Still, I don't stop walking until I hit the first-floor bathrooms. I shove open the door, step inside the nearest stall, and let the lid fall down so I can sit. Not because I have to pee, but because I feel like my brain's still racing too fast for me to stand up properly.
I pull out my phone and check the time.
12:00 p.m.
Six minutes left of lunch. Two hours left of the school day.
I let out a breath and slump against the stall wall.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to push away the lingering mental image of Mateo and his demonic smirk, his stupid voice, the way he leans in like every word he says is a dare.
There's nothing all that special about him. That's what I try to tell myself. Sure, he's hot. Okay, he's very hot. Stupidly so. But besides that? He's just a cocky jerk with good bone structure.
Still, even thinking that makes my stomach feel weird. Frustrated. Confused. Like I'm mad I even noticed in the first place.
To distract myself, I scroll through old photos on my phone. Not really looking for anything specific—just… existing in the feeling of familiarity. Probably trying to make myself sad on purpose. Classic self-sabotage.
The bell rings just as I start zoning out too hard, snapping me back to reality.
I manage to pull myself together and be the first person to walk into Psychology. Which is a win. No awkward scanning the room for a seat. No Mateo.
The room is warm and kind of chaotic in the best way, kinda like a hippie's daydream. There are rainbow flags everywhere, and the back wall looks like someone raided a Pride festival and turned it into a classroom mural.
The teacher, a soft-looking woman with gray hair that falls past her shoulders, claps her hands together when she sees me.
"You must be the new student!" she says, her voice like a mix of sunshine and incense. She rushes over, takes my hands like we're old friends, and gives them a gentle squeeze.
"I like your energy," she whispers with a dreamy sort of smile.
I blink. "Um. Thanks."
She lets go and laughs softly to herself, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry. I know I have zero concept of boundaries. I'm Claire."
I look at her. No you don't understand dear readers. I really look at her and realize her outfit is like something straight out of the '70s. Long, flowing skirt covered in flowers, handmade-looking jewelry, and what might actually be real blossoms tucked into a hairpiece. It suits her, though. In a wild, peaceful kind of way.
"I… is Claire your last name?" I ask, a little curious, a little nosy.
She waves a hand like she's physically brushing away the question. "Nope. I don't do authoritarian titles. They make me itchy."
I nod slowly. "Cool. I'm Philip."
Claire lights up. "Philip! That's the name my wife wants to give our future cat. We don't have one yet, but when we do…" she sighs wistfully. "Anyway, it's a great name. Good energy."
The classroom is still mostly empty, but a few students start to trickle in.
"Pick any seat you like," Claire says. "We switch desks every day. It's one of my only rules. That and—" She suddenly turns mid-sentence, eyes narrowing at the back of the room. "—keeping your vape in your goddamn bookbag!"
A kid in the far corner guiltily tries to waft away a very obvious ring of vape smoke.
"Fucking Jeremy," she mutters under her breath before turning back to me with the sweetest smile, like she didn't just curse at a student.
I laugh under my breath and take a seat in the front row.
The lesson starts, but it's… different. Claire teaches by kind of talking in circles, sitting cross-legged on the floor while bouncing between topics. It's a little chaotic, a little magical, and somehow exactly what I need.
When the period ends, Claire stays on the floor and throws her arms up.
"Alright, which one of you jackasses is gonna help me up?"
Two guys laugh and immediately go over, each grabbing one of her arms.
"Thanks, boys!" she beams, brushing herself off as they leave. "I hope the rest of your day is fabulous!"
I smile as I head into the hallway and make my way toward Biology II. The transition's easy, since it's in the same classroom as Forensics was earlier.
I head toward the back of the classroom, choosing a seat farthest from the door like it might somehow guarantee me a peaceful period. For once, luck seems to be on my side, Mateo is nowhere in sight. Thank God.
The classroom setup is pretty standard for a science lab: long black-topped tables instead of individual desks, each one made to seat two students side by side. It's familiar in that sterile, vaguely chemical-smelling way, which honestly feels kind of comforting after the chaos that was lunch.
I drop my bag to the floor and start pulling out my notebook and pen, already trying to mentally lock in for the lesson ahead. Mr. Archer, the teacher—tall, wiry, and clearly over it—starts setting up a slideshow on the projector.
That's when the door swings open.
The click of it shutting echoes a little too loud, and I can feel the entire room shift, like air being sucked out of a balloon.
Mr. Archer doesn't even bother hiding his annoyance. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Quesada," he says flatly, voice tight with irritation.
I look up instinctively.
And my stomach drops.
There he is.
No one else but my newly found nightmare.
Mateo.
Standing in the doorway like he owns this place too, along with the hallway and cafeteria. His hands were causally in his pockets, his hair beautifully perfect, smirk already locked and loaded. I must've jinxed myself thinking I'd be free from him for a single class.