"He didn't catch me," Adem muttered, downshifting as we curved off the main road toward the student lot.
"You were doing 115 in an 80 zone," I said, kicking the back of his seat. "The camera flashed, Adem. It lit up the whole damn road."
"Could've been someone behind us."
I snorted. "Yeah? In what, your imagination?"
He braked smoother than necessary, clearly proud of himself, and swung into an open spot. His BMW purred like it thought it was innocent too.
Tarik was quiet in the passenger seat, hood up, staring straight ahead like nothing we said was worth reacting to.
I kicked the back of Adem's seat again. "You're delusional."
He turned just enough to glare at me. "Stop kicking my seat. You're getting it dirty."
I leaned forward and smacked his shoulder. "Ha! You could eat off my shoes."
He looked at my feet. "Are those new?"
"Obviously."
Triple white, limited edition, not a mark on them. My babies.
He rolled his eyes and grabbed his backpack. "Still not an excuse to scuff my leather, peasant."
"I'll scuff your face."
Adem stepped out of the car and slung his bag over one shoulder, already nodding to teammates across the lot. Girls turned to watch. Some of the boys, too. The morning crowd shifted to make space for him like they always did.
I turned to Tarik. Still in his seat. Still quiet.
"Come on," I said gently.
He blinked like he'd just remembered he was supposed to exist, then got out of the car.
We stepped into the cold together. Our matching blazers unbuttoned, school crest sharp against navy wool. Same uniform, different moods.
Tarik started walking toward the main entrance, hands in his pockets. The school loomed ahead like it knew it was better than the rest of the city. Old stone, black iron fencing, a statue of some long-dead philosopher greeting us like he regretted every scholarship.
I jogged a few steps to catch up and slid my arm around his waist. He didn't react—just pulled me closer like he always did. His arm went around my shoulders, easy, practiced.
He was quiet.
But I could feel the tension in his body like it was my own.
"You look like you want to dropkick the next person who breathes."
He didn't respond.
"Wanna talk about it?"
A shake of the head.
"Wanna skip and fake a broken ankle so we can sit in the nurse's office and eat vending machine junk for an hour?"
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Progress.
"You hungry?"
Another grunt.
"Want me to carry you through this math class like the queen I am?"
That got the corner of his mouth to twitch. "Sh-shut up."
"Is that a smile? Don't tease me with hope like that, Tarik."
A tiny grunt. Almost a laugh.
"Tarik," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder, "you don't have to be okay. But you're not alone, okay? You've got me."
He didn't say anything. But his hand tightened just slightly where it rested on my arm.
And for now, that was enough.
We passed through the security gate, nodding at the same guard who'd been here since we were fourteen. His uniform was cleaner than most people's wedding fits.
Loud voices bounced off polished tile floors, sneakers squeaked where they weren't supposed to, and someone was yelling across the atrium about losing his AirPods again. We passed the usual clusters—perfectly disheveled girls leaning against lockers like it was a runway backdrop, boys whose uniforms were technically regulation but barely. Blazers fitted, sleeves pushed, ties loose and useless. Every third kid wore shoes they weren't supposed to, and no one stopped them.
Adem had already disappeared, swept into a crowd of teammates and admirers like he was walking onto a red carpet. Tarik and I stuck to our usual route—past the cluster of vending machines that only sold imported snacks, down the wing lined with floor-to-ceiling windows and framed black-and-white portraits of every valedictorian for the last fifty years. All with the same smug smile.
Up ahead, a few kids nodded at Tarik as we passed. A couple girls waved at me. Someone shouted across the hall asking if Adem got flashed by the speed cam that morning. Word traveled fast here.
We reached Room 3B just as the bell rang.
Honors Calculus and Trig. The class where everyone suffered, but Tarik suffered louder.
Inside, the noise quieted just enough to pass for order. The desks were black matte with brushed steel legs, arranged in precise pairs beneath that ridiculous skylight the school bragged about in every brochure. Our seats—back row, near the window—were untouched. Everyone knew better.
Tarik slouched into his usual seat by the window, and I dropped into mine beside him.
He barely had his bag open before the teacher walked in and said, "Pop quiz."
Tarik muttered, "F-fuck."
I snorted—loud.
He turned to me slowly, betrayal written across his face.
"Y-you knew."
"I didn't," I whispered back. "But this is so much better."
The quiz landed on our table like a death sentence. Tarik groaned like it had personally insulted his mother.
I started writing before he even picked up his pencil.
I breezed through it. Around me, pencils were still hovering in midair, kids sighing like the questions had personally attacked them.
The girl two rows up had already erased through her paper.
I turned mine in with a smile.
Tarik didn't even look at me—just held up his middle finger without breaking concentration.
I grinned and leaned back in my chair.
My day was already made.
We left class together, falling into step without needing to say anything. We always did.
Tarik still hadn't fully shaken the morning off him, but he wasn't stormcloud-level anymore. Just quiet. Focused.
The hallway buzzed with noise and bodies and the usual chaos between bells. Without breaking stride, he shifted slightly ahead of me—parting the crowd, clearing space so I wouldn't have to.
It was subtle, practiced.
Protective in the way only Tarik could be.
When we reached my classroom, he slowed, leaned down, and kissed the top of my head like he had a thousand times before.
"See you at lunch," he said, already walking off before I could answer.
Still grumpy. Still solid. Still my favorite person on the planet.
I slipped into my usual seat near the window.
And immediately regretted my life choices.
Slimy sat beside me. Haris. The human walking red flag I should've blocked the day he arrived. I'd left him on read last night. Again this morning. And judging by the twitch in his eye, we were officially past "charming persistence" and firmly in male entitlement meltdown.
The teacher started going over the reading structure, but I could feel him watching me. Like physically feel it. Like a bug crawling on my neck.
