Chapter 4:Chapter 4
Ashen kicked off the ground and hopped onto his bicycle, pedaling hard before he had even properly settled into the seat. The morning air was cold and sharp against his face as he flew down the familiar streets of the neighborhood. The trees lining the road blurred past him. His backpack bounced against his spine with every bump in the road.
He had overslept. Again.
It wasn't like him to sleep in, but the nights had been getting harder lately. Something about the silence of the house felt heavier than it used to. He had learned not to think about why.
"Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, leaning forward on the handles.
The school gates came into view just as the distant sound of the bell reached his ears. He groaned, hopped off the bike before it fully stopped, and shoved it into the rack without bothering to lock it properly.
He sprinted the rest of the way.
He entered the classroom and every pair of eyes turned toward him at once. Some laughed. Some sighed. A few did both.
"Oh, see who has arrived," the teacher said, setting down her marker and crossing her arms.
Ashen looked at her, then at his friends, then back at the teacher.
"I am sorry, teacher. I promise it will not happen next time," Ashen replied, giving her his most sincere expression.
The teacher stood up slowly, the way teachers do when they have already decided what they are going to say and are simply enjoying the buildup.
"How many times have you arrived on time, Ashen?"
Ashen thought about it for a moment longer than was necessary.
"Does zero count?"
"Congratulations. Not even once." The teacher gestured toward the door. "Stand outside. Don't come back in until I say so."
"Fineeee," Ashen frowned, dragging the word out as he turned and walked back through the door.
A few minutes passed. Ashen stood in the corridor, looking left and right, playing with the hem of his shirt and muttering quietly to himself. The hallway was empty and oddly peaceful. He could hear muffled voices from inside the classroom. A pigeon landed on the windowsill at the far end of the hall, looked at him, and left, which felt a little personal.
"Come in!" the teacher's voice came from inside.
Ashen brightened immediately and stepped back into the room. The teacher told him to sit down without looking at him. He slid into his seat.
"Hey, Ashen," came a low voice from the side.
"What?" Ashen glanced over.
"Why are you late again?" Jimmy asked, the picture of innocent curiosity.
"Jimmy, is this really the right time to ask?" Ashen replied through his teeth.
"No?" Jimmy said.
"Then shut up." Ashen turned forward.
The teacher's sharp look landed on both of them and they straightened up instantly, eyes fixed ahead with the practiced stillness of people pretending they had not just been talking.
Lunch came, and with it, the usual gathering.
The five of them always ended up at the same corner table by the far window, the one with the slightly wobbly leg that nobody bothered reporting because it had been wobbly for as long as any of them could remember. It had become theirs by habit rather than claim.
Jimmy sat across from Ashen. Charlie was beside him, already halfway through his food with the focused expression of someone treating eating as a competitive sport. Arnold dropped his tray down with a loud clatter and immediately pulled out his phone to check something. Jamson arrived last, slightly out of breath, hair messier than usual.
"You're late," Charlie said without looking up.
Ashen dropped into his seat and laid his head on the table with a heavy thud.
"I am tired of this daily school," he said into the surface.
"Why are you even late if you say you wake up early every day?" Arnold said, not looking up from his phone.
"Waking up early and actually getting out of bed to get ready are two completely different things," Ashen replied, his voice slightly muffled by the table.
"Only one year left and then we're free," Charlie said, stabbing at his food.
"Just one more year."
"Yeah, but this year is going to be the hardest one," Ashen said, finally lifting his head. He looked genuinely exhausted in the way only seventeen-year-olds trying to act like everything is fine can manage.
"The exams alone are going to finish me."
They talked about nothing in particular for a while after that. A test coming up that nobody had studied for. A video Arnold kept insisting everyone needed to see. The usual argument between Jimmy and Charlie about which route home was actually faster, a debate that had been ongoing for approximately two months with no resolution in sight.
Ashen listened more than he spoke. He always had. But he was present, and that was enough.
Then it happened.
Cold water hit him from behind. Soaked through his hair, ran down his neck and into his collar, drenched his jacket in seconds.
"Look at our gold medalist," a voice said loudly, followed by laughter.
