Chapter 14: I Resented The School Dance, But Now I Had An Even Better Reason To Do So

  It was Wednesday.

  The day arrived with the kind of aggressive brightness that felt like a personal insult. It was the day of the school dance—a grave reminder that the world expected me to exist, even when I didn't want to leave the safety of my mattress. The dull ache in my stomach from yesterday hadn't subsided. I lay there, wishing for a fever or a natural disaster—anything that would grant me a valid excuse to be sent home instead of my dorm.

  Though, going back home was an issue, because I would never have a good enough reason to head back there. Both of my parents starting getting busy with their business trips during my later middle school years, before that, I was either alone with my mom or my dad. On occasion they would both be gone, but now it was just both of them and I had to stay home alone for that remaining time. I had thought, long and hard.

  I rose and stretched, my gaze drifting to the window. I stared at the closed fabric, mentally projecting a beautiful landscape onto the beige threads because I was too lazy to actually pull the curtain and see the real thing. My phone sat nearby, dark and uninviting. I didn't check it. Notifications were just social debts I wasn't prepared to pay.

  I took a quick look at my alarm clock.

  ?6:34 AM

  Sigh.

  ?I slumped back onto the pillow, then stared at the ceiling. Morning stares are the peak of sleepy addiction—the brain's last-ditch effort to negotiate for five more minutes of void. Eventually, the mechanical necessity of life won. I dragged myself through the usual routine, grabbed my bag, and stepped out.

  The walk to the stairwell was in a slow-motion fashion. I’d done this path a thousand times, but today, every step felt heavy, like wading through knee-deep mercury. I had one singular hope: anonymity. I stared at the exit door, mentally rehearsing scripts for how to avoid anyone I might encounter. Just a nod. Keep walking. Don't engage.

  The dormitory lobby shattered that hope. It was a confined space already buzzing with the static of scattered students.

  "Did you hear about Ophelia?"

  "I heard she busted her head open..."

  That's kind of an exaggeration, I thought, the internal critic in my head automatically correcting the gossip. I tried to maintain my "spectator" distance, replaying the fall in my head to convince myself it wasn't my fault, but the "overthinking loop of doom" was already closing in.

  I was just a few feet from the exit when the strap of my bag jerked backward. My momentum died instantly.

  "Zeke."

  I turned, already knowing who had caught me. It was the one wish I knew the universe wouldn't grant. Alizée stood there, her eyes sharp and her jaw set.

  ?"I know you don't want to," she said, her voice dropping into that firm "General" tone, "but you’re showing up to the meeting at 7:15."

  ?"Understood."

  ?I understood, but I resented that. Every meeting felt like a relapse into my Junior High days—the late nights, the pressure, the grind. I wanted to play dumb, to vanish into the background noise of the lobby, but Alizée didn't give me the luxury of a choice.

  These days, showing up to meetings is just another reminder of my past mistakes. I feel bad for the version of me who once felt so proud of himself. If he looked at me now, he'd realize the cold truth of reality. I would come to realize that my younger self is just a distant "What If?" that I'll never get back.

  We stepped onto the sidewalk. The world was stubbornly, frustratingly perfect—sunny and mild, the kind of weather that practically begged for physical exertion. It should have been raining. Any decent cliché story would have provided a thunderstorm to match my mood, but the universe wasn't that generous.

  "I'm sorry, Zeke," Alizée said abruptly. "For pushing you. But don't get the wrong idea—you were slow, and I was just doing the best I could for Ophelia."

  ?A passive-aggressive apology. Right and wrong, neatly packaged to make her feel better.

  "It's fine. I was just—" My words tangled in my tongue. I couldn't even finish a sentence of fake forgiveness. "Uh, yeah. It’s alright."

  She caught my eye, and for a second, her jagged edges softened into something that looked dangerously like empathy.

  ?"Don't worry. I don't know how she fell," she muttered. "Remi told me you handed her the hammer and then... she just hit the ground."

  ?The relief was a cold splash. Remi hadn't seen my "half-assed" reach, and Alizee didn't suspect me. Maybe my low profile saved me from ostracism. I could get away with it. I could stay at Point A.

  ?"The repair worker checked the ladder while she was still on the floor," Alizée continued, her voice remaining quiet. "He found it was brittle."

  My chest loosened. That's a relief, so it's not entirely my fault.

  "But it’s still my fault," she snapped, her frustration boiling over into self-loathing. "I was the one who got the ladder for her! I should have known!"

  She stomped the concrete, her anger dissolving into sudden, frantic tears. I stood rooted to the spot, watching the "General" fall apart. I was pathetic. I was standing here watching her drown in guilt for her own mistake, and I didn't even say a word about mine.

