One thing I did manage to do was perfectly memorizing the questions from that test, fixing them clearly in my mind. And honestly, that was a very good thing. During every break between the remaining classes, I searched for the answers—and thank God, thank Allah, and every other divine being out there—I found them! Found them, memorized them, and started waiting for the zero hour.
Specifically—the end of the school day.
After the seventh lesson, I told Vicky I'd be staying a bit longer and that she should go without me. As for me, rubbing my hands together like some scheming villain—while blushing from how ridiculous my idea actually was—I asked Mrs. Button, the school janitor, if I could sit in her tiny closet-like room. We were on good terms, by the way. She agreed without even asking why I suddenly wanted to stay behind in this building clearly designed by the Devil himself.
When, through the slightly open door, I saw Collins heading toward the cloakroom, I took a deep breath, realizing—this was my chance.
Mrs. Button kindly handed him a black cashmere coat, and I couldn't help but raise a brow. I mean, sure, it was technically autumn—but judging by the temperature, you'd never guess it. It was warm. Way too warm for a coat like that.
Anyway, flashing that bright, disarming smile of his, the teacher took his coat and, quickly putting it on, headed for the exit.
Your move, Lily Stryker.
The moment his figure disappeared through the door leading outside, I darted out of the janitor's room, leaving my backpack behind and taking only a pen with me. Then I rushed up to the fifth floor.
Oh—and the keys? I'd grabbed them from Mrs. Button's little "hiding spot" too—a big wooden board hanging on a whitewashed wall.
Quietly.
At least… I really hoped so.
Adrenaline didn't just rush through my body—it completely soaked me, obliterating any trace of common sense or rational thought. This feeling took full control, and I surrendered to it. Without a shred of doubt—though, given my personality, doubt was always on the edge—I ran, chased after him as if it were the only thing I had left in the world.
And there it was—the door, the marble-colored plaque boldly stating: "209." I stood before it, frozen for a moment, my hand hovering over the key, hesitating to unlock it. The adrenaline that had powered me just seconds ago evaporated instantly, replaced by gnawing doubts that slowly chewed at the edges of my mind.
"No way. If you started, then finish it," I hissed to myself, breathing in short, shallow gasps as I lingered in the empty corridor. Not exactly a confidence boost, but enough to push me to turn the key and slip silently into the classroom.
The supply closet wasn't locked. In fact, it never was. Really, why would it be? Nobody would ever enter if the main classroom door was closed, the only entrance to this tiny chamber. Right now, I felt like James Bond, moving slowly, carefully, like a seasoned spy. I even found it slightly amusing.
My masterful infiltration nearly turned into a clumsy spy disaster when the closet door creaked with an unbearably loud squeak, and I mentally cursed it a hundred times over. The moment my foot crossed the threshold, I accidentally brushed against a cabinet stacked with glasses, test tubes, and a bunch of random school junk, sending some items teetering on the edge of the shelf. At that exact moment, a brilliant thought flashed through my mind—maybe it's time to lose a little weight.
But, thank God, I managed to catch everything before it hit the floor. And of course, I gave myself a silent mental pat on the back. After all, if you don't praise yourself, who will?
Once again, the dreaded door creaked as I closed the supply closet, just in case. Darkness swallowed the room, but I decided not to hunt for the light switch—who knew what else I'd knock over? Instead, I flicked on my phone's flashlight, pulling my mobile from the back pocket of my jeans. The dim beam fell on dust-covered cabinets stuffed with books, chemical equipment, and other school junk. In the distance, a similarly dusty table held a tiny stack of papers, and a wave of relief washed over me—I wouldn't have to spend any more time here, risking being caught.
I moved forward, already imagining myself quickly jotting down the unfinished answers, each one perfectly clear in my mind, forming sharp, well-structured phrases before my eyes. Glancing at the top sheet, I saw the surname of one of my classmates and felt certain I had found exactly what I needed.
But then—a sudden "But". One very important "But". A "But" I hadn't even dared to consider, and in that moment, I realized I'd made a huge mistake.
The assignments had been graded! What a twist.
How—how the hell? How?! The question flashed in my mind, replacing all the answers I had planned to write a moment ago. How on earth had he managed to check the papers on the very same day we had handed them in? Normally, I was irritated by teachers who never graded tests on time, but now this very habit had backfired spectacularly against me.
I sighed in frustration, almost choking on the dust that had puffed into my lungs, already preparing to quietly sneak away—when of course, fate had other plans.
Nope! Of course not, Lili! Luck is not your thing, girl!
The creak of the classroom door opening froze me in place like a statue. My fingers clutched the phone's beam, trembling with panic. Goddammit! Holy sh..! Slowly craning my neck, I peeked through the barely shut supply closet door. He's back? What the hell is he doing back here, of all times?!
