Fabian bolted toward his Political
Science lecture, where the professor was already setting up a discussion on
constitutional law. He sighed, switching gears from sprint drills to government
systems. "Man, I just wanted a backup plan, not a damn civics exam," he
whispered to himself as he slid into his seat. Later, he'd have Philosophy,
diving into ethics and logic.
Renae was in her Architecture class,
staring at blueprints, trying to calculate angles and dimensions. "This is
insane," she groaned, flipping between different drafting papers. "Do they
expect me to be Shakespeare and Frank Lloyd Wright at the same time?"
I was tucked away in Animation Year
One, sketching frame after frame, my professor drilling us on the
foundations—storyboarding, character design, and visual culture. Every line had
to breathe, every drawing had to feel alive. My hand cramped, my brain fried,
but I kept pushing.
Jay spent the rest of the day in the
Game Design Club, where students tested prototypes, argued over mechanics, and
battled in tournaments to sharpen their skills. Normally he thrived there, but
today his mind was elsewhere, fists itching with frustration.
Travis buried himself in Business
activities, networking with peers, analyzing mock case studies, and plotting
strategies like he was already running a company.
Titi continued in Theatre, but her
day didn't end there. She carried out her punishment as given by
Joseph—mandatory anger management sessions. Sitting in a circle with other
students, she was forced to talk about triggers and control. She hated every second
of it. Worse, she was barred from student leadership positions, a punishment
that gnawed at her pride.
Smirking like she owned the room,
Titi snapped her head in the facilitator's direction when he asked the
question.
"Describe a moment when you lost
control," the facilitator asked.
Titi leaned back, voice dripping
with defiance. "Every damn day. People push, I push back harder. That's who I
am."
The facilitator pressed. "What
happens if you don't push back?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Then I'm not
me."
The facilitator didn't flinch. His
tone sharpened. "Is that why you attacked Veronica without reason? Why her
sister nearly did what you had done—grabbing a fire extinguisher to strike
back? Do you see how your actions ripple outward, how they escalate others?"
Titi's smirk faltered for a moment,
but she quickly masked it with a scoff. "I think people should know their
places. They are pleasant beneath me, and I was just making sure they know
where they stand. If her sister wanted to swing, that's on her. I didn't tell
her to grab anything."
The facilitator leaned forward,
voice steady. "You triggered it. Your aggression doesn't just stop with you—it
drags others into the fire. That's what accountability means. Not survival. Not
dominance. Responsibility."
Titi rolled her eyes, scribbling in
her notebook with exaggerated strokes. Her sessions were supposed to be about
accountability, but she twisted them into survival, focusing on strength,
dominance, and how weakness was poison. She didn't see it as anger
management—she saw it as sharpening her edge.
The facilitator watched her, sighing
quietly. "Until you understand the difference between power and control, you'll
keep repeating this cycle. And next time, someone won't stop the swing."
She kept quiet, not because of
defeat, but because she was on a mission to break that bitch. Her behavior here
was being watched, and she couldn't execute her plan if she was still seen as
the enemy.
Later that day, Renae and I sat side
by side in the counselor's office, notebooks open, the weight of the fire
extinguisher incident pressing down on us.
Renae sat stiffly, arms folded, eyes
blazing. "She came at you, Veronica. I wasn't going to just stand there. Fabian
stopped me, but I swear, I was ready to smash her head in."
The counselor leaned forward, calm
but firm. "That's exactly why you're here. This isn't about what Titi did—it's
about how you reacted, Renae. Your reflection needs to explore what triggered
that violent impulse. What did you feel in that moment? And what could you have
done differently?"
Renae's jaw clenched, her knuckles
whitening against the notebook. "I felt rage. Pure rage. She's poison. But… I
guess I could've walked away. Or shouted instead of grabbing the extinguisher."
The counselor turned to me.
"Veronica, you weren't there when Renae escalated, but you were the one Titi
came at. You sent Fabian to find Renae, which is why he was there in time to
stop her. What did you feel when you realized how close it came to violence?"
I shifted uncomfortably, my pen
hovering over the page. "I was angry too. I curse, I snap, I let it boil over.
But hearing that Renae was ready to swing that extinguisher… it shook me. Not
because I doubted her loyalty, but because I realized how far we're all being
pushed. Fabian stopping her was the only reason it didn't go too far."
