It was the end of the first term at Dudley High School, and a thick, electric tension hummed in the air like the calm before a storm. The corridors, usually echoing with banter and footsteps, felt heavy with silence. Today, the results would be released, a day of reckoning for every student.
Dudley High wasn't just any school. Nestled in the lush heart of Frosty City, the institution stood like a royal estate, flanked by ancient oak trees and trimmed hedges. Even though it was classified as a public school, getting into Dudley was no easy feat. The school recruited from elementary level, but through a rigorous curriculum that separated mere students from true prodigies.
Some were admitted due to powerful connections or family donations. Others had clawed their way in by sheer merit. But once inside, Dudley didn't care how you got there, only that you could keep up. The founder's dream was not to build obedient scholars but versatile minds. So Dudley shaped not only academic strength but artistic flair, entrepreneurial instinct, and emotional intelligence. It was an institution forged to build titans.
The school's design was modern yet timeless: grand cream buildings with ivy-strewn walls, glass-paneled hallways that bathed in natural light, and a central garden where students often sat to read or relax. Donations from the city's elite meant Dudley had no need to charge tuition, yet ironically, most of its students came from families who could afford it.
Students wore uniforms that reflected their refined environment: navy blue blazers, crisp white shirts, and light gold ties. The girls wore pleated mini skirts, and the boys, straight-legged navy trousers. Everything about Dudley oozed formality, except its student body, who operated in a strict social hierarchy.
Despite the equality of uniforms, class still ruled the classroom. The rich moved in tight, exclusive cliques, and the "less-rich" not poor, but not elite enough gravitated toward each other. Bullies prowled like lions. Victims endured with clenched jaws. But in Frosty City, even the so-called poor kids had cars waiting for them after school.
Sets of students who were together from the beginning of elementary school now made it together to the last session of High school and everyone is starting to get serious with their life because their grades now will determine the college they will be admitted into
Inside Class B-6, the final session of high school had begun to feel real. Years of shared classrooms, paired assignments, silent rivalries, and awkward crushes were about to climax. Today's results weren't just a test, they were a gateway to the future.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a bang that made a few students jump in their seats. A boy stumbled inside, panting like he'd just finished a marathon. He doubled over, hands on his knees, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt.
All eyes snapped to him, the room shifting from scattered chatter to focused silence.
"Guys!" he wheezed dramatically.
Their expressions sharpened, all interest zeroed in on him like the red dot of a sniper rifle. Seconds passed. He remained hunched, struggling to breathe. His fingers clutched the edge of a nearby desk for support.
"Guys," he panted again, scanning the classroom like he was preparing to drop a bomb. "Our class result was not given to me. The head of class is coming with it"
THWACK!
A hardcover book soared across the room and smacked the side of his head. He stumbled with a shocked yelp, the slap of paper against skull echoing through the class. Laughter exploded.
"Ow! who the hell threw that? Are you crazy?!" he shouted, spinning to face the back of the room, clutching his head.
Everyone fell silent. Their gazes shifted in the same direction toward the girl sitting like a queen in her corner throne.
"I threw the book, idiot," came the reply. Calm. Cold. Terrifying.
Frances Holland. the infamous Cici. Even her name seemed to make people swallow hard.
The students seated in front of her instinctively shifted away, giving her more space as though physical distance could save them from her wrath. The boy. Malone, the class gossip and professional tension-builder, visibly paled.
"Oh my Frances, I didn't know you threw the book," he stammered, rubbing his sweaty palms together like he was praying for his life.
"You just called me crazy, Malone," she said, eyes narrowing as a teasing smirk curled her lips. Her voice was low, honeyed with menace. She leaned back in her chair and swung one long leg onto the desk, crossing it over the other. Her hair, a riot of glossy red curls, caught the sunlight like fire, dancing around her pale shoulders. Green eyes glinted like sharpened emeralds.
His knees hit the floor. "Oh my Frances, I didn't mean that! If you gave me ten courages I wouldn't dare call you crazy! When I'm not crazy!" The words rushed out in a frantic jumble.
Frances almost laughed. Almost.
Malone was infamous for dragging out news just to build suspense. Malone is the news carrier of the class. A careless and playful boy, anytime he runs into the classroom everyone focuses on him looking forward to the news he brought in. But he always gives everyone anxiety by holding up for several minutes before he says something but today his luck runs out. Frances is in class!
She was looking forward to whatever he has to say and he held her up just the way he used to hold up everyone and her patience is limited. If Malone knew that Frances was in class he wouldn't play his usual trick of making everyone anxious before divulging information, because he knew better that he would be seeking death to make Frances wait for him for several minutes to make an announcement
"Were you playing with me, Malone?" she asked. Her voice dropped again, barely above a whisper, yet it dripped with threat.