Collins was fidgeting, obviously searching for something, and when he found it, he let out a triumphant little squeak and headed, most likely, toward the teacher's desk — my view of it was already blocked. To avoid catching his sharp, watchful gaze, I slowly stepped backward, silently praying not to knock anything over. But apparently, God had long since abandoned me, because from the very top shelf of the wooden cabinet, a plastic beaker suddenly toppled: first hitting my head, then clattering onto the floor. Normally, the sound of it falling wouldn't have been so loud, but at that moment, it sounded like a nuclear explosion. I covered my mouth with my hand and held my breath.
Don't come this way… No! Something fell? No, it must have seemed like it, teacher! Go away, don't ruin everything for me!
For a moment, everything in the classroom froze — and that didn't bode well for me. But, thankfully, the teacher apparently thought it was his imagination, because a moment later, the sound of footsteps moving in the opposite direction and a door creaking echoed.
I exhaled as heavily as I could. My reckless scheme had nearly ended in total disaster, but somehow I'd managed to avoid immediate trouble. Mentally scolding myself for being stupid, I waited a few more moments and then cautiously stepped toward the exit of the supply closet. Opening the door with that same creak and turning my back to the biology classroom, I quietly slipped out into the corridor.
The main thing — calmly reach Mrs. Button's little room, hang up the keys unnoticed, and get out. Then, erase everything that had happened from my memory, like a bad dream.
But, as often happens with me, peace was an illusion.
When I turned around, I instantly caught Collin's intensely focused gaze, and an inexplicable shiver ran through my entire body. Blood first rushed to my temples, pounding in them obnoxiously loud, and then my cheeks flushed, burning hotter than the biggest bonfire. Shame washed over me from head to toe in an instant — I wanted to sink through the ground, dissolve into the air, break apart into molecules, anything just to avoid feeling the teacher's piercing eyes drilling straight through me. In his gaze, there was everything and nothing at once: curiosity, seriousness, irony, reproach, and a whole spectrum of other emotions that I was utterly incapable of understanding at that moment.
"Striker… And what exactly have we forgotten here?" the teacher raised one thick black eyebrow in his usual manner, folding his arms across his chest. He remembered my last name? Incredible. The casual way he phrased the question seemed, for a brief, tiny moment, to contain the raging storm inside me. But only for a fraction of a second. When his expectant gaze returned to me, the nervousness surged back with a new, unpredictable wave.
"I…" lying was impossible for me, apparently not my strong side, but I held my ground, even lifting my freckled nose proudly while clenching the pen tightly in my hands.
"You…" Collins drew out the word in the same calm tone as mine, still waiting for a coherent answer, not some incoherent mumbling.
Accept it, Lily. You've been caught. Accept it and find the courage to admit it. Don't be a coward, for once!
But I didn't have a shred of courage for that. Not even a slice of it! I had no idea what to do or say. I just stood frozen, drilling Collins with a gaze of my own, but not like he looked at me — more guilty. A look in which everything could be read without words.
"Eh, your silence only makes things worse," Collins huffed in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose and turning away. "Where did you get the key?"
I stayed silent again. My voice had suddenly abandoned me; my tongue felt paralyzed. Yet in my thoughts, I answered him clearly, with a touch of sarcasm, but without a hint of rudeness. In my thoughts, damn it.
"At Mrs. Button's, then," Collins — perceptive boy that he is — figured it out without my unnecessary mumbling. "And what do you suggest I do with you now?"
"Forgive and forget," the words slipped out instantly, and only after saying that nonsense did I realize what ridiculous thing I had just told… to the teacher.
"Look at that," he turned back again, glancing at me slyly, his light blue eyes piercing through me, the shade somehow reminding me of ocean waves. "Turns out you're not deaf-mute after all, Striker!"
No, teacher, despite the many "ailments" I may have, deaf-muteness was never on the list. Not now, not ever. Although… if I get caught like this a couple more times, anything can happen…
"I guess it is time to meet your parents tomorrow," Collins finally said after a moment of pause, as if weighing the punishment in his head, earning from me a pitiful, pleading look begging him not to do it. But the teacher ignored it, continuing:
"We'll have a little chat about the… feats you're capable of, all because of a B… A slightly shaky B," the teacher's sarcasm made me almost grind my teeth in sudden irritation.
That last phrase, Mr. Collins… really, you just had to stomp all over my biology knowledge, didn't you? I have no doubt about that.
"But…" I tried to protest—no, of course I didn't yet know exactly how, but I tried anyway! And yet, in vain.
"Out of my sight, Striker," he said, like a true actor, casting some sort of disappointed glance in my direction. Damn it, it felt like I had refused him, not barged into the supply room just to fix my test. With my eyes cast down like a misbehaving child, I started toward the door. Collins stopped me, the wretched child that I was, already at the threshold:
"The keys," he said, holding out his hand.
"Here you go," I said, rolling my eyes so expertly that only the whites were visible for a moment, and without even turning around, tossed the keyring over my shoulder straight into his hand. And Collins caught it. That sly bastard, so damn agile!
Who would have thought how calling my parents would eventually backfire on him…