CHAPTER 2 : MAID'S BOY
Classroom 12-B — 9:29 AM
The door crashed open. Every head jerked up. Sixty stares pinned the dripping, panting mess in the doorway.
At the front, Peter Wells lowered his book slowly. Adjusted his spectacles. A slow, cruel smile spread. The Balthorne brat. Father—a company drone. Mother—a waitress and cleaner. Poor. No donations. Average. He'd offered "grading help" for a fee. The boy refused. Not on principle. Because he was broke. The insult.
Wells stood. His chair screeched. He walked toward Rayan, each step a judgment.
"Well, well," Wells's voice oozed fake sympathy. "Mr. Balthorne. How… generous. Finally decided to show up."
Rayan stood frozen. "Sir, I'm sorry—"
Peter cut him off in mid sentence and asked "The time?"
"9:29, sir."
"Exam started at?"
"Nine, sir."
"So you are…?"
"Twenty-nine minutes late."
"Twenty-nine minutes!" Wells announced to the class. He leaned in, his whisper a venomous dart. "What was it? Was your mommy Sophie too tired from scrubbing toilets at that diner? Or was daddy John too busy with his pathetic deliveries?" The names were weapons. "The waiter's brat. The maid's boy. Do they teach clocks between cleaning up shit and serving scraps?"
The world went red. Rage exploded in Rayan's chest. His fists clenched, nails biting into palms. He saw himself leaping, smashing that smug face.
In the third row, Elara Shaw wished to dissolve. She is the girlfriend of Rayan. Her face was tight with mortification. Why is he so pathetic? Her shame twisted into hot anger. At him.
From the middle of the room, a low chuckle. George Yung, leaning back in his chair, smirked. "Maybe he was busy delivering the morning papers, sir," he said, loud enough for all to hear. A few sycophants snickered.
Wells's smile widened. Encouraged. He opened his mouth to twist the knife deeper—
"MR. WELLS!"
The voice cracked like a whip.
Aria Reed stood in the doorway, a storm in human form. Her calm was gone, replaced by icy fury.
Wells jolted. "Miss Reed! A minor issue!"
"I heard every vile word," she stated, voice deadly. She walked in. The room bent to her will. "You are an invigilator. Not a performer for your own pathetic, bigoted amusement."
Wells blanched. "Ms.Reed, wait—"
"No. You wait." Her voice rose. "You mock his family? You humiliate a student? You are a disgrace." She stepped closer, forcing him to look up. "Sit him. Give him his paper. Do not speak to him again. Clear, Mr. Wells?"
The use of his name was a public slap. Wells's mouth flapped. He saw the students watching, his authority evaporating. Humiliation flooded him, followed by pure, sharp hate for the boy who caused it.
"Understood," he choked.
Aria turned to Rayan. "Sit. Your time is running out."
Rayan moved to the back desk. As he passed, his eyes swept the room.
Over Elara, who refused to look, a stone.
Then to Selene Vance. The class genius. She wasn't looking away in pity. Her dark eyes held a storm—empathy, guilt, something fiercer. Their gaze locked for a second. She looked down, a blush on her cheeks.
George Yung caught his eye, smirked, and made a tiny wanking motion with his hand under the desk. His friends stifled laughs.
Peter Wells slammed the exam booklet down. Bent, his breath sour in Rayan's ear. "You're dead, Balthorne. You just don't know it."
He stalked away, a volcano of hate.
Rayan picked up his pen. His hand shook. He closed his eyes, breathed. Forced his parents' faces, Lyra's laugh, into his mind. He opened his eyes and wrote.
He wrote through the tremor. Through the echo of the maid's boy. Through the void where Elara should have been. He wrote like a man carving his name on a sinking ship.
For two and a half hours, the only sounds were scratching pens and the heavy, hateful silence from the front, where a man watched one boy, praying for him to fail.
The Bell rang— 12:00 PM
BRRRRING!
"Pens DOWN! Papers UP! NOW!" Wells barked.
The room erupted. Rayan put his pen down. He'd finished. Just.
Wells snatched papers. At Rayan's desk, he yanked the sheets, nails digging into skin. "Hope you enjoyed your special treatment," he hissed.
Rayan said nothing. He stood, body stiff, mind numb. The storm had settled into a cold, heavy stone in his gut.
He filed into the chaotic hallway. Chatter, laughter—all of it felt alien.
He saw her. Elara. Already ahead, walking fast, head down, away.
The stone cracked. He pushed through the crowd.
"Elara!"
She didn't turn. Walked faster.
"Elara, wait!"
He caught her near the lockers, touching her shoulder. "Hey…"
She spun as if burned.
Her face, the face he'd loved for years, was twisted into something foreign. Pure, blazing irritation and public shame.
"WHAT?!" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the noise.
Rayan froze, hand in the air. All words died.
He just stared, looking at a stranger wearing his girlfriend's skin.
End of Chapter 2