The steam had long faded from the tiles, but the fog in Jennifer's chest hadn't cleared. She sat on the edge of her bed, hair damp and cold against her back, towel slipping off one shoulder. The room was quiet, too quiet. No laughter from the hallway, no footsteps above-just the throb of her thoughts.
She glanced down.
A single drop of blood stained her underwear-just enough to mean something. Jennifer stared at it, then at the uniform folded neatly on her lap, as if it might speak, confess for her. It didn't.
She took a shaky breath and reached into her bag for a clean pair-a fresh skirt, a different blouse. But before the blouse, she paused. Her hand brushed against the soft cotton of a worn tank-high-necked, out of dress code, and hidden beneath her gym clothes. She wasn't supposed to wear it under her uniform. But the mirror had shown her the mark again, faint but unmistakable at her collarbone. The memory burned. Without thinking, she pulled it on. The fabric hugged her skin, warm from the shower, clinging like a secret she couldn't explain. She layered her blouse over it, buttoning up higher than usual. The tank top would keep eyes away. Or try to.
She tucked it in quickly, shoved the old clothes deep into the locker, and turned to leave-
Knock knock.
The sound startled her. She crossed to the door and opened it.
Cynthia stood outside, brows furrowed with worry. "Hey...you okay? You didn't show up for morning preps."
Jennifer nodded faintly. "I'm fine."
"I left your physics book on Miss Emily's desk," Cynthia added. "Don't worry, I told her you weren't feeling well."
"Thanks," Jennifer said, voice low.
"You sure you're up for breakfast?"
Jennifer hesitated. Her stomach was quiet now, but hollow.
Cynthia stepped aside. "Come on. Just some tea."
As they stepped into the dining hall, the scent of weak tea and overboiled eggs clung to the humid air. Girls milled about, trays in hand, voices low and sleepy.
Behind the serving table stood Mama Njeri, wide-hipped in her apron, a red scarf tied around her head like a crown. She spotted Jennifer immediately.
"Aki mami," she called out, voice thick with worry," You look like you've seen a ghost. You sick?"
Jennifer offered a small nod. "Just a headache."
Mama Njeri clicked her tongue, already reaching for a metal tray. "You take tea. And two Mandazis. No standing today, eh? Go sit down."
Before Jennifer could protest, Angela, standing nearby in her Dining Prefect badge, had already picked up the tray for her. "Go sit, Jen. We've got your duties covered today."
Jennifer gave her a grateful glance, then followed Cynthia across the room to their usual table.
They had just settled in when the unmistakable voice sliced through the air.
"Some people still wear tank tops. In June," Maria said, not even lowering her voice. "Are you from Venus or just dumb?"
Laughter bubbled up from the table beside them-Maria's group-girls from the same class-giggled loud and sharp. Sharp makeup, sharper tongues. Maria's eyes glittered like broken glass, fixed squarely on Jennifer.
Jennifer's fingers tightened around the metal edge of her tray. She didn't respond.
Angela turned from a few feet away, visibly irritated. But before anyone could say anything-
Click. Click. Click.
The rhythm of heels on tile. The hush returned like a certain falling.
Miss Emily.
She walked down the aisle between tables, a vision in black and white-crisp coat, dark glasses, papers pressed to her chest. She moved like thunder pretending to be silence.
She stopped, just briefly, beside Maria's table. Her gaze didn't fall on anyone in particular, yet it stung all the same.
"Bad manners," she said softly, voice like a razor in velvet. "Talking while others are eating is uncultured. Especially when it's not intelligent."
The table fell silent. Maria dropped her eyes. The laughter died.
Miss Emily didn't wait for a response. She continued walking.
But the scent followed her-lavender, citrus, and something else Jennifer couldn't name.
She paused beside their table- her posture upright, her expression unreadable. She didn't look directly at Jennifer, but her words struck with quiet authority.
"Those kinds of clothes are forbidden, Jennifer," she said. "Unless you have a specific reason or a documented medical issue, you are expected to follow uniform protocol."
The sharpness of her tone cut through the room. Jennifer kept her eyes on the table, shoulders stiff.
Cynthia glanced at her friend, then stood up a little straighter, her voice calm but firm.
"Miss Emily," she said, "don't you remember? I told you during morning preps."
Miss Emily's eyes flicked toward Cynthia. She gave a small nod-curt, almost reluctant-then turned and walked away, her heels echoing against the tile floor.
Maria didn't say anything this time.
But her eyes followed Miss Emily retreat, then slowly slid back to Jennifer. She didn't smile -not fully-just that same quiet curve of the lips, like she was storing something away for later. Like she knew something Jennifer didn't.
