It was time to head to class. Jasmine and Marcus didn't share the same schedule—probably a good thing after the morning's explosion—but I did share a class with Jasmine, while Marcus ended up with Mei. Fate, I guess, or maybe some weird cosmic joke.
The walk to class wasn't anything special, but just as I was about to disappear into my classroom, I spotted Marcus stopping Mei right outside of hers. His voice wasn't loud, but the sharpness of his tone cut through the hallway noise enough to grab my attention.
"Yo, Mei," he said, stepping in front of her, "what's your deal with Jasmine?"
Mei blinked up at him, calm as ever. "I'm not trying to start anything. I was just... I wanted to make things right. Be there for her, you know? Make up for—"
Marcus held up a hand, cutting her off. "Look, I get it. You're trying to do the whole redemption arc thing. But not with her. Not now. Just leave her alone."
There was something behind his words, something more than just irritation. Stern, yeah, but layered with this deep, quiet concern. Mei stared at him for a second, her lips pressed together, before nodding. She didn't argue. Didn't push back. Just stepped aside and let him go into class.
I didn't stick around to see more. Not my business, anyway.
Walking into class, I was hit with the usual wave of noise and teenage nonsense. You'd think school was a place for learning, but nah, not with these idiots. I don't know what it is about people my age. I love my friends, love my mom, but people in general? Hate 'em. Especially kids in school. Something about their energy just drains the soul.
As I stepped in, a group of guys immediately started up. "Prettyboy alert!" one of them teased, nudging his buddy. "Watch out, he might steal your girl just by breathing!"
I ignored them. Always did. Didn't even bother rolling my eyes. Just walked in, greeted the teacher with a polite "Good morning," and headed to my seat.
The moment I sat down, I noticed her. A Caucasian girl, sitting at the desk beside me, all bashful smiles and nervous glances. "Hi, prettyboy," she said, her voice soft and sugary, like she thought she was in some rom-com.
I didn't respond. Didn't even acknowledge her for a good five seconds. Finally, I shot her a quick glance—just enough to let her know I wasn't impressed—before looking around the room. My eyes landed on Jasmine, who was seated across the room. She looked like she didn't want to be there, her mood heavy and distant.
Class started, and for a while, it was the usual routine. Notes, lectures, nothing exciting. But then it happened.
The Caucasian girl beside me slid a piece of paper onto my desk.
I stared at it for a moment, my face completely unreadable. Then, without a word, I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a pair of gloves—Mrs. Carter's hair dye box had been generous—and carefully picked up the note like it was biohazardous material.
I unfolded it slowly, keeping my expression neutral. The girl beside me was practically vibrating with excitement, her cheeks flushed as she waited for my reaction.
The note was simple, scribbled in loopy handwriting. Something about calling her number, how she thought I was "so dreamy," and some nonsense about "fate bringing us together."
I sat there for a long moment, staring at the paper, my mind running wild with thoughts.
This. This right here is why guys can't respect girls.
They think throwing themselves at a guy makes them attractive. Like being aggressive and shameless is attractive. All it does is make them look simple. Easy. Stupid.
Then they wonder why dudes treat them like trash. A man respects a girl with morals, someone who values herself. Someone who's got class, like Jasmine. Most guys are the same. We want a girl who's got substance, who isn't out here wearing... whatever that is, looking like they shopped in the clearance bin at Baby Gap. If I did a challenge for girls, it'd be "Try using your brain instead of your rear", just saying.
I raised my hand. "Excuse me, Mr. Collins?"
The teacher paused, looking at me curiously. "Yes, Han?"
"I need to read something to the class. It's... educational."
I stood up, holding the note delicately between my gloved fingers, and cleared my throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I began, my voice steady and serious, "this here is a prime example of what not to do."
The room erupted into laughter, and the Caucasian girl's face turned bright red. She shrank in her seat, but I wasn't done.
"Passing harlot notes in class," I continued, waving the paper like it was evidence in a courtroom. "This young lady has decided her education is less important than... this."
I looked her dead in the eyes, my expression cold. "Listen. Next time, if you feel the need to embarrass yourself, just give me your parents' number. I'll call them for you and let them know their child is out here acting like a ho."
The class lost it. teens were doubled over, tears streaming down their faces. Even Jasmine, sitting across the room, let a tiny smirk break through her sadness. It was gone in an instant, but I saw it.
The girl beside me? She burst into tears and bolted out of the room. Good for her.
The teacher, to their credit, didn't even try to stop me. They sent the girl to the principal's office, and from what I heard later, her parents were called in. Not only did she have to stay after school, but she also got fined. Personal labor, too—not a dime from her parents. She was warned: one more stunt like this, and she'd be expelled. Because here at Graydelle, dating, flirting, and fornicating is considered low-classed and scum, how rich people view homeless people in other words, except I believe Graydelle is right, gives boys a chance to meet actual girls and not dogs chasing their own tails.
The class was still laughing as I sat back down, slipping off my gloves and tossing the note into the trash.
This wasn't new. They were used to me shutting down nonsense like this. It was almost expected. But for me? It was just another day of keeping the chaos in check.