Echoes of Rebellion

SONG RECOMMENDATION: 16 Shots Karaoke Version- By Stefflon Don

Stella sighed, knowing that Mallory's reaction wasn't the calm before the storm. It was the storm itself—silent and inevitable. Tomorrow, there would be hell to pay, and Stella just hoped she wouldn't be caught in the middle of it.

The next morning, Stella woke up feeling slightly tense. The previous day's events, especially the rooftop encounter with Simon and the whole ordeal with Marcus, were still fresh in her mind. She dressed in her favorite blue hoodie and a pair of black jeans, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail before heading out of her room.

As she walked into the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast greeted her. Grandma Elizabeth, cheerful as always, was already bustling around the small space, setting out breakfast.

"Morning, sweetheart! Come, have something to eat," Grandma Elizabeth called out, her smile lighting up the room.

"Morning, Gigi," Stella greeted, using the affectionate nickname she had for her grandmother. She grabbed a piece of toast and spread butter on it. "I came late yesterday. Did you wait for me?" she asked casually, already sensing that Grandma had noticed something was off.

Grandma Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her knowing eyes focused on Stella. "I did, but you were so quiet coming in, I didn't hear a thing. Everything alright, darling? You were home late."

Stella grimaced, biting into her toast. "I, uh, got detention. For falling asleep in class." She tried to make it sound casual, but the slight nervousness in her voice gave her away.

"Sleeping in class?" Grandma Elizabeth tutted, shaking her head. "You're too young to be dozing off like an old lady. What kept you up?"

Stella laughed softly, but before she could reply, her eyes drifted toward Mallory's room. The door was still locked, and it was unusually quiet. Normally, Mallory would be up and moving by now.

"Where's the Ice Queen?" Stella asked, glancing back at her grandmother, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Grandma Elizabeth chuckled, used to the playful jabs the two girls threw at each other. "She's been in the garage for the past three hours, doing God knows what," she replied, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Came out early, muttering about something to do with 'spray paint.'"

Stella winced. "Yeah... about that." She hesitated, unsure how to explain the situation. "Yesterday... Well, Marcus spray-painted something on our car."

At that, Grandma Elizabeth set down her coffee cup with a sharp clink, her face turning serious. "What did he do, Stella?"

Stella exhaled slowly, already regretting bringing it up. "He sprayed the word 'bitch' on the car."

Grandma Elizabeth's eyes flashed, her calm demeanor suddenly shifting into a protective fierceness. "He did what?" she asked, her voice a dangerous calm. "And you didn't tell me this last night?"

"I didn't want to worry you, Gigi. Mallory knows, though," Stella replied quickly. 

Grandma Elizabeth, in her mid-fifties but still as lively as someone half her age, ran a small beauty salon right next to their house. She had a steady stream of customers, thanks to her warm personality and her undeniable talent with hair and skincare. Stella had always admired how effortlessly her grandmother could strike up conversations with anyone, a true extrovert who thrived on human connection.

Despite the previous day's drama, breakfast felt comforting. Stella munched on her toast, her nerves slowly calming down under Grandma's gentle presence. As she finished, she heard Mallory's footsteps echo from the hallway.

Mallory entered the room, her expression unreadable, still dressed in her usual all-black ensemble that only she could pull off. She had an air of indifference that she wore like armor, especially when things went wrong.

"Shall we leave?" Mallory asked in her usual clipped tone, slinging her own bag over her shoulder without much fuss.

Stella nodded, quickly grabbing her own bag and swinging it over her shoulder. Before they left, she wrapped her arms around Grandma in a quick hug, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bye, Gigi," she said warmly, heading toward the door.

But before they could make their exit, Grandma's voice rang out, her tone full of authority. "Mallory Adams, looks like you're forgetting something."

Mallory groaned in response, clearly not in the mood for their grandmother's usual morning ritual. Still, she turned back, begrudgingly walking over to where Grandma stood, arms crossed and waiting. With a resigned sigh, Mallory leaned down and gave her a small, reluctant peck on the cheek. "Bye, Grams," she muttered under her breath, quickly stepping away before Grandma could pull her into a longer goodbye.

As Mallory made a beeline for the door, Stella caught Grandma's eye, and they both exchanged a knowing wink. Despite Mallory's tough exterior, the morning routine of getting her to show even the smallest bit of affection was an inside joke between the two of them.

They both had their own ways of addressing Grandma. Stella affectionately called her "Gigi," while Mallory, with her ever-practical nature, stuck to the more formal "Grams." It was a small detail that captured how different they were, but it never failed to make Stella smile.

As Stella stood on the porch, her gaze was drawn to the sleek black Porsche waiting in the driveway. The familiar blue car was nowhere to be seen. She turned to Mallory, arching a brow in question.