"He trained so hard he is all wet now."
Ashen sat very still for a moment. Water dripped from the tips of his hair onto the table.
Everyone nearby had already turned to look. A few phones were already out.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Jamson shouted, jumping to his feet.
Ashen stood slowly. His jacket clung to him. He turned to face the boy standing behind him, still holding the now-empty bottle, grinning like he had just said something clever.
Charlie moved to step between them. Arnold had already pushed back his chair.
"What, I can't pay my respects to the medalist?" the boy said, spreading his hands wide. His friends laughed behind him.
"What's he going to do, cry?"
Ashen looked at him for a moment. Then he reached over, picked up the soup bowl from his tray, and emptied it directly onto the boy's face.
"There," Ashen said.
"My thanks for the respect."
The smile disappeared instantly.
What followed was not graceful. The boy swung first, catching Ashen on the left side of his face hard enough to make his vision blur for a second. Ashen grabbed him. Arnold was already moving toward the boy's friend. Charlie had his arms around someone trying to pull them back. Jamson stood frozen at the edge of the chaos, watching with wide eyes and clearly calculating whether jumping in would help or make things significantly worse.
Someone ran to get a teacher.
Then they were called to the principal's office.
The principal's office smelled like old paper and cold coffee. Ashen sat in the chair with his left eye swollen and already beginning to darken, a blue bruise spreading slowly across his cheekbone. The boy from the cafeteria sat two seats away with soup still faintly visible in his hair. Arnold sat on the other side, arms folded, expression neutral.
The principal stood at the window with her back to them, looking out at the school grounds.
"Three days suspension. All of you," she said.
"But they were the ones who started it," Ashen said immediately, his voice sharper than he intended.
She turned around. Her expression was not angry exactly. It was something closer to tired.
"I don't care who started it or who ended it. You were all involved, and that is enough." She looked at Ashen directly.
"If you don't want to act on your emotions, you go to a teacher. You come to me. You walk away. You can never know what decision you might make in a moment of anger that you will regret for the rest of your life."
Ashen dropped his gaze.
"This isn't right," he muttered quietly.
"Now. Go back to your classes for today. I will see you all again in three days." She sat down and looked at her desk.
"I genuinely hope the next time you walk through that door it is for a better reason."
The walk home was quiet.
"It was completely his fault. Why did both of you get suspended? That's not fair," Jimmy said, still visibly irritated on Ashen's behalf.
"It doesn't matter." Ashen shrugged. He was tired in the way that had nothing to do with sleep.
"We're suspended. That's the reality now. What's the point of arguing about it?"
Jimmy looked like he had more to say but held it back.
They reached the corner where their routes split. Ashen lifted a hand.
"My way is here. I'll see you."
He waved and turned down his street. The neighborhood was quiet in the mid-afternoon. His footsteps were the loudest thing around.
He was halfway lost in his own thoughts when something pulled his attention sideways.
A flash. At the very edge of his vision. Purple. Brief and sharp, like someone had struck a match and immediately blown it out.
Ashen stopped walking.
"What?"
He turned his head quickly but saw nothing. Just houses. Parked cars. A tree shedding the last of its leaves onto the pavement.
"Where did that come from?"
He stood there for a moment longer, scanning the street carefully. Nothing moved. The light did not return.
"Anyway," he said to himself.
"I need to go."
He arrived home and stopped outside the front door. He stood there for a moment, one hand resting against the frame, not quite going in.
"It's not the first time," he said quietly.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
His grandmother looked up from the kitchen the moment she saw his face. Her expression shifted immediately.
"Oh my boy, what have yo—"
"It's nothing," Ashen said, cutting her off gently.
"And I can't go to school for three days."
"But should I take you to the doctor? Or at least some medicine for that eye—"
Ashen was already heading for the stairs.
"I'm fine, Grandma."
He went up to his room, closed the door behind him, and sat on the edge of his bed in the quiet. His eye ached. His jacket was still slightly damp at the collar. Outside his window the afternoon light was beginning to go orange and thin.
He stared at the floor for a long moment.
Then he laid back on the bed, looked up at the ceiling, and said nothing at all.
Chapter 4: End