She tilted her head and shifted her weight lazily, as though she had all the time in the world to kill him. Literally. The entire class held its breath.
Malone's voice cracked. "I dare not play with you! I dare not!"
He looked up at her. Her smile was slight? dangerously beautiful and unreadable. That calmness was the worst part. Frances was never loud when she was angry. She was still. And still meant she was deciding just how much damage to do. even though she looked that relaxed Malone knew that he was in big trouble for messing with her.
Everyone in Dudley High knew Frances Holland. Younger than most of her classmates but the scariest among them. An orphan with no known family. No sob stories, no dramas, just mystery. She showed up to school every day in a private van, dressed like she didn't care, lived like she didn't need anyone, and fought like she was born to win.
Her beauty was legendary, long legs, striking facial structure, skin like ivory, a redhead with green eyes like witchfire. Every boy in school dreamed about her. None dared speak to her. What made Frances formidable? If you are thinking that She is some wealthy heiress or the brightest person in the classroom then you are wrong! Because Frances wasn't just a pretty face, she was a black belt who could fold most of the class in half without breaking a sweat. And beyond her iron fists, she radiated an aura that screamed: do not mess with me. Frances looks girlish and beautiful but she is a crazy girl.
She was the kind of girl you'd call "Big Sis" even if you were twice her size. Not because she asked, but because you had to.
Malone swallowed hard, waiting for her verdict. She sighed, long and drawn out, and closed her eyes.
"Just go. I'm tired. I need some rest," she muttered, her voice like a gust of wind brushing past a blade.
The room collectively exhaled. Malone leapt to his feet like he'd been given a second life.
"Thank you, Frances! Thank you, Big Sis!"
He scurried back to his seat like a rat escaping a trap, shooting grateful glances at the ceiling. No bruises today. God was good.
And now, all eyes turned toward the door once again, waiting for the arrival of the only student who could break this strange balance.
Rain Piper. The Head of Class.
After some minutes that felt like the longest wait of the semester, the door creaked open and the head of class finally walked in, holding a stack of reports tightly in his hand.
"Rain is here!" one of the students screamed, jolting everyone upright. The classroom, which had been buzzing moments ago, fell into dead silence. Every pair of eyes turned toward the teaching stand as Rain approached it with measured steps. He placed the reports on the table gently, his movement precise, like everything he did.
The tension in the air could have been sliced with a pencil sharpener.
"Rain looks so handsome!" a girl's voice rang out. It echoed embarrassingly through the still classroom. All heads turned, and the poor girl shrank in her seat under the weight of dozens of judging stares.
"Handsome and slow!" someone else jabbed from the back.
Laughter erupted like a burst pipe. Desks rattled with the force of giggles, and even a few slaps on the table broke the rhythm of silence.
And here was Rain, stoic and unmoved, the brightest boy in the room. Rain Piper had been top of every class he'd ever attended. Known by reputation more than words, Rain was a notorious introvert. No friends. No enemies. He was never liked or never hated He just simply existed like furniture, except brilliant.
He never attended school functions. His world revolved around books and quietly acing every exam handed to him. Though his looks were striking, his mystery and silence left people misjudging him, thinking he was "slow," just because he rarely spoke. Rain is a very good looking boy who would have been appreciated by most girls but the fact that everyone thinks he is stupid reduced his charm
Dressed like a textbook nerd, Rain hid behind his thick hair and glasses, he wears glasses not for vision, but protection. Rain is the only person in school whose hoodie draped his head every day like armor, shielding his already hidden face.
He was a neat freak to the bone. His father had submitted a formal request to the school to give him a private seat alone, at the back of the classroom. And that's where he always sat, in a singular row of one.
Rain was a ghost who passed through the school quietly never answering questions in class. And yet, his grades? Always straight As. He never eats at the cafeteria, he hasn't been there In years. He just comes to class in the morning and hop into the car in the evening that's all he does
Back in the first year of high school, bullies targeted him until the school announced an unforgiving rule: anyone who bullied Rain Piper, in or out of school, would be expelled. No warnings. No exceptions. A few bold students had tested the system… and disappeared from the class roster soon after.
Rain came from a large family so he has a lot of cousins but even his many arrogant cousins who are well-known bullies themselves avoided him in school. At home, it was a different story, but on campus, they followed the rules. He is favored by every administrator in school because he builds a lot of projects which goes beyond the school gate, everyone learned to avoid him and just let him be his introvert in peace
Rain, beneath it all, was gentle. Meek. Sweet in ways no one had the privilege of seeing. But none of that mattered. He wasn't here to be liked. He was here to exist and pass.