When she announced we'd be doing a group reading assignment, Haris was on it before I could even open my mouth.
"We'll partner," he said, like it was a prize and not a hostage situation.
He smiled like he'd just done something brilliant. Like being stuck beside him for the next thirty minutes was some kind of reward.
This guy was fucking weird.
I pulled out my phone and sent a message. 11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ428JPhUPGo
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkRoQbKpnbe
Group chat: Tripletz 💥
Me: Slimy is being extra slimy today.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIYpvsgRTl8
Me: Tarik I'll do your math homework if you foul him at practice. Like on purpose.
Tarik: Help me study for the makeup quiz and I'll level him with the ground.
Adem: What is he doing? Are you okay?
I smiled and typed back.
Me: I'm fine. Just annoyed. He's breathing near me.
I shoved my phone back into my jacket.
Haris was still reading—loud, smooth, annoyingly confident. His voice was deep. Crisp. The kind that belonged on late-night radio, reading poetry no one asked for but everyone listened to anyway.
And yeah... he was good-looking. Objectively. Jawline sharp, hair perfect, that whole tortured-artist-who's-never-done-a-day-of-real-work vibe.
But the voice didn't cancel the personality.
And unfortunately, neither did the face.
We finished the questions on the back of the worksheet fast. Which meant, of course, we had time to talk. Yay.
He leaned in, grinning—white teeth, warm breath, all the confidence of someone who was used to yes.
"So why aren't you texting me back?"
I didn't look at him. "I'm not interested."
He tilted his head like he couldn't quite compute it. "You say that, but you keep showing up in my thoughts."
I snorted. "Gross."
He laughed like I'd said something flirty. Like it was a game.
"Come on," he said. "Girls like you play hard to get. You like the chase."
I turned to him fully now. "No. I like being left alone."
He blinked. Just for a second. Something tightened in his jaw.
He tried to recover with another smile, but it didn't reach his eyes this time.
"You're funny," he said, voice still smooth. "But you don't have to fake it with me. I can tell when someone's into me."
I leaned back in my chair. "You're confusing interest with tolerance. Rookie mistake."
That landed. His jaw twitched again. Just slightly. The pretty-boy act cracked, but he smoothed it over like he'd practiced.
And for the first time, I didn't just find him annoying.
I found him unsettling.
He leaned in again—too close. I could feel his breath near my ear, warm and deliberate, like he wanted me to flinch.
His voice dropped, soft and low. Meant just for me.
"You can say no all you want. Girls like you always do. It just makes it more fun when you stop fighting."
I blinked.
Then swung.
Straight into his nose.Just like Talha taught me.
Talha's voice, calm and matter-of-fact in the back of my head:
If you ever have to hit someone, go for the nose. It bleeds the most.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDiejbs5zFO
Quick, sharp, no hesitation.
The sound was awful.
The result was better.
My fist connected hard. His head snapped back. Blood sprayed instantly—mouth, chin, desk, shirt. He jerked back with a howl, hand clamped over his face.
The room erupted. Someone screamed. Desks scraped. The teacher froze like she couldn't decide who needed help more—him or me.
Haris clutched his face, blood pouring through his fingers.
"You're a psycho!" he shouted, muffled and nasal.
"And you're deaf," I snapped, shaking out my hand. "I said no."
The teacher froze like her code of conduct handbook didn't have a page for this. A few kids were filming, and the rest were staring.
Haris kept gasping, blood leaking through his fingers.
I pulled out my little tissue pouch from my bag and tossed them onto his lap.
"Clean yourself up," I said. "That's not a good look for you, love."
Then I turned, shouldered my bag, and walked to the front of the room.
"Want me to go to the office," I said to the teacher, "or are you calling someone to walk me there like I'm a flight risk?"
She blinked at me.
I rolled my eyes.
"I'll go."
I stepped out into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind me.
Then I looked down.
Blood.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIQKndUMCPV
Right on the toe of my triple white, limited edition Air Maxes.
Of course.
I sighed like the universe had personally offended me.
Pulled out my phone.
Group chat: Tripletz 💥
Amina: Guess who got blood on her sneakers before 11AM 🩸👟
Tarik: ...whose?
Adem: What the hell does that mean
Tarik: Amina.
Adem: Is it your blood??
Amina: Chill 😌 I'm fine.
Tarik: Then whose blood is it
Amina: Not mine 🤷♀️ not yours 🤐 not important
Adem: That's not an answer.
Tarik: Were you in a fight??
Amina: Why would you assume violence 😇
Adem: Because you're YOU
Tarik: And it's blood 🩸
Amina: Ugh 🙄 you're both dramatic
Adem: Where are you??
Amina: Walking 🚶♀️
Tarik: Walking where?
Amina: Principal's office ✨ byyyeeeee 💋
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXsb1qfm58T
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
This chapter is brought to you by:11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY9AkGOYeIB
📚 Calculus,11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnBX9OUJO7P
👟 Triple white Air Maxes,11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ10QRNHqUCX
🩸 Blood that wasn't hers,11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPxTOpiIxN3
and one idiot who thought "No" was a conversation starter.
Amina came to school in uniform and peace.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF2D4j0rPum
But unfortunately for Haris, she also came trained.
Pop quiz? Aced it.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhjTlqSBUUT
Predatory flirtation? Corrected it—with her dominant hand.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbR0KBSsPAo
Principal's office? She walked herself. In style.
To be clear:11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCYvl7moimi
Yes, she got blood on her sneakers.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDS0ZSBcjDl
No, she's not sorry.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡheEBQB0CrN
Yes, she brought tissues.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHRhcPkIFUT
Because she's a lady.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7U1cKx0bTt
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHCXMKuSBQT
-Ash&Olive
11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4ExzKQwJ7N
