Saturday mornings at school had a different vibe—more laid-back, softer. The usual stomping of feet, the screech of chalk on boards, and the blaring morning bell were swapped out for whispers and slow shuffling. Scarlet was perched by the classroom window, her chin cradled in her hand, watching juniors trudge through an early-morning sports parade in the distant field.
Across from her, Rudd was bent over his sketchpad. It had been quiet for about ten minutes, but the silence felt comfortable now. She kept an eye on his pencil as it moved—quick, purposeful—turning lines into faces, into memories.
"You always draw people?" she broke the silence.
He glanced up for a moment. "Mostly."
"Ever drawn me?"
His pencil paused, and a small smile appeared on his face. "Maybe."
Scarlet fought to keep her smile in check. "I'd love to see it."
He didn't answer, just went back to sketching. Still, something shifted in the atmosphere between them—something quiet, unspoken, but unmistakable.
Later that day, Dapo spotted her in the library. She didn't mention that she'd just been with Rudd, and he didn't ask.
He placed a hand on her textbook, closing it halfway. "Come with me."
Scarlet frowned. "I'm reading."
He shrugged, "And I'm distracting you. It's all about balance."
Before she could protest, he tugged her up, weaving through the shelves and past a sleepy librarian who barely glanced their way. He led her outside—to the back of the building, where broken chairs and rusted lab stools leaned against crumbling walls.
She stared in disbelief. "Seriously?"
He laughed. "Relax. I tidied this place up yesterday. It's peaceful."
"Looks kind of haunted."
He grinned even wider. "Exactly why no one else comes here."
She rolled her eyes but followed him anyway.
They settled on an overturned bench, sunlight filtering through the narrow gaps between the buildings. Dapo pulled out a plastic container filled with suya and soft bread.
"You came prepared," she remarked.
"Gotta survive somehow."
They ate slowly, chatting about everything and nothing—music, annoying seniors, their futures after school. It felt easy, maybe too easy, until he leaned in a bit closer.
"You ever think about leaving all this behind?" he asked.
"School?"
"Everything. The pressure, the drama, the expectations."
Scarlet hesitated. "Sometimes."
"Then what keeps you grounded?"
She looked away. "People. Some of them."
He scrutinized her face. "Rudd?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You think I don't see it? You light up when he walks in, even when you're mad."
"I'm not—"
"You don't need to lie. Just be careful, Scarlet. I like you, a lot. But I won't beg for a spot in your life."
She couldn't respond. She just sat there, silent.
The next day, Gab came back to school. Even with his demotion, his presence still made waves. Whispers trailed him like shadows as he walked down the hallway. He didn't roll with his crew anymore, but the edge in his gaze was still sharp.
He cornered Rudd after prep.
"Long time, artist boy."
Rudd didn't flinch. "Not long enough."
Gab smirked. "Heard you've been getting cozy with one of your girls."
Rudd narrowed his eyes. "Stay out of it."
"You think school's just about books and feelings? Wake up. This place chews up soft boys like you."
"I'm not soft."
"You keep telling yourself that."
Gab walked away, but not before muttering, "Hope you're ready when the games begin."
Rudd stayed frozen for a while after that. Silent. Tense.
In class, Scarlet slid a note to him.
"You okay?"
He scribbled back:
"Define okay."
She frowned.
"Gab again?"
His response was slow this time.
"It's not just him. I'm trying to be everywhere for everyone. It's exhausting."
Scarlet stared at his handwriting, her heart sinking.
"You don't have to carry everything, Rudd. You're allowed to break.'
No reply.
By evening, Scarlet found herself alone in the art room, flipping through forgotten sketchbooks. Rudd's wasn't there, but she stumbled upon another one filled with rough portraits. One caught her eye—it looked surprisingly like her, hair tousled and brows furrowed like they always were when she studied. The resemblance was striking. And the caption beneath the drawing?
"She always looked like she was trying not to fall."
She snapped the book shut quickly, feeling a tightness in her chest.
Later that night, after lights out, Amara leaned over from her bunk.
"You okay?"
Scarlet nodded. "Yeah.
"You sure?"
"No," she admitted softly. "Everything's just... twisting."
Amara didn't push her to say more.
Outside, thunder rumbled. Rain was on its way.
And so was the storm they were all unprepared for.