Now, all eyes were on him. He stood in front of the reports, scanning the room as if calculating the social pressure. His silence made everyone more impatient.
"Did a cat got his tongue or what?" someone jeered.
BANG!
Frances slammed her palm on the table so hard that everyone jolted in surprise. Books shifted, pens rolled.
"Why are you all so annoying? Can't you give him the chance to talk? Why are you so eager you are failing anyways!" Her voice sliced through the classroom like a whip, sharp and unapologetic.
The room fell silent instantly.
Rain rearranged the papers calmly and set one sheet aside.
"Coco Morris has the second position while Abby Lamar has the third position, Evie Desmond fourth position, Lawrence Lacy fifth position. These are the top 5," Rain announced in his flat but clear voice.
Whispers erupted. Some heads turned. A few students exchanged surprised looks.
"Who has the first position?" Cora asked, and the whole class turned to glare at her like she had just asked the square root of a triangle.
"Are you dumb or you are just pretending? Has anyone ever taken the first position from Rain before?" another student drawled, her tone laced with disbelief.
"Oh true!" Cora muttered, sinking back in her chair like a popped balloon.
"I will call the names and everyone will come forward to take their transcript." Rain's voice carried now, steady and sure.
Students rushed forward in batches, bumping into each other. Some grinned as they flipped through their transcripts; others frowned and sighed. Joy and disappointment filled the air in equal parts.
Rain handed them out mechanically, unbothered by the chaos. After the last transcript was claimed, the noise in the class rose like a tide, some students laughing, others lamenting their fate.
Rain stepped down from the front of the class and walked quietly toward Frances's seat. Unlike the rest of them, she lay slumped over her desk, fast asleep.
She wasn't bothered. She never was.
Rain hesitated. His steps slowed. He placed her transcript down gently and used another book to hold it in place. He lingered for just a second just enough to look at her.
Her features were peaceful, even beautiful. A long, genuine smile curved his lips as he turned and walked back to his seat to get his bag.
"Frances is never bothered by her result, see how soundly she is sleeping," Cora whispered to another student, shaking her head.
"You know her. She just writes exams to pass to the next class, she's not bothered about having high grades."
"Thankfully she doesn't fall behind the class, what would she have done?"
"She doesn't fall behind? She gets D all the time! Nothing more."
"And nothing less," the girl added sweetly. "At least she doesn't fail."
"She doesn't get any good grades either," Coco added with a sharp tone.
Frances, the class enigma. Despite being a big bully, she was strangely beloved. Her group of friends, straight-A students were loyal to her without any logical reason. People outside the classroom often asked why they stuck around her. No one ever had an answer. They just liked her.
She was unpredictable. When exams approached, she chose to club or game. Her friends panicked on her behalf, but she never cared. She never failed but she never impressed either.
"Frances, your result is here." Evie tapped her gently. Any harder, and she'd wake up mad.
"Hmmm." She hummed groggily, opened one eye, glanced at the result.
"Take it away," she said slowly, like a queen dismissing a servant.
Evie obediently slid the transcript into her bag.
As if cued by her words, the bell rang loudly, signaling the end of the day. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Everyone sprang into motion.
Evie picked up Frances's bag and tossed it to Lawrence, who caught it swiftly and placed it in front of him.
"Frances, it's time to go home. We should go now." Evie held her hand and gently pulled her upright, hoisting her onto the table.
Still half-asleep, Frances let herself be maneuvered like a sleepy child.
Coco handed over her shoes and Evie helped her wear them.
"Why is Frances sleeping by this time? It's time to go home," a voice called from the doorway.
Heads turned. Morgan had just arrived a friend from another class.
"Maybe she is tired," Coco replied quickly, a bit too defensively.
They all nodded in silent agreement.
Frances yawned, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She hopped down from the table, turned on her heel, and walked toward the door without a word.
Her friends scrambled after her.
As always, they had to wait for Frances's driver to arrive before they could leave. She stood outside, arms folded, looking like she could fall asleep while standing. The others chatted and laughed, but she remained silent, eyes glazed with sleep.
Her black SUV rolled in moments later. Lawrence opened the door, placed her bag inside carefully, and stepped back.
"Drop a text in the group chat when you get home, Frances," he said.
She nodded once and slid into the seat, already sinking into sleep as the door shut behind her. The SUV pulled away.
"Let's go home, guys. We have tomorrow ahead!"
"Yep, yeah."