  ?"W-why are you just standing there like an idiot?!" she cried, her face flushing as she realized I was seeing her like this. "Stop looking at me!"

  She swung her book-filled schoolbag in a desperate, rage-induced arc. I didn't even try to dodge; I just braced for the impact, feeling the wind of the bag whistle past my ear as it narrowly missed. My cowardly pose must have looked ridiculous.

  "I’m sorry," she whispered, her arm dropping. "I should stop hitting you—people. It’s a... bad habit."

  "..."

  The silence between us was thick and confusing. This wasn't the Alizée I knew. The "General" was gone, replaced by someone I didn't know how to interact with.

  I want to tell her my side of the story, but maybe it's better if she doesn't know. She'll start her "bad habit" again.

  ?"Forget it! Forget everything!" she barked, suddenly grabbing my wrist. Her grip was a lead shackle, tight and uncompromising. "Let's just go."

  ?I was practically frozen solid, but it didn't matter. Alizée began dragging me forward, forcing my body into a momentum my mind was still trying to reject.

  The grueling walk finally ended as the school’s glass doors hissed shut behind us. I glanced at the hallway clock: 6:58 AM.

  My wrist throbbed in a steady, dull rhythm—a souvenir from Alizée’s grip that refused to fade. It made the simple act of adjusting my headphones with my right hand feel like an unnecessary chore. I scanned the lobby; it was an echoing vacuum of linoleum and fluorescent hum. We were far too early.

  "The meeting is at 7:15," Alizée said, her voice echoing too loudly in the vacuum. She didn't look back as she headed for the stairs. "I have to be early. You’re waiting with me."

  She's weirdly straightforward.

  ?I followed at a pace that could best be described as a "slug’s crawl." Every step felt heavy—a wasted expenditure of energy forced upon me by a girl who didn't understand the concept of inertia.

  ?By the time I reached the Council room, Alizée had already flicked the lights. I heard the sharp thud of her bag hitting a desk and the screech of a chair being dragged across the floor. The fluorescent hum filled the space, sharp and clinical. She was already buried in her phone. A second later, my own pocket buzzed.

  Ding.

  ?"What did you text?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  ?"Reminder. 7:15. Don't be late," she muttered without looking up.

  ?"Right."

  ?I scanned the room, looking for the path of least resistance. I claimed the chair furthest from the head of the table—the maximum possible distance from Alizée.

  Alizée’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed, tracking my movement like a radar dish. "Are you not sitting in your usual seat?"

  "You aren't in yours," I countered.

  ?She sighed, a heavy, jagged sound. "I’m filling in for Ophelia. Do I really need to elaborate?"

  ?"I’m good," I said, raising a hand to signal my surrender.

  ?I turned my head toward the wall, finding a poster about procrastination.

  Do Tomorrow or Due Tomorrow

  A clever homophone. I stared at it until the words blurred, my mind drifting back to the ballroom floor.

  ?The peace didn't last. The heavy thud of the school’s front doors echoed up the stairwell, followed by the rising tide of footsteps and chatter. The world was waking up, a reality check I wasn't prepared for. As the other Council members trickled in, I cranked the volume dial on my headphones until the music became a physical barrier.

  The non-interaction was a blessing—right up until the moment a light chop landed on my shoulder.

  ?I didn't need to look. Only one person had a giggle that could pierce through a noise-canceling seal. I looked up into Remi Cross’s soft, practiced smile. My stomach did a slow, nauseous roll.

  ?My brain involuntarily replayed the tape from yesterday. How could someone talk to me after venting so heavily?

  "Sometimes, I just want to escape from all of this. There’s nothing left for me to do here. I spend so much energy making sure everyone else feels okay just so I don’t have to look at my own reflection."

  "I'm scared, Zeke. I'm really scared."

  For some reason, despite the sheer volume of raindrops that evening, I felt more soaked when her tears just kept going as she buried her face in my chest. I feel bad. I'm just a guy who listens, and I don't even know why people vent to me. It's not like I can help with their problems.

  Maybe, they don't even see me as a real person. If I'm so quiet, they see me as more of a place that they can rest and show their real selves. Not as a safety net.

  I'm a tool.

  "Zeke...? You can stop staring. It's freaking me out," Remi said, her smile wavering into something awkward.

  Is she putting on a mask right now? Maybe she's feeling even worse than yesterday and she's only—

  ?"Earth to Zeeeke," she added, waving a hand through my line of sight.

  "—Oh. Hey, Remi."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  ?"Hey. Did you see the group chat? It was a total storm." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that bypassed the surrounding noise.

  ?"I went straight to bed."