"I sprayed it off," Mallory said with a sigh, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She walked over to the car and slid into the driver's seat. Stella followed suit, noticing a spray bottle tucked in the back seat—the very one Mallory had used to spray-paint their once-blue car. It was still slightly sticky, and the fumes lingered faintly in the air.

The ride was silent at first, but it always was with Mallory.

They both carried Grandma Elizabeth's last name, Adams, the one their grandmother had passed down when she adopted them years ago.

Stella's mind wandered back to how different they were. She studied electronics and accounts, while Mallory was deep into biology. Their interests were miles apart, and they hardly ever crossed paths academically, except for one shared English class. Even the way they approached life was polar opposites—Mallory, with her quiet intensity and no-nonsense attitude, and Stella, who tried to find light and laughter even in the most mundane moments.

Her thoughts drifted to the day they were both admitted into the Everhart Institute. Grandma Elizabeth had personally escorted them to the prestigious university, making the introduction with the principal, Ms. Agatha Everhart, a long-time friend of their grandmother's. Stella smiled slightly at the memory. Ms. Everhart had taken an instant liking to Mallory, though Mallory, true to form, had remained indifferent. It didn't bother Stella in the least; after all, she had always thought Ms. Everhart was a little eccentric. And considering Mallory had always been a bit of an oddball herself, it made sense that they would click.

That day, Ms. Everhart had made a surprising proclamation—Mallory had essentially been given free rein of the entire campus. "Do whatever you wish," the principal had said with a smile, and Mallory, never one to pass up an opportunity, had certainly taken advantage of that privilege ever since.

As they approached the campus, Stella glanced at her watch, realizing they were ahead of schedule. They parked, grabbed their bags, and started making their way toward the university entrance.

"We're early today," Stella observed, glancing sideways at Mallory.

"Are we?" Mallory hummed, her tone indifferent. She was dressed in her usual oversized attire—a huge hoodie and loose pants that covered every inch of her body except for her face. Mallory's short brown hair framed her face, a stark contrast to Stella's long, golden locks that cascaded down her back.

They walked in comfortable silence until they reached the entrance, the looming gothic architecture of Everhart Institute greeting them like an old friend. Today, the campus was alive with students rushing to their classes, chatting in small groups, and milling about the courtyard.

"You know," Stella said, her voice light, "one day, you'll have to tell me what exactly you plan to do with your biology degree."

Mallory shot her a glance, her lips twitching into a barely-there smile. "Same day you'll tell me why you're still bothering with electronics and accounts."

Stella grinned. "Touché."

Mallory stopped abruptly, causing Stella to nearly bump into her. It took Stella a second to realize they were standing right in front of Marcus's locker. Before she could process what was happening, she heard the familiar rattle of a spray can.

Her eyes widened. When did she even grab that?

Without hesitation, Mallory raised her hand and sprayed "ASSHOLE" in bright black letters across Marcus's locker door, her movements swift and deliberate.

"What the hell?" a voice barked from behind them.

Stella turned to see Marcus himself, standing just a few feet away, his face twisted in shock and anger. She smirked—this was about to get interesting.

Mallory, with her usual calm, walked toward Marcus as if she had all the time in the world. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back with expert precision, forcing him to the ground. Marcus let out a strangled yelp, wriggling helplessly under Mallory's iron grip.

A crowd quickly formed around them, students stopping to gawk at the unexpected scene unfolding before their eyes. Whispers spread through the hallway like wildfire, but no one dared intervene.

Marcus spat out a string of curses, his face red with fury and humiliation. Mallory didn't even blink.

"Stels," Mallory said flatly, her eyes never leaving Marcus.

Stella stepped forward and took the spray can from Mallory's hand, her heart pounding in excitement. She walked over to Marcus, her face calm but her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Next time I catch you bullying my friends or anyone else," Mallory hissed, her voice low and deadly, "you'll be in a coffin."

Stella knelt down and sprayed a thick streak of black paint across Marcus's face, earning a muffled curse from him. The black paint stood out starkly against his pale skin.

"This is for our car, Marcy," Stella said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Better be careful next time."

With that, they both turned and walked away, leaving Marcus sputtering on the ground as the crowd murmured around him.

As they made their way through the dispersing crowd, Stella's eyes briefly locked with Simon's. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the lockers with that ever-present smirk playing on his lips, clearly entertained by the whole ordeal.

But amidst the crowd, there was another presence—one Stella hadn't noticed. A figure lingering in the shadows, eyes fixed on her with a gaze that was neither entertained nor approving. His expression was dark, intense, an unreadable storm held just below the surface. His hand clenched around the strap of his bag, fingers twitching with restrained energy. And as she turned away, still oblivious, he vanished back into the crowd, his purpose kept hidden… for now.