April 25 – Thursday / St. Ivy High – Courtyard Garden
After the Exam
The sky had begun to cool into lavender.
The garden behind St. Ivy's old science wing was quiet, half-lit by the golden spill of late Morning. A few wind chimes near the faculty greenhouse sang in the breeze—soft, metallic, distant.
Tyler, who is balancing a plastic bag full of strawberry milk cartons and chocolate buns.
"Ohhh. Secret meeting? Cool, cool," he said, flopping down in the grass in front of the bench like a loyal golden retriever. "I brought snacks. I didn't bring thoughts, though."
"You never do," came Sofia's voice.
She emerged from the path like a summer storm—heels clicking, blazer slung over her shoulder, eyes bright with leftover sarcasm from somewhere.
"Is this a therapy circle? I have complaints."
Emma followed her, a bit breathless. "Wait—you're all here?"
Miles trailed in behind, carrying a water bottle and the permanent expression of someone ten seconds away from judging everyone.
Jay watched them all settle—Amaya still on the bench beside him, Tyler at her feet, Sofia sitting with legs crossed under her, Emma perching neatly on the stone edge, and Miles leaning against the tree like it owed him rent.
Yuki appeared last.
Quiet.
Graceful.
She didn't sit.
Just stood near the back, eyes sharp, unreadable.
Listening.
Always listening.
Emma sighed. "I can't stop thinking about what Amaya said earlier. About our country."
Sofia leaned forward. "Okay, but are we going full conspiracy or light venting?"
"Neither," Amaya said. "Just… talking. Honestly."
Miles snorted. "That's rare."
Emma looked at Jay. "You're quiet."
"I'm always quiet," Jay replied. "Doesn't mean I'm not listening."
Sofia leaned back, tossing a pebble across the grass. "Alright then. Real talk. Why does it feel like every decision is made for us—even when we're told our voices matter?"
"Because it doesn't," Miles said flatly. "We have elections every five years, but the same one or two political parties stay in power."
Emma frowned. "You think it's rigged?"
"I think it's rehearsed," he said. "Like they already know the ending. We're just the audience."
Tyler blinked. "Damn, dude."
"I said what I said."
Amaya picked at the seam of her sleeve. "My grandfather used to say we live in a country run by actors pretending to be politicians."
Jay gave the faintest exhale through his nose.
Not a laugh.
Not a denial.
Just… breath.
Emma tilted her head. "But there are good people, right? Somewhere in government?"
"There are always good people," Jay said quietly.
Sofia stared at him. "That's disturbingly wise."
"Mark it on your calendar."
Tyler scratched his head. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like we're all just waiting for something to change that never will. Like… our generation's supposed to fix it, but no one even teaches us how."
Amaya's voice was softer. "Because the people who built it this way are still holding the blueprint."
Sofia rolled her eyes. "Wow, Amaya. That's... dark. I love it."
Miles looked at her. "Your sarcasm isn't helping."
"I wasn't being sarcastic."
Jay rested his arms along the back of the bench, his gaze drifting upward as if he could see through the leaves to the machinery beyond—councils, puppets, shadows in expensive suits.
His father.
Clara.
Elias.
And himself.
Sitting here with the people whose country he might one day inherit.
Emma hugged her knees to her chest. "Sometimes I wonder who's really in charge."
Tyler muttered, "It's gotta be someone rich. Or twelve of them."
Miles smirked. "Twelve families pulling strings in the dark."
Sofia gasped. "What if it's thirteen? That's more dramatic."
Jay didn't speak.
Not because he couldn't.
Because everything they said was true.
Yuki, standing behind them, said nothing. Her gaze flicked from face to face, her mind cataloguing every word.
When her eyes briefly landed on Jay, they lingered—curious, calm.
He met her gaze.
No secrets spilled.
Only silence shared.
The conversation tapered off into the wind.
No one declared a revolution.
No one cried.
But something changed in the air—like their voices, for once, had meaning.
Like they weren't kids anymore.
Just people.
Seeing the cracks for the first time.
Amaya stood and stretched. "We may not fix it," she said softly. "But if we stop talking about it… who will?"
Emma nodded. "Then we keep talking."
Tyler grinned. "And maybe one day we do more than that."
Sofia tossed her hair. "Only if I get to design the uniforms."
Miles rolled his eyes.
Jay just sat there—watching them laugh, argue, live.
They didn't know the truth.
But they felt it.
And for tonight…
That was enough.