  ?"Okie dokie. Want the summary—"

  ?"No thanks."

  ?"You never let me finish," she pouted, sliding into the seat next to me. I instinctively scooted an inch away. The proximity felt too close for comfort.

  We've only just met during the later parts of this first semester, and I'll be honest Remi, I'll never see you the same way again. That was the first time I saw you cry, and I just thought you were like every other bubbly girl.

  Suddenly, the room went silent. The door clicked shut, and Alizée slammed her palms onto the lead desk. She stood tall, her shadow stretching across the table. How ironic.

  "Alright, this meeting is about two things!" she announced, holding up two fingers. I tried to tune her out, but her voice was a frequency I couldn't filter.

  I'm trying not to listen, but Alizee's voice is just able to enter my brain.

  "Firstly, Ophelia’s condition is a Grade 1 concussion. I'm glad... because she laid there for so long I thought she was gone." Alizée’s voice cracked for a split second before she hardened it. "She’ll be out for a week or two."

  Wait, what? I could've sworn she was immediately knocked out. Was there something I missed?

  Remi glanced at me, her eyes locking onto mine for a fraction of a second before she turned back to Alizée. She leaned closer to my ear, her breath warm against my skin.

  I didn't take any real notice of it, until she began to whisper into my ear as Alizée went on about the second thing.

  "When Alizée pushed you, you just sat there on the floor for ages," she whispered. "You were like a ghost. Why didn't you move?"

  "I guess I didn't want to get up," I whispered back. A perfect, efficient lie.

  "Mkay. You better be telling the truth." She paused, her eyes searching mine.

  "If you don't mind if I ask. Did she really go unconscious, Remi?"

  "Yeah. Well, not immediately. She was acting all drowsy at first before a few minutes went by and she was silent."

  "Huh. Thanks for telling me, I didn't know."

  "You were there, though. How could you not know?"

  "I was in shock," I said, finally offering a grain of truth. "I zoned out."

  ?"But you said you didn't want to get up."

  ?"That too."

  Remi stayed silent after that. Not out of frustration, but because she was outplayed; she just settled into a quiet, persistent pout.

  ?"Hey! Are you two even listening?" Alizée’s voice sliced through our bubble, a sharp reminder that the world didn't stop for our private dramas. We both snapped back into "attentive student" mode with the practiced grace of a reflex.

  ?"Y-yeah," Remi stammered. Her voice cracked under the pressure, a sound so brittle I wouldn't have been surprised if her vocal cords were made of diamond.

  ?"Good. Since you two were clearly occupied, I’m giving you a well-deserved assignment," Alizée said, her tone taking on that stern, lecture-hall edge. I braced myself for a punishment I already knew I’d hate.

  ?"You two are filling the remaining volunteer spots at the Council stand outside the ballroom," Alizée continued. "We’ve finalized the logistics. You'll be in charge of bracelets and check-ins."

  "Wait, how many spots were there?" Remi asked, her curiosity pivoting with frustrating speed.

  "Four, excluding me."

  "Okay, no big deal then!"

  No big deal? We were just conscripted into a social frontline position that nobody in their right mind would want. To Remi, however, there was no such thing as a day off; if there was a gap in the world, she felt an overwheming need to fill it.

  ?"Perfect. One more thing before we adjourn," Alizée said, packing her bag with military precision. "Volunteers, stay back. We’re setting up the stand immediately."

  ?"Hold on, Alizée," Casper—the boy to my left—interjected. "We have to build the thing ourselves?"

  ?"No, Casper. It’s a plastic folding table. I just need help hauling the bracelets, the linens, and the registration logs. I’ll clarify the rest when we get there."

  "Gotcha."

  So that was Casper. I hadn't expected to interact with him this early in the semester. He was a "looker"—the kind of guy whose wavy blonde hair and unnervingly blue eyes made him look more like a high-end porcelain doll than a teenager. He belonged at the "perfect guy" table, a natural resident of the school's upper social crust. I'm in enemy territory.

  "Alright. So just to verify the volunteers." Alizée snapped back, turning to all of us. "We have Casper, Remi, Zeke and Hazel."

  Hazel...? Who's that again? I located her in seconds.

  There was Hazel. Short dark hair, white clip, and a poker face that looked carved from marble. She was in my grade, and though we’d never spoken, we always seemed to haunt the same peripheral spaces—stranger-friends, bound by a mutual commitment to silence. I doubted she’d say a word to me even during ticket duty.

  "Okay! Meeting adjourned. Go to class!" Alizée barked, her malice wrapped in a veneer of genuine school spirit.

