April 8 – Monday Morning / St. Ivy High – Classroom 1-A
The Monday After
The bell rang exactly at 8:15, but Class 1-A had already been buzzing for ten minutes. Not loud. Not chaotic. Just... unsettled.
Somewhere between post-weekend fatigue and pre-exam dread, the room felt less like a classroom and more like a pressure cooker with good lighting.
Jay stepped inside right on time. No rush. No delay. The same way he had every morning since returning. But even that small rhythm still felt unfamiliar—like trying to reclaim a melody halfway through the song.
He caught eyes with Emma almost immediately.
She looked composed, pen tapping in soft intervals against her notebook. Her expression gave nothing away. Not about the study session, not about the rooftop, not about how her hand had lingered beside his just a moment too long when they'd passed the last slice of pizza.
Jay offered a quiet nod.
She didn't return it—but her tapping stopped.
Tyler waved from his desk with a half-eaten protein bar dangling between his teeth. "Bro. You look like someone who actually slept."
"Terrifying, isn't it?" Jay replied, sliding into his chair.
"You're glowing," Miles said dryly. "Gross."
From across the room, Sofia lifted her gaze from her compact mirror. She didn't say anything. Just watched.
Amaya sat on her seat. Her fingers traced the margin of her textbook like she was searching for something she couldn't quite name.
Jay noticed the shift.
Something subtle.
Something brittle.
Enter the Storm: Brooks Style
The door creaked open like it had been forcibly convinced to work.
Mr. Brooks stepped in, carrying a thick binder and a mug with "TEACHER FUEL" scrawled across it in fading marker.
"Alright, my beautiful future disappointments," he said without looking up. "Today we're doing mid-point partner check-ins for your practical's. That means folders open, mouths working, and brains temporarily activated."
A collective groan rippled through the room.
"Each pair will sit with me. I'll ask questions. You'll answer. And if you say 'we're still brainstorming,' I will personally assign you a spontaneous interpretive dance presentation."
Tyler immediately raised a hand. "Is there a bonus if we do the dance?"
"No," Brooks replied. "But I'll grade you on rhythm."
Jay chuckled under his breath. Some things, thankfully, hadn't changed.
"Emma and Jay," Brooks said, already flipping to a page in his binder. "You're up first."
Emma closed her notebook. Stood. Didn't look at Jay.
Jay followed her without a word.
The Check-In
They sat across from Brooks at the side table.
He looked at them like a judge preparing for a low-budget courtroom reality show.
Jay placed their shared folder on the table. Emma angled it so the labelled tabs faced him.
Brooks opened it. Flipped through with one hand while sipping from his mug.
Jay cleared his throat. "We've decided to approach our topic— 'Systems of Trust in Youth Leadership'—through a hybrid lens. Academic framework paired with lived experience examples."
Emma added, "We've drafted three case examples from student-led initiatives—both real and fictional. The core structure hinges on conflict-resolution scenarios and response analysis."
Brooks raised an eyebrow. "Define that in fewer syllables."
Jay smiled faintly. "How do kids learn to trust each other when everything around them is falling apart?"
Brooks paused.
For a moment, the sarcasm left his face.
Then he shut the folder slowly and said, "That's actually good."
Emma blinked. "It's still rough."
"But it's real," Brooks said. "You two balance each other."
Jay leaned back. "I distract while she rescues."
Brooks smirked. "Sounds about right."
Then he looked at Emma directly. "You carried a lot while he was gone."
Emma straightened.
Brooks added, "I watched. You didn't break."
She gave a stiff nod. "I couldn't afford to."
Brooks looked at Jay. "And now?"
"I'm here to carry some of it back."
He meant it.
Emma looked at him sideways.
And this time, the look was softer.
The Aftermath
They returned to their seats, and it was like they'd walked back into a different room.
Sofia's eyes followed Jay as he passed.
Not flirtatious. Not mocking. Just... waiting.
She said nothing.
Luna sketched silently beside her, glancing up once to lock eyes with Jay before returning to her page. He never knew what she was drawing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Amaya's page was filled with tiny swirls and shapes—nonsense doodles that danced around the edges of her notes.
But when Jay sat down, she looked over.
Not long. Just a glance.
Then she went back to pretending nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Conversations Between the Lines
Lunchtime came faster than expected.
Jay didn't leave the classroom.
He just sat with his bento box open, poking at rice like it might explain everything.
Emma eventually sat beside him, pulling out a sandwich she clearly didn't want to eat.
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally, she said, "You did well today."
Jay glanced sideways. "I thought you were carrying us?"
"You are," she said. "Just not in the way you think."
Jay stared down at his chopsticks.
"You've always been the one who made this place feel like a team," she said. "When you left, we had to pretend it still was."
Jay looked up. "I didn't mean to leave you with that."
Emma shook her head. "You didn't leave me with anything. I chose to stay."
A pause.
"And that makes you stronger than me," Jay said.
She gave a short laugh. "Only on paper."
Threads Begin to Snap
Later that afternoon, during self-study, Sofia approached Jay's desk.
She leaned over, just enough for her voice to be private.
"Emma, huh?"
Jay didn't reply.
Sofia smiled faintly. "Interesting choice."
"I didn't know we were a game board," he replied.
She straightened. "We're not. But you make moves like we are."
He looked at her. Really looked.
And for once, her eyes weren't teasing.
They were tired.
Then she turned away without another word.
Jay slipped away before the last bell.
The roof was quieter than usual. No wind. No noise. Just the faint hum of the school's AC units and the rustle of his thoughts.
He leaned against the rail, head tilted back, letting the sky fill his vision.
He was supposed to feel lighter.
He was supposed to feel back.
But instead, all he felt was the pull in both directions.
Of what he used to be.
And who he might have to become.