The memory pressed against her, an intoxicating blend of thrill and dread. If Ms. Rita or Ms. Aisha ever found out... Her stomach turned. The thought of their disappointment, was almost unbearable.
Her phone buzzed.
Grateful for the distraction, she fished it from her bag. A message from Mrs. Aisha: warm wishes for her exam, and a teasing note about a casserole waiting at home. Tasha smiled, a real one this time. Mrs. Aisha's food was more than nourishment, it was comfort. A quiet kind of love wrapped in golden crust and savory steam. She replied quickly, the thought of warm pastry soothing her restless mind.
Around her, the classroom had nearly emptied. Only two girls and a boy remained, their voices a distant murmur. She stood, her chair scraping softly against the floor. One of the girls, round-faced, dark eyeliner, gleaming purple lips, gestured animatedly as she spoke. Tasha watched her for a moment, curious about the story behind those quick hands and quiet words, then turned away. Some stories weren't hers to know.
She tucked her phone into her bag and stepped into the hallway, leaving the trace of Clinton's memory behind, at least for now. With every step, she tried to bury the hope that he might come back. That she might turn around and find him there, real, tangible, not just a ghost stitched into her thoughts.
The corridor stretched ahead, mostly empty, the silence broken only by the scuff of footsteps. Tasha moved slowly, hesitantly, until she spotted Mrs. Nora.
They recognized each other at once, smiles blooming.
Mrs. Nora, who had guided Tasha on her very first day at school, looked slightly different now. Her hair, once tinted yellow, was a rich brown. A touch more makeup softened the lines around her eyes. Her left arm cradled a stack of books. They embraced briefly.
"It's so good to see you again," Tasha said, her voice bright with sincerity.
Mrs. Nora tucked a stray curl behind Tasha's ear. "Likewise. How was your exam?"
Tasha exhaled. "It went well. The questions were fair. I think I did okay."
"I'm glad to hear it," Mrs. Nora said, then glanced down the corridor. "I'm heading to the library—returning these and grabbing a few on humanities. Want to come along?"
Tasha's eyes lit up. "Yes, please. I've been meaning to borrow a book on physiological psychology."
They walked together, their footsteps echoing on the wide stairs, conversation flowing easily. At the landing, Mrs. Nora turned to her.
"Call me anytime if you need help with your studies," she offered gently.
"I will. Thank you," Tasha said, meaning every word.
The library greeted them with a familiar hush. The scent of old paper mingled with the low hum of computers. Students dotted the space, some hunched over books, others browsing quietly. At the front desk, the librarian, Gretel, greeted them. Her British accent wrapped each word in crisp precision. A green pendant glinted against her blouse.
Mrs. Nora signed the log and mentioned Tasha's need for a library card.
Gretel smiled, nodding. "Feel free to borrow as many books as you like."
Tasha wandered to the psychology section, her fingers trailing over spines until they landed on a thick blue volume: Physiological Mechanisms: The Body in Motion. She held it close, heart steadying.
Across the room, Mrs. Nora was already at a computer, the screen's glow , soft shadows on her face. Her expression had sharpened, lips pressed into a thoughtful line.
"I just need to respond to an email," she said without looking up. "Go ahead and study. Good luck."
"Thank you again," Tasha said softly, cradling the book to her chest.
Mrs. Nora gave a warm smile, her voice a whisper. "No problem."
"Isn't she the girl from the eatery? Tasha, right?" Anna's voice was low, her eyes tracking Tasha as she passed through the doorway.
Vivian didn't bother looking up. "The one who slept with Clinton? Yeah, that's her," she said, too loudly.
Anna's mouth tightened. "She confided in us. You shouldn't talk about it like that."
Vivian rolled her eyes and muttered a half-hearted, "Sorry."
Anna returned to her book. "She seems nice. I'd be friends with her."
Vivian scoffed. "She's a maid who doesn't know her place."
Anna said nothing. The silence between them echoed louder than any retort.
Outside, Tasha walked alone. Her thoughts were heavy, her stomach empty. Her steps slowed as she neared a half-open door, the one everyone whispered about. It led to the boys' private hall. A place paid for with privilege. A world she could never touch.
She paused.
The hallway stilled around her. The air shifted. She leaned forward, curiosity teasing the edge of her restraint. What did that world feel like? What did it smell like? Did the air there hum with power the way it did when they walked past?
Then she shook her head. Some doors were better left unopened.
Inside the library, Anna checked her watch and zipped her jacket. "We stayed too long. It's already evening."
Vivian glanced at her phone. "It's not even seven. My mom's the one who'll panic—she's probably exhausted from selling on the street all day."
As they stepped into the hallway, Anna noticed the ajar door. Vivian followed her gaze.
"Think they forgot to close it?" Anna whispered.
Vivian smirked. "Only one way to find out."
Anna hesitated. "We shouldn't. You know the rules."
"No one will know. Just a peek," Vivian urged.
Anna folded her arms. "Fine. Go ahead. But if anything goes wrong, you're on your own."
Vivian started toward the door, but Anna's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
Vivian turned back, her face unexpectedly soft. "Just a quick look. That's all. It might make my boring life feel... less boring."
Anna exhaled. "One minute. No more."
The girls stepped inside, sneakers whispering against polished tile. The room was elegant, quiet, almost unreal. Plush couches, wide windows revealing the dark sky, books stacked neatly on shelves. It looked less like a dorm and more like a private lounge.
Then they saw him.
Samuel sat hunched at the far end, shoulders bowed over his phone. The faint sound of a sniffle reached them. His friends had left hours ago, their reassurances brittle. He'd said he was fine. Clearly, he wasn't.
His driver waited outside, but Samuel hadn't wanted the car. His mother, Mrs. Bobby, had begged him not to drive. Since his father's death, she saw danger everywhere, especially in silence. But Samuel had insisted. Anything to escape the suffocating grief clawing at him.
Vivian froze, ducking behind a bookshelf. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Anna remained where she was, stunned.
Samuel looked up.