  ?I checked my phone as the room emptied. 7:26 AM. The efficiency of the meeting was the only thing I could appreciate.

  ?"Hey, Zeke. You look thrilled about the bracelets," Remi teased, appearing at my shoulder like a persistent ghost.

  ?"I’m vibrating with joy," I muttered.

  She chuckled.

  ?"Anyway!" Remi turned to Alizée at neck-breaking speed. "Where’s the gear?"

  ?"Ballroom storage. I’ve already got the bracelets and the guest list."

  ?"Sweet!"

  She seems overly optimistic today. But I don't really want to jump to conclusions, we only start to overly notice things once we've seen something we shouldn't have.

  Remi bounced out of the room. I watched Casper stand up; he caught my gaze, his blue eyes holding that effortless charm that felt almost predatory in its perfection. He clapped a hand on my shoulder as he passed.

  ?"C'mon, man. Don't look so down all the time," he said with a smile that could’ve been in a toothpaste commercial. He patted me once and vanished after Hazel.

  ?"You gonna move, Zeke?" Alizée called out, snapping me out of my audit of Casper's personality.

  "Huh? Oh, yeah."

  "Well, since you're standing there, grab the bracelet box."

  ?"Sure," I said, my voice dripping with the kind of sarcastic laziness that usually got me in trouble.

  ?What a pain. If I hadn't stayed behind to talk to Remi, I wouldn't be in this. If I hadn't handed Ophelia that hammer, I wouldn't be feeling this suffocating guilt.

  I stood there, the weight of the bracelet box finally leaving my hands, but the mental weight only grew heavier.

  ?If Remi had never confessed to me that evening, if she hadn't cracked that "bubbly" mask and let me see the wreckage underneath, I would have been fine today. I could have treated the assembly as an end to justify the means, the injury would've been prevented, and this ticket duty as a minor inconvenience.

  ?But would I?

  Thinking about these things, they're so tiring. It's constantly on my mind and I'm never able to get rid of it. I wish I could just avoid the landmines as cleanly as I said I would, and clearly the world rigs that game entirely.

  I dragged myself upward, the chair moved along the floor. I drifted toward the head of the table, where Alizée was currently staging a box of neon-colored bracelets.

  "Is my job done once the box is delivered to the stand?" I asked, my voice flat.

  "No."

  ?"Okay... mind clarifying the next step?"

  ?"You're helping with the table," she said, not even looking up. "Assuming we’re still capable of following a basic setup plan."

  ?"Sure. Sounds... bad."

  Alizée’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing into two sharp points of irritation. "What?"

  ?"—I mean, sounds good. Perfect, even," I corrected, my tone shifting into a bored, non-committal drone.

  ?Actually, it sounded like a waste of resources. Carrying a plastic folding table is a one-man job, but Alizée views "assistance" as a form of loyalty. I didn't want her to take my joke seriously—getting a lecture on "Council Solidarity" at 7:30 AM was an energy expenditure I couldn't afford.

  ?"Whatever. Just turn the lights off on your way out," she barked, already grabbing the guest list and heading for the door.

  ?I hoisted the box. It wasn't heavy, but the weight of the "work" felt like lead in my veins. I followed Alizée out, flicking the lights and plunging the Council room into darkness.

  ?I stepped out onto the second-floor landing. Leaning over the wooden railing, I watched Alizée’s retreating figure. She was already halfway down the hall toward the ballroom, her stride radiating an intensity that made my joints ache just by looking at it.

  ?I harbored a faint, probably delusional hope that I could turn "ticket duty" into "spectator duty." If I played my cards right—looking sufficiently awkward and unhelpful—maybe they’d just stop asking me to do things. It was a gamble, but a low-effort one.

  The staircase loomed ahead, a vertical obstacle course I wasn’t particularly enthralled by, yet it's a necessary set of steps leading to my freedom. As I began my descent, a figure appeared on the lower landing, moving upward with a posture of confidence.

  ?Ajax Vale.

  ?Our eyes locked—a brief, awkward collision. He looked like a worried boyfriend in a mid-budget drama. I'm not sure what he needs.

  "Hey, kid," he called out. "You're Council, right?"

  ?"Yes," I said, not slowing down. "And Ophelia is going to be out for a week or two."

  ?Ajax froze, his hand hovering over the railing. "Wha—how did you know I was going to ask that?"

  "It was obvious," I replied, glancing back. "You two are close."

  ?It was a lie. What I wanted to say was, Your pursuit of her heart is a public tragedy, but even I have limits.

  ?"Actually... we aren't," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s just me. I can’t seem to win her over."

  "Try being real with her," I suggested, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. "The 'Prince' act is a bit much."

  What am I even saying?

