CHAPTER 101: I’M NOT A PROBLEM THAT NEEDS FIXING

I pushed open the heavy teachers’ lounge door. My eyes scanned the room....no Mr. Blake. I lingered at the doorway for a second, like maybe if I stared long enough, he’d just... appear.

"Looking for someone?" a teacher asked without looking up from her thermos.

"Uh, yeah. Mr. Blake."

She took a slow sip, shook her head. "Called in sick. Didn’t come in today."

"Great," I muttered, dragging my voice low enough so she couldn’t hear. My stomach sank. Of course. The one day I come ready to corner him about that damn tattoo, he’s conveniently sick.

I stepped back into the hallway.

That’s when I saw her.

Nari Han....walking through the front doors like she was stepping onto a runway instead of into Blackwell High.

Suddenly, everything went just a little quieter.

Everyone’s heads turned like they were watching some goddess descend. She waved like a pageant queen, people nudged each other.

A group of freshmen by the vending machines literally stopped mid-conversation to watch her.

She strolled in like she owned the place... technically, her dad does.

Two girls trailed behind her, carrying their iced coffees like accessories.

Blackwell had missed their queen bee.

She spotted me almost instantly. Her eyes narrowed in that oh, it’s you kind of way before her lips curved into a smile.

"Ashyyy," she walked over to me, drawing out the "y" like we were old best friends meeting after years.

"Hey... Nari," I said.

What the hell is she doing here? And why is she pretending she knows me personally?

She tilted her head, scanning me from head to toe. "Oh my gosh, is that the shirt from... last year’s fall collection?" she asked sweetly. "It’s, um... cute. In a vintage thrift-store kind of way."

I glanced down at my button-up... My shirt was slightly wrinkled from shoving it into my bag yesterday, and forced a smile. "Thanks, I think."

She leaned in, to whisper. "Next time, maybe just... a quick steam in the morning? It really makes a difference. Also thanks for taking care of Dommybear the other day."

"Anyway," she continued, flipping her hair, "you should totally sit with us sometime. I’m all about supporting... poor scholarship students this semester." That fake-sweet smile never faltered, but her eyes were already moving past me, like I was an obstacle in her runway.

Then, she shifted her cup from one hand to the other.....and as she brushed past, the lid miraculously popped off just enough for a warm splash of latte to slosh across the front of my shirt.

Cold liquid spread across my shirt and dripped onto my pants.

"Oh my God, Ashy! I’m so sorry," she gasped, covering her mouth in horror. "I can’t believe I did that. Ugh, I’m so clumsy sometimes."

Her voice was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, making it sound like I was the helpless victim of her innocent mistake.

The crowd murmured, and she reached out like she might dab at the stain, but then pulled back with a sympathetic tilt of her head.

"Totally an accident," she smiled. "Besides, it’s just coffee. You’re not mad, right?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "Of course not."

Her smile widened. "Perfect. See you around, Ashy." And with that, she catwalked down the hall, her entourage giggling behind her.

"Why did she do that?"

I turned and saw Jae frowning, wearing the fresh Blackwell-issued hoodie. She walked up to me, glanced from my shirt to Nari’s retreating figure.

"It’s just a little spill. It’s nothing," I lied, brushing at my hoodie like it was nothing.

Jae squinted. "That wasn’t an accident. That was a bitch move."

"It’s fine, Jae. Welcome to Blackwell," I said, managing a smile. "I’m glad you decided to take the scholarship."

She grinned. "Yeah, me too. But hey... why haven’t you been back to the diner? Everyone’s been asking."

"My mom has surgery today," I said quietly. "So... it’s been a lot."

Jae’s face softened instantly. "Aww, man. Sorry about that. She’s gonna be fine, okay? I know she will."

I nodded, even though my stomach was twisting itself into knots.

Before I could answer, the loudspeaker crackled overhead.

"Ash Rivera. Ash Rivera. Report to the principal’s office immediately."

I sighed. I hope it’s not bad this time.

When I reached the door with the gold "Mr. Han –Principal" plaque, I hesitated for a second before knocking.

"Hello, Mr. Han," I said, stepping into the office.

Behind his desk, Mr. Han was flipping through a folder. He looked up, and nodded.

There was a woman standing beside his chair. She was tall, maybe mid-thirties, blonde hair pulled back in a bun.

Her hands were folded in front of her, and her smile was the kind that looked... practiced.

"Welcome back, Ash Rivera," Mr. Han said, leaning back in his chair. "Now that your scholarship is reinstated, I hope you understand how important it is to keep your record clean. Avoid getting into fights or anything that would stain your records. Because If anything goes wrong....anything at all, you won’t be keeping that scholarship."

His tone was calm, but it had that edge. The this is your only warning kind of edge.

"Yes, sir," I said quietly, even tho my palms were starting to get damp.

He nodded, then slid the folder aside. "Also... after reading your last essay, I realized you might need a little help."

"Little help? I don’t understand, sir."

Principal Han’s gaze was calm, but there was something in it that made my stomach twist.

"Ash," he said slowly, "you’re a smart boy. Talented. But after everything that’s happened, I think we both know..." He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the desk. "Something in you needs to be fixed."

My throat tightened. "Fixed? Like I was broken?" I repeated.

"I don’t mean exactly that. It’s just that.....whatever made people see you the way they did, you can’t afford to leave it that way. Not if you want a future."

My stomach twisted. "What do you mean by that, sir?"

He gestured toward the blonde woman. "This is Mrs. Gerald, our new school therapist. If you ever need anything...someone to talk to, she’s here. I think it would be good for you to see her."

First, he said I need to be fixed; Now, I need a therapist? Seriously? The word landed like an insult.

I’d written one essay. Just one fucking essay. I’d put a little of myself into it, actually said how I felt for once, and suddenly I was a project, a problem to be "fixed."

Why do people always jump to that?

Why is it that the second you stop pretending to be fine, people act like you’re broken? Like you’re defective until you fit into whatever mold they approve of?

Why can’t people the way they are without everyone trying to file down their edges?

"I appreciate the concern," I said slowly, "but I’m fine. I don’t think..."

Mrs. Gerald tilted her head, cutting me off. "I’d like you to know you personally, Ash Rivera. I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m not here to judge you. My door’s always open. If you ever need someone to talk to, confidentially, I’m here."

Judge me? Okay, what the hell is she talking about?

What did I do wrong again that she gets to judge me!

I nodded and tightened my jaw.

"Thanks," I said, even though I didn’t mean it.

Mr. Han gave me that dismissive smile adults use when they’re already moving on in their heads. "Good. You can go now. And remember what I said about your record."

I stepped out into the hall and let out a slow breath.

My heart was still thudding, not because I was scared of losing the scholarship once again, but because it felt like they’d just put a label on me.

Not Ash Rivera, student.

Ash Rivera, problem that needs solving.

And the worst part? They didn’t even ask if I was okay. They just assumed I wasn’t.