𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋

006

part 006
lux

Kai'

We were in class, and it was dragging. I've looked at the clock more than five times in the last minute. We've been told to read from the textbook and answer questions, this teacher can't teach. Athalia was to my right with the phone under her desk. Parker was to my left diagonally on her phone too, covering her mouth as she laughed. The room was silent. Everyone was writing or on their phones.

"Sir!" I spoke aloud, catching everyone's attention.

"Yes?" He looked up from his laptop.

"I'm going." I stood up and grabbed my bag. I know he wouldn't question it. As I got up my eyes met with hers. I left the room and began to walk to who knows where. As I strolled through the halls, it was evident that lunchtime had just ended for the first-year students. Each year had its distinct lunch schedule, a tactic to avoid overcrowding. As I passed by a group of them, hushed whispers rippled through the air, their curiosity piqued by my presence.

"You and Athalia at it again?" The red head's words hung in the air, drawing my attention. I halted in my tracks, meeting her gaze as she continued her taunts, unfazed by my reaction. Quinn smirks and waits for an answer.

"We're not," I retorted, my tone firm, locking eyes with her before continuing on my way.

I shoved my hand into my pants pockets and could feel the outline of my lighter.

"So, tonight?" She smirked, her tone suggestive.

I scoffed at her audacity. "You're fourteen, Quinn. Shut it out," I retort, striding away, feeling a surge of discomfort. The mere suggestion felt wrong, especially considering Quinn's age. The thought of my own sister, Carmen.

Quinn's taunting smirk only fueled my discomfort. "Make me, Valdez," she says as I walk away, her words dripping with provocation. Quinn Foley, a product of privilege and entitlement, wielded her status with careless abandon, a stark contrast to the responsibilities I shouldered. Her parents' industry connections only served to enhance Quinn's allure, a reminder of the stark differences between our worlds. As the offspring of a director and an actress, Quinn basked in the spotlight.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed open the fire exit to a breeze hitting me. Seeking respite, I made my way to the fire exit, where Will sat in silence.

"Everything okay?" I inquired, offering him a cigarette as we exchanged knowing glances.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice soft yet reassuring. "You?"

I nodded, a sense of camaraderie washing over me as we shared a moment of quiet understanding.

"Hebdomada de Lux starts tonight." sparked a flicker of anticipation, a brief reprieve from the mundanity of everyday life.

"Already?" I exclaimed, my surprise evident. Week of Light.

The annual carnival marked a welcomed departure from routine, a kaleidoscope of lights and colours that promised excitement.

Each day of Hebdomada de Lux brought its own unique spectacle, transforming our school routine into a whirlwind of excitement. From Monday to Wednesday, the carnival took centre stage, a riot of colours and laughter that breathed life into the otherwise monotonous corridors. Thursday brought a twist to the with the grandest game of hide and seek imaginable. Neon lights illuminated the campus, casting an ethereal glow over the familiar surroundings and turning the school grounds into a playground of shadows and secrets.

By Friday, we fled from school. Some go down to the beach, others head into the city. Regardless of the chosen destination, one thing remained certain: we would dance until dawn. Saturday was the ball. This year's theme being a masquerade ball, simple but classy. Teachers literally had a list of all our names to see if we attended. If not, they'd call our parents who'd give us a mouthful of bullshit.

"You're too quiet today, what's up?" I sit beside him

"Those nightmares I used to have? They're back, Kai, after all these years." His voice carried a tremor of vulnerability. "I feel like I'm losing myself," he confessed. The vulnerability in his tone pierced through the veil of my own apprehension, compelling me to confront the depth of his distress. This conversation reminds me of the one with Athalia. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in class?" he interjected, breaking up this one sided conversation. His words hung in the air, a fragile barrier against the weight of our shared unease.

"Fuck my class." I said "You can always talk to me?" He nodded his head. !

William was the embodiment of untamed energy. From fourteen, he had been the life of the party, pushing boundaries and defying conventions with reckless abandon. Despite his affluent background, one night at a club he found himself vulnerable to the whims of fate.

"Idiot," I muttered under my breath, breaking the suffocating silence that hung between us. His gaze met mine, a flicker of surprise mingling with the pain etched in his eyes. "Don't keep it bottled up inside" Rising from the ground, I reached out to him and he grabbed my hand as i pulled him up.

"You're going to the fair tonight, right?" He looked at me. I nodded. I wouldn't miss it.

*

I found myself unable to muster the motivation to return to class, opting to head to my dorm. As I sifted through my wardrobe for an outfit tonight.

"You're failing," Kyran's voice sliced through the silence, his presence not needed right now. With a heavy sigh, he closed the door behind him,"Mr Lacy goes if you don't attend another lesson for the whole hour, he's instantly failing you. Dude, you'll have to repeat this year."

A surge of frustration bubbled within me. "Not my fault he can't fucking teach business," I retorted bitterly, my hands instinctively gravitating towards the familiar comfort of my clothing. The Saint Laurent black tank top paired with CK 90's straight black jeans beckoned to me, offering a semblance of control amidst the chaos of my academic woes. "Yo, do we still have that glow in the dark paint?" I inquired, my voice tinged with a hint of excitement.

"Kai, take it fucking seriously," Kyran's admonition cut through the air like a knife. He went silent, making me look at him. He walked over to his drawer and pulled it open revealing bottles of paint. I quickly grabbed one bottle and put it on some plastic looking plate. I grabbed his hand and put it in the paint.

"Put your hand print on the shirt," I instructed, my voice brimming with determination. With a mixture of reluctance and curiosity, Kyran complied, his hand leaving an indelible mark on the fabric.

"It's a 300 dollar top," Kyran says. Yet, at that moment, I don't see much other than a masterpiece . "See, I am not dumb. There is something there," I asserted, tapping the side of my head in a silent declaration of defiance.