Jennifer could not meet her gaze. Couldn't.
Her fingers curled tighter around the mug. The tea had gone cold, untouched. Her throat tightened, her stomach heavier than it had been when she walked in.
Cynthia leaned closer again. "Are you okay?"
Jennifer nodded, once.
But her silence said otherwise.
The bell rang with a sharp clang, scattering the last murmurs in the dining hall. Jennifer rose slowly, her body moving like it didn't quite belong to her. The weight of the tank top under her blouse felt heavier now, tighter, as if it were pressing against a memory she couldn't shake.
Cynthia walked beside her as they joined the river of students filing down the corridor.
"She said we'll have a surprise quiz today," Cynthia muttered under her breath, eyes scanning the passing girls. "That's why I told everyone to get their books ready. Miss Emily doesn't play."
Jennifer didn't answer.
She hadn't imagined her first class after escaping morning prep would be Physics-not after last night, not after that hallway encounter. But now, there was no room to run.
The classroom buzzled with low chatter as they entered, sunlight slicing through the dusty windows in long, golden stripes . Desks scraped against the floor . A few girls passed glances towards Jennifer-some curious, others unreadable.
Cynthia as a class prefect clapped her hands twice. "Alright ,everyone, settle down! Open your books . We're expecting a Physics quiz."
Jennifer slid into her usual seat near the second row, heart pounding . Her hands trembled slightly as she took out her A+ Topical Physics book, the one Cynthia had returned earlier that morning. Her fingers hovered over the cover.
It still smelled faintly of lavender.
She shut her eyes for a second.
"Not now," she whispered to herself.
Behind her, the classroom door creaked open.
Silence fell like a switch had been thrown.
Jennifer didn't have to turn to know.
Miss Emily has arrived.
The classroom door creaked open again.
Miss Emily stepped in, arms full of student exercise books stacked in a sharp-angled bundle, a thin leather folder tucked beneath one elbow. Behind her, a girl from Form 4 North followed closely , carrying the rest.
Whispers rippled through the room, but Miss Emily's heels silenced them. She reached the desk and nodded toward the girl.
"Thank you. You can go now."
The girl nodded quickly and left.
Miss Emily placed her pile on the desk with crisp precision. Her glasses slid lower on her nose as she surveyed the class. Then:
"Cynthia," she called, her voice smooth, deliberate.
Cynthia stood and approached the front.
"These are the submitted assignments. Sort them by stream and pass them back," Miss Emily said.
Cynthia got to work, flipping through the pile and calling out names. One by one, students received their books, some with tired scrawls, others nearly blank.
Jennifer waited.
But her book hadn't come.
She straightened, eyes flicking toward the shrinking stack. Still nothing.
Cynthia glanced over her shoulder, subtly shaking her head.
Miss Emily stepped forward, past the first row, past the third-stopping at Jennifer's desk.
Without looking at her, she placed a single book down.
Jennifer recognized it immediately. Her old exercise book, the one with barely legible notes and worn corners. But a fresh paper was clipped to the front-her new assignment. Jennifer saw the markings in red ink. Not just corrections.
Praise.
"Well done," Miss Emily said, voice low but clear. "Very few students managed to calculate the vector force with proper units. Most couldn't even apply Newton's second law to the pulley system question . But you did."
Jennifer blinked.
Miss Emily didn't smile. She didn't look down. She moved on.
Cynthia gave her a glance-part impressed, part unsure. Jennifer felt heat rising to her cheeks.
Miss Emily returned to the front of the class. Her gaze swept across the room.
"The rest of you," she said, "Performed poorly . Especially on the work-energy conversation segment. Only Jennifer and..." She paused. "Cynthia."
The class shifted, whispers crawling again between desks.
Miss Emily's eyes lingered on Cynthia. "Though I admit, Cynthia, your work felt...collaborative."
Laughter rippled. Cynthia's mouth twitched but she said nothing.
"Books aside," Miss Emily ordered, straightening. "Let's see what you remember without help. Prepare for a short quiz."
Jennifer waited until Miss Emily turned her back and the classroom began shifting again. Slowly, she opened the exercise book, heart thudding louder than it should have. There, clipped behind her assignment paper, something slipped out.
A small green sachet.
It was folded neatly, tucked almost invisibly between the page-the kind of thing you'd overlook unless you were looking for something more. She turned it over.
A cream. Medical, by the look of it. For swelling. For tenderness.
Jennifer's throat tightened. Her fingers brushed the paper note folded with it.
"Apply it gently-the side of your neck. It should ease the ache."
Jennifer stared at it, pulse rising.
This wasn't just medicine.
It was a message.