallowing hard, you open your school's doors and exit eagerly. For the first time, you were rushing home to collect yourself and reflect on the events of the day. There is one thing you can be certain of.
This cannot happen again.
Out of breath, you finally arrive home, shuffling through your bag to find your key; your hands were still sweating, trembling, and shaking despite your best efforts to keep them still. When you finally unlocked the door, you threw yourself inside, pushed it shut, and with a loud bang, the world outside fell silent.
So quiet.
Your entire family was still outside, consumed with their own matters. Their own troubles.
But it was always like this. Always quiet when you arrive home, and always quiet when you are upstairs in your room. You preferred it. You enjoyed being left alone. To be yourself, wrapped in books and words like a barrier. Nobody could ever break through this wall. Until now. Until Zayne.
"Zayne." You try his name, and it feels like venom on your tongue. Your throat swells, and you struggle to breathe. "It's all his fault." Perhaps your emotions were interfering with your ability to assess the situation logically. You were being unreasonable; You hoped that by the time you tried to eat lunch, your feelings of resentment toward a strange boy would have been swallowed up with your meal.
As per routine, you kick off your shoes, tiptoe into your slippers, and dawdle into the kitchen, leaving your bag next to the entrance. School, lunch, study, dinner, and sleep. These were the majority of your week's activities. If you were allowed, you could go see your friends after school, which would mean skipping lunch, studying with an upset stomach, and then having a bad mood at dinner. Which would give your parents ammunition to use against you. Angry. Always angry. Never satisfied. Why bother getting an education if you're going to be a housewife anyway?
Your mouth feels dry, and by the time you got to the fridge, you'd lost your appetite. Given how poorly you performed on that test, it serves you well. You ended up grabbing a fruit pouch before going into your room and locking yourself up to properly analyze your results once more.
The meal passes in silence. When you show your parents your test results, they nod in acknowledgement. You don't mention what happened today or WHO happened today. A little voice in your head returns. Back and forth, people cheering on for you to fail. Dethroned. You move the food around on your plate, taking very few bites.
"Oh by the way," From the sidelines, your brother speaks up. He's younger, impulsive, and indifferent about many things. The polar opposite of yourself. Calm and collected. You ignored him, chewing on your food to give yourself something to bite on instead of the inside of your cheeks. "I passed Chem." He announces to your family with a grin, laughing at the wide smiles your parents give him. Pride. Clear pride coated their cheeks, and they smiled brightly.
You sneer and click your tongue. "Like that's an accomplishment." You throw his way. The grip on your fork tightens, and you can feel the metal digging into your skin. He ignores your comment, just as your parents do. You had faded into nothingness. "I knew you could do it! I am proud of you, sonny." Your father's smile reaches his eyes, and you inhale sharply. You couldn't handle them today, not today. Not after receiving clear confirmation that, just maybe, they were right.
You grab your plate when you are certain that slipping away will not result in a confrontation. After putting the leftovers back in the pot and getting some nuts to munch on, head to your room. Your safe haven. Here, you could simply be.
Your phone's buzzing wakes you up. Exactly 6 a.m. Groaning, you sit up straight, your back cracking with exhaustion from a long and uncomfortable night from sleeping on the desk. The last few hours of yesterday were spent obsessing over what you could have done to earn those final two points, until your body and mind finally gave up. And now you're dealing with a sore back.
The day was Friday. There were club activities to attend, classroom cleanup, and weekend check-ins with your friends. Sometimes you'd all get together to study. Studying, however, frequently turns into simply hanging out. That is something you can look forward to. For tomorrow, you could persevere through today. With renewed resolve, you rush through your morning routine, and in less than thirty minutes, you're out the door before anyone else. You preferred this. In and out of the house without being disturbed or confronted.
Tara moves her seat closer to yours. "You look a mess." She says in hushed tones, "Are you really that upset about the new kid getting two more points?" Her expression of pity causes your cheeks to flush, and you quickly shake your head, "No." You reply too quickly, which is met with disbelief. "I stayed up late because I just got really into a book." You lied.
Yeah, Book of Failures. Written by Me, Myself.
Tara sighs, clearly not believing you, but decides to let it go. "Well, about tomorrow." She changes the topic. "Jenna said she's also tagging along." You smile at that. Jenna was a year older than the two of you and had already graduated, but she still enjoyed joining in on these 'study' sessions.
"I haven't heard from her in a while." You admit with a sigh as you bring out your belongings and prepare for class. "Me too. She promised to catch us up on everything tomorrow." The conversations continue, with the rest of your friend group joining in until the teacher walks in, signaling the beginning of class.
You completely forgot about Zayne for the rest of the day.
At the end of the school day, you felt better. Your friends cheered you up, and your geography teacher complimented you on your eager participation in class. Yep, still got it.
With newfound confidence and a rebuilt ego, you make your way out, but stop in your tracks when you're called out by name "Excuse me, do you have a moment?" Your eyes widen as you turn to face the source of the voice.
Zayne stands behind you, his hands clutching the straps of his backpack with a strength. Your eyes travel to his face, where his glasses conceal his own gaze. His expression was neutral. Unreadable. But his stiff body language told you everything you needed to know. Is he nervous?
"Depends." You turn your body towards him and cross your arms, lifting your chin just slightly before nodding for him to continue. "Earlier this morning, I overheard you talking about studying together with the others." He is rushing through his sentence, leaving you with no time to stop him and inform him that this study session will involve less studying he hoped for. Finally, he lifts his gaze, and you can see his eyes.
Green, like the forest you'd go through after a particularly gruesome day at schoo to unwindl. A hint of amber lingered inside, as if the sun was sneaking through the leaves of the trees.
"So, what, you want to tag along?" You roll your eyes and squeeze your arms even more tightly. You would never allow that. He's already infiltrated your school life; there's no reason to let his stain spread to your personal one. Still, as you continued to study his demeanor, your resolve weakened. The guarded persona you had tried to maintain began to crumble. Was he really that dangerous to your chance at success? Surely not. Perhaps this is the opportunity you need to get to know him and his methods. To figure out how he got those damn two points.
A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends.
Before he can reply you speak "Sure, why not." Your smile does not reach your eyes.