  ?I immediately regretted it. Who was I to give romantic advice? I barely understood romance, let alone regular relationships. "—Actually, forget I said anything."

  "Wait!" Ajax hurried down a few steps to level with me. "Thank you. For the advice." He gestured toward the box. "Need a hand?"

  "I’ve got it."

  ?"Alright. Stay safe," He nodded and walked off with that elegant stride he’s most known for.

  I could tell the "Gentleman" act was all he was ever taught. He's a nice guy.

  I reached the ballroom foyer to find the others already setting up the dark blue tablecloth. Alizée spotted me, placing the clipboard down as her mouth thinned into a line of mild irritation as I approached.

  ?"Took you long enough," she snapped.

  ?"Ran into a Prince on the stairs," I deadpanned. "Almost lost the bracelets."

  ?"Fair enough. Put them down. You’re done for the morning."

  ?"Finally."

  ?I set the box on the table and beat a hasty retreat. I needed the library. I needed a vacuum where no one could look at me or ask me for anything. I was mad at myself for contributing, for being a "helper" while Ophelia was stuck in a hospital room. It felt like a betrayal of her "relief" to be working while she was finally, successfully, still.

  ?I headed for the quietest corner of the school, hoping that if I stayed still enough, the world would finally forget I was a participant.

  ?7:40 AM. My schedule was still intact. The walk to the library was suspiciously smooth sailing, the kind of frictionless progress that usually precedes a catastrophic stab in the back.

  But I pushed the paranoia aside; the library was within reach—the only sanctuary left where I could bury the nightmares under the scent of old paper and silence.

  ?I was three steps from the large doorway when I felt a light tug on the back of my shirt.

  ?"Zeke?"

  ?The voice was small, hesitant. I turned, my irritation already bubbling to the surface. This was a direct violation of my "Great Plan of Eternal Slumber." I completed my rotation to find Aaxya standing there, her gaze fixed firmly on the tips of her shoes.

  "Can you... read this with me?" she asked, holding up a book. "I’m having trouble with the pronunciations."

  I recognized the cover immediately—the standard-issue novel for our Writing class. Everyone in our grade was currently trudging through it. I didn’t know the page number, but I knew Aaxya; she’d have the exact paragraph bookmarked.

  "Sorry, Aaxya. I’m going to go rest for a bit," I said, already turning back toward the library.

  Then, she looked up.

  ?Her expression was identical to that of a "puppy-dog", which was devastatingly sincere. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to suppress the cuteness overload. I found that nothing could suppress such magnitudes.

  "Alright. You win. Let's go."

  She smiled, and suddenly 40 years of my life were gone.

  ?We settled at a heavy wooden table in the back. I sat beside her, expecting the "popcorn reading" routine we did in class. It was a tedious exercise, and my irritation began to fester. Aaxya’s face flushed a deep crimson as she stared at the page, her hands trembling slightly.

  ?I waited. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I wanted her to start. I needed her to start so I wouldn't have to be the active participant.

  ?"C-can... can you go first?" she whispered.

  ?Something inside me snapped.

  ?"Don't you want to actually practice?" I asked, my voice dropping into a condescending, lecture-hall drone. "You won't learn a thing by just sitting there and—"

  ?I choked on my own words. Aaxya had already wilted, pulling the book tight against her chest as her hair fell forward like a curtain to hide her face.

  The anger drained out of me, replaced by a cold, hollow shame. Why her? Why did the person with the least amount of armor have to be the one to feel the wrath of my bad mood?

  ?"No, wait. I’m... I’m sorry, Aaxya. I’m not mad at you, I just—"

  ?No response.

  ?I leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse of her face. "Aaxya?"

  ?Still nothing.

  ?There was no one else to blame this time. No "brittle ladders," no "unreliable logic." This was just me being a jerk to a girl who only wanted to read a book.

  ?I stood up so abruptly I nearly tripped over the chair leg. I scanned the room, a frantic instinct checking for witnesses, but the library remained a silent tomb.

  ?"I’m ending the session here," I said, my voice sounding foreign and shaky. "I’ll see you in class."

  I don't even have a class with her, and what am I talking about? See you in class? I'll probably never even see her outside of class ever again.

  ?I beat a retreat, leaving her in the silence. I had managed to suppress the full explosion, but it didn't matter. Aggression is a chemical spill; even a small leak ruins the environment.

  ?I entered my first-period class without a word. I sat in my usual seat, convinced that the atmosphere around me had shifted—that I was radiating a dark, jagged energy. But as I looked around, I realized the truth: no one was looking. To them, I was still just a background character, a ghost haunted by a guilt they couldn't even see.