The counselor nodded. "Your
reflection should capture that fear, Veronica—how you manage anger before it
escalates, how you protect yourself without violence. And Renae, yours should
capture the moment of choice—the rage, the impulse, and the alternatives you
ignored."
The room fell quiet except for the
scratch of our pens. Renae scribbled furiously, her words raw and jagged: rage,
poison, fear, restraint. Mine came slower, each sentence a mirror I didn't want
to face.
The fire extinguisher incident
wasn't just punishment—it was a warning. And now, our reflections had to prove
we understood that.
By evening, the parking lot felt
like a stage set for tension. Travis, Fabian, Titi, Mariann, Jay, Kevon, Renae,
and I gathered, exhaustion clinging to us but anticipation buzzing underneath.
"So you guys look like shit," Kevon
spoke first, scanning everyone.
"Yeah… rough damn day," Jay
muttered, venom in his tone as his eyes locked on Titi. Rage simmered there,
and when she raised her brows at him, he exhaled like a burden was crushing his
shoulders.
"Titi's joining," Jay announced
flatly.
"What the actual fuck… nooooo," I
snapped, staring at him, begging him to reconsider. But his eyes told me
something different—defeat, anger, and something deeper I couldn't quite catch.
He turned away before I could read more, walking off.
"Yes gurrrll!" Mariann squealed,
hugging Titi excitedly. But the tension between everyone else said something
else entirely.
Jay sped off in his car, leaving us.
He ignored Kevon, who had tried earlier to press him, asking what was wrong,
but Jay had shut him out. Kevon now stood confused in the empty space where Jay
had parked. He returned to us, baffled, while Travis and Fabian exchanged looks
of confusion. I knew it had to do with Titi—I just couldn't prove it. Renae
stayed quiet, observing, knowing she had just come out of a behavioral check‑in
and couldn't afford to fuck up again.
Titi smirked, enjoying the unease.
Kevon pulled out a scrap of paper, scribbling his number, handing it to me.
Fabian did the same, slipping his note into my hand. Titi's eyes narrowed,
jealousy flashing hot.
"What the hell is this? You two
handing out numbers like candy?" she snapped, voice sharp.
Renae cut her off instantly. "Shut
up, Titi. Not everything's about you. And so what if they wanna give their
number to us? Last time I checked, no one was your damn property."
Before Titi could fire back,
Julian's car pulled up. I grabbed Renae's arm, pulling her away quickly before
she got herself in trouble again. We slid into the backseat, the tension still
clinging to us.
Julian glanced at us through the
rearview mirror. "How was your second day?"
"Beautiful," we both answered
sarcastically.
He frowned. "Do you girls want to
talk?"
Renae shook her head. "We will be
cooling our brains off at a VR arcade with our friends."
Julian studied her, concern etched
across his face. His daughter, normally a bundle of fun, looked dull, drained.
He glanced out at the group, then back at her. "Are you guys being bullied or
anything?"
Renae's eyes hardened. "Dad, please
just drive." She turned her head, glaring through the window, giving Titi the
biggest death stare imaginable. Julian sighed, but he drove on.ui
Across the lot, Travis pulled
Mariann toward his car. He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. "Babe, I
really hope this arcade isn't ruined. Do you really think we should go? I don't
want anyone knowing about us yet."
Mariann smiled softly, brushing his
cheek. "You're worried about that? I'm just glad I can publicly spend time with
you without anyone noticing."
He kissed her, slow and sweet, the
kind of kiss that made the chaos fade for a moment.
Meanwhile, Titi slid into her own
car. Her phone rang, the screen lighting up with a number she didn't recognize.
She answered, her smirk returning as the familiar stranger's voice came through
the line.
"Ms. Bardot."
"Different number?" she asked, her
tone sharp but curious.
"Updates?" the voice demanded.
Titi leaned back, eyes gleaming.
"Don't worry. I've got everything under control."
She explained everything—from her
blackmailing to the unwanted invite to the arcade. On the other end of the
line, she could practically feel the smile forming.
"This will be more enjoyable than I
thought," the stranger murmured before the line went dead.
Titi's smirk lingered as she tossed
the phone aside, more accomplished than ever. She started her engine, driving
out of the parking lot toward home to get dressed and changed for the night. A
quick message shot to Mariann followed: Send me all the information for
tonight's activities