Chapter 43 Punished as well
SOMA
Tuesday and Wednesday went pretty well. It’s Thursday, and as I head toward my locker to grab some books, I hope I’ll also have a great day today.
Brynne and Tristan have kept out of my way, and I’ve managed to avoid Kade by eating in the suite.
The morning sun slants through the tall windows as I pad down the corridor. Laughter bounces off the walls, and the halls grow warmer as bodies, voices, and the sound of boots against stone fill the space. I breathe in and out, telling myself it’ll be a normal day.
Once I’m at my locker, I spin the lock and tug the door open, mentally running through the list of things I need for the first period. The second the locker swings wide, a hiss erupts. A spray of liquid shoots out, splattering across my shirt. The cold shock makes me yelp and stagger back, but it’s too late.
Droplets run down the front of my white uniform blouse, soaking through in blotchy stains. The sharp and sour smell hits next, something between spoiled milk and vinegar. I don’t shout. I don’t slam fists or call for help. Partly because I don’t want to give them the satisfaction, partly because I don’t know who did it, and partly because the idea of naming anyone feels like walking into another trap.
Heat rushes up my neck as I swipe at the fabric with my blazer’s sleeve, but since it’s a white shirt, it only smears. The dark, ugly stain spreads right across my chest, growing with every brush of my palm over it. There’s no chance I can get it out in time. Not without washing it.
Laughter ripples down the hall. The students walking past glance over. Some bite back grins, while others don’t hide it. I catch the subtle angle of someone’s wrist as they pretend to check their watch, but no, they’re recording my humiliation. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the red light blinking at the corner of their device.
My eyes dart to the new wristwatch adorning my wrist. If I return to the quarters to change, I’ll be too late for class. And if I’m late, I might as well kiss any chance at Set Leader for Year One goodbye.
Punctuality and discipline are among the things they are watching out for. I didn’t earn the Luna spot on merit, but I can earn another leadership spot by myself. My stomach knots tighter as I try to think of a quick but easy solution.
Tearing through my locker, I shove books aside until my fingers close around a folded white tank top in the corner.
It isn’t close to the school’s dress code, but it’s better than this reeking mess sticking to me. I slam the locker shut and hurry down the hall, ignoring the snickers trailing behind me. Now I know to carry an extra set of uniforms to avoid this madness.
The bathroom tiles echo with the sharp clack of my boots as I duck into a stall and yank the ruined shirt off. Heart hammering, I pull the tank on, hugging the balled-up shirt to my chest as I push the stall door open again. My reflection in the mirror makes me wince. My shoulders are bare, the neckline is low, and the straps are thin.
Definitely not standard. Definitely noticeable.
But I still have my blazer. So, I shrug it over the tank and shove the stained shirt deeper into my bag. Hopefully, I can get away with an apology for my dressing. I head for the door and try to pull it open, but it doesn’t budge. It must have been jammed because it was working perfectly fine a few minutes ago. I twist the handle again, but nothing happens. It doesn’t take long to realize what this is.
Someone locked me in.
“No, no, no—” My voice shakes as I rattle it harder, banging my fist against the door. “Hey. Open the door.”
The walls echo my frustration back at me. Calvary High students weren’t this mean as long as you stayed out of their way. At least most times. Silence follows, except for the faint sound of laughter drifting away. I pry my phone from my bag and scroll through my contact list, but the only number I have saved is Lilith’s.
How do I call to tell her I’m locked in the bathroom?
Hot and unwanted tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I slam my palm against the wood, screaming, “Open up.”
On the third try, there’s a small click. My hand freezes, and I turn the handle slowly. This time, it swings open with a soft creak, but I slip my phone back into my bag and count fifteen seconds before stepping out.
The hall is empty. No voices. No footsteps. Not a trace of whoever thought this was funny. Just the echo of my own ragged breathing as I step out with stiff shoulders, forcing myself to hurry to class like nothing happened.
By the time I reach the classroom door, my lungs are burning. I’m too late. The lecturer’s voice booms from inside as he explains how one of the founding families won a war with the help of their elemental magic.
Shadowspire might have strict rules now, but their founding fathers were cooler. Sadly, the magic is lost. All we have now are pompous princes. My heart thuds as I push the door open, and all heads swing toward me.
At the front of the class, Sheila and Maeve stand side by side. They must have done something wrong because it’s our lecturer’s favorite punishment. The corners of their mouths lift with a smug smile that makes my spine stiffen.
Mr. Obed, our lecturer, pauses mid-sentence. His lips part as his gaze flicks to me. “Ah. My lady,” he says, his voice faltering. I can tell I’ve put him in a tight spot. “We are halfway done, but you can… you can have a seat.”
A ripple of whispers slides through the room. They don’t say it, but their eyes hold judgment. I’m getting away with this because of my title.
Sheila’s mouth curls. “Why does she get preferential treatment when she’s also late? If we have to stand, then she should, too. Doesn’t Shadowspire promote fairness?”
“Besides, she’s not even wearing the correct uniform,” Maeve says, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. Her eyes drop to the tank top, and she smirks. “Does that top even belong to you? Stealing as always. You can take a girl out of the dump, but you can’t take the dump out of the girl.”
A couple of students giggle under their breath, and Mr. Obed’s face flushes. I should have known something was amiss because this top isn’t my style. I’ll never buy something like this. He fumbles with his notes, his nervousness worse than mine. I feel every stare like needles under my skin, especially Sienna, who watches like she’s waiting for my next move.
Before the silence can stretch, I step forward and stand beside Maeve. My voice stays calm, even if my chest is tight. “It’s fine. I’m late. I should be punished as well.”
Mr. Obed flaps a hand, shaking his head so quickly it’s almost comical. “No, no. No need. Everyone, go sit.”
Sheila and Maeve roll their eyes, but shuffle to their desks. I walk behind them, every step feeling heavier. As I’m about to slide into a seat in the middle, Sienna nods at the empty chair beside her. My eyes widen, and she looks away, and I’m half-sure I imagined that brief interaction. Still, I sink into the seat she offered, quiet for the rest of the class.