Descending the stairs to grab my keys for the car, I barely had time to react before the front door slammed open. There stood Mom—Tessa—in her sharply tailored red Express Airways uniform, rolling a sleek black suitcase behind her. The uniform seemed shorter than before, and her makeup was noticeably heavier, a combination that made her seem almost like a stranger.
Tom definitely wasn’t blind to what was going on. After all, he got her in the first place for reasons that didn’t exactly scream fidelity. I wasn’t shocked that things were unraveling.
“My baby!” she crowed, rushing over to envelop me in an enthusiastic hug.
“Hey, Mom,” I said flatly, trying not to let the chill in my voice show. Two weeks gone without a single text or call. I’d tried reaching out, but she’d ignored me every time.
Mom and I were the walking definition of opposites. She thrived on parties and loud music, favored skin-tight outfits, and drowned herself in makeup. I preferred quiet corners, loose clothes, and minimal fuss. No one would guess we were related unless I told them.
She glanced at her watch. “Already heading to school? Come on, let’s grab some breakfast.”
I sighed deeply. “You know the traffic. I don’t want to be late.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Late’s fine. I won’t yell at you.”
“Mom…” I started, but she was already tugging me toward the kitchen.
“Where’s Tom?” she called out, scanning the living room. “Tom!”
“Here, babe,” Tom’s voice came from the kitchen island, where he was perched, eyes glued to his laptop. They exchanged a quick kiss before she leaned over to watch his screen.
“What’s caught your attention, honey?” Mom asked, curiosity replacing her earlier energy.
Tom chuckled. “Some guy bet two grand on a gamer and now wants a refund.”
Mom gasped, covering her mouth. “People really throw their money away like that? Evelyn, don’t ever do anything stupid like that.”
“Mom!” I snapped, hating the use of my full name.
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me,” she retorted, smirking. “I thought long and hard before choosing that name.”
Tom slid two plates of sandwiches toward us. “Made these for you both.”
“Thanks, babe,” she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before turning to me. “Say thanks to your dad.”
I froze, the plate suddenly feeling heavy in my hands.
“Tess,” Tom began cautiously.
“What, Tom? Are there other dads I don’t know about?” I snapped, my voice sharp as I spun on my heel, heading for the door.
Of course she had to ruin everything.
I slammed the door behind me and started the engine of my battered gray Honda Civic.
Surprisingly, traffic wasn’t as brutal as I feared, and I made it to school with five minutes to spare before the bell.
I jumped out and sprinted toward the entrance, but just as I neared the door, I stopped dead in my tracks.
There they were—the usual cluster of shadows blocking the way: Haze, Jason, Mark, Ashley, and a few others from their clique, deep in conversation.
Passing through without being stopped was impossible. I glanced at the clock: three minutes. Mr. Yun’s class started promptly, and he was notorious for refusing latecomers.
Forget it.
I closed my eyes briefly, gathering what little courage I had, and moved forward. As I approached, their attention snapped to me.
Jason smirked, stepping deliberately to block the door. Haze’s head was bowed, eyes glued to his phone, ignoring the scene.
“Please, I just want to get through,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Jason grinned. “Who’s stopping you?”
He was playing games, wasting time I didn’t have.
“Hey, how’s your back? Heard you took a nasty fall,” Mark added, his lame joke earning chuckles from the others.
My gaze flicked to Haze, who happened to look up at the same moment. Our eyes locked briefly before he looked away awkwardly.
Suddenly, Haze stood. “Let her pass.”
“Since when do you care?” Jason mocked. “Softening up?”
“No, but I don’t need her in my sight this early,” Haze retorted.
Jason laughed and stepped aside.
The bell rang.
There was still a chance to make it to class.
Later, the hallway buzzed with students darting around, clutching flyers and posters. Belly James was in full campaign mode, her curly blonde hair bouncing as she handed out leaflets.
“Vote for Belly James!” she called, bright and persistent.
“Belly, we don’t have enough flyers for everyone,” I said quietly. “Maybe just post them on the walls.”
She ignored me, waving another sheet at passing students. “Vote for Belly James!”
Great.
“Ms. Parker!”
I turned to see Mrs. Vincent beckoning me toward her office.
“I’m heading there,” I told Belly, who was mid-cheer. “Gotta go.”
Still shouting, “Vote for Belly James!” she didn’t even hear.
The waiting room was unnerving. There, lounging without a care, was Haze.
A flicker of hope crossed my mind—maybe Mrs. Vincent knew about the bullying and was stepping in.
Haze caught my eye and rolled them. Clearly, my presence wasn’t thrilling him either.
I took a seat opposite him, trying not to show how uneasy I felt. He stared back, his fists clenched tightly.
Why was he so angry at me? What had I done to deserve this?
Our eyes locked again. I didn’t look away. I raised an eyebrow; he copied, smirking briefly before straightening.
He stood tall, probably around six-foot-six, dressed in black shirt and shorts—perfect for the warm day and the upcoming football season. Scouts from colleges would be watching, and Dad, a college scout himself, had taught me the significance.
>Last season, Haze’s skill had put our school into the spotlight. Almost every goal was his.
Principal Vincent greeted us briskly, “Both here, excellent. Follow me.”
>We trailed into her office, silently wondering what we had done this time.
>“Evelyn, as you know, you’re the lone member of the photography club.”
>“Photography, not journalism,” I corrected.
>She squinted at her notes. “Right, yes, I see now.”
>“That means you’re responsible for the yearbook, with some help from seniors.”
>Haze stood abruptly. “Look, I have places to be. I don’t see why I’m involved in this.”
>She sighed, “Haze, come on. I was just getting to that.”
>He nodded reluctantly and sat back down.
>“Evelyn, you’ll need to photograph the football team during practice for the yearbook.”
>“What!?” I blurted, shock coloring my voice.
>She laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get extra credit.”
>Turning to Haze, she continued, “As captain, since the coach is absent, you’ll need to introduce Evelyn to the team and give her permission to take photos. Are you up for it?”
>Haze glanced at me before replying, “Isn’t there another way? Can’t someone else handle the photos?”
>“Do your substitutes have professional cameras and skills?”
>“No, but—”
>She clapped her hands. “Then it’s a deal.”
>A fresh wave of frustration washed over me. This was going to be a nightmare, but I had no choice.
>Haze shot me a look that was less hostile than usual—maybe even resigned. For now, at least, we were stuck together.
Outside the office, the hallway buzzed louder, Belly's campaign cries echoing faintly. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever came next.