The Class

Sitting in the classroom, I couldn't stop fidgeting. The smooth surface of the desk felt strange under my fingertips, and the buzz of voices around me was almost overwhelming. Everything was so... unnatural. The bright lights overhead, the rows of students all looking toward the front, and the man writing symbols on a giant board—it was unlike anything I had ever known. But my excitement remained. I was here. I was learning, whatever that meant.

Next to me, the boy I had sat beside was writing quickly, eyes flicking between the board and the book in front of him. I tilted my head, watching the way his hand moved in quick, sharp strokes. The way the tiny symbols appeared on the page fascinated me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, leaning toward him.

He ignored me, his focus remaining on whatever he was writing.

I frowned. Was I supposed to be doing that too? I didn't understand. How did they know what to write?

I poked him on the shoulder. "Hey, what is this?"

Still no response.

I huffed, crossing my arms. "You're being rude."

Adam sighed beside me. He had been stealing glances at me since we entered the classroom, his curiosity evident, but he was also visibly tense. I knew he was watching me closely, probably wondering what I would do next.

I turned my attention back to the boy. "Are you deaf?" I asked louder.

That got his attention. He shot me a glare, looking at me as if I had grown another head. "I'm trying to listen," he hissed. "Unlike you, I actually care about my grades."

Before I could ask what 'grades' were, a sharp voice rang through the room.

"Enough."

I turned to see the teacher staring at me, eyes cold and impatient. The class fell silent as she folded her arms, staring me down. "If you're not here to learn, you can leave," she said. "Sit down or get out."

I straightened, staring back at her. The room was eerily quiet, all eyes on me, but I wasn't afraid. I had been through worse. I held the teacher's gaze and spoke calmly.

"I just want to talk."

Something in my tone made the teacher's expression falter. Her eyes flickered, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. A moment ago, she was full of authority, demanding silence and order, but now, she simply nodded.

"Alright," she said softly, taking a step back. "Go on."

The entire room tensed. I could hear the hushed gasps, the quick whispers passing between students. Even Adam stiffened beside me.

The teacher never allowed interruptions. Ever.

But she allowed me.

I turned back to the class, looking at each student's face before speaking. "I lived in a hut my whole life, and it burned down yesterday, killing my mom."

A wave of murmurs passed through the room. Some looked at me with pity, others with doubt. I ignored them.

"I've only ever known my mom. And today, I've seen more than I ever have in my entire life." I glanced down at the desk of the boy next to me, watching as his pen tapped against the paper. "Like this. Whatever this is."

The boy beside me scoffed. "This is Grade 11," he said, his voice laced with suspicion. "How the hell did you get in here if you don't know how to read and write?"

I blinked at him. "Read? Write?" The words felt foreign on my tongue.

Adam cleared his throat, shifting beside me. "She's just here for today," he said quickly. "We're still figuring out where she belongs in school."

The boy didn't look convinced. His eyes lingered on me, scrutinizing every detail as if I were some strange puzzle he needed to solve.

The teacher, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, cleared her throat. "Alright," she said, regaining her usual cold demeanor. "That's enough. Sit down."

I obeyed, though I could still feel the weight of the students' stares. I didn't understand why my words had affected them so much, but something told me I had stirred something unnatural within them.

The class resumed, but I barely listened. I was too distracted by everything around me—the way people whispered, how they wrote without hesitation, how they seemed to know exactly what they were doing.

And Adam.

He wasn't paying attention either. I could feel his gaze on me, studying me, wondering. I knew he had questions. Questions I couldn't answer.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I was relieved. I stood up, eager to follow Adam, when I felt something brush against me.

A man in a dark blazer rushed past, heading straight for the exit.

Mr. Andreas.

The scent hit me instantly. Familiar. Almost too familiar.

I turned my head slightly, focusing on the sound of his voice. He was on the phone as he walked towards the parking lot.

"I think I just enrolled her in my school," he muttered. "I don't know how it happened. I don't know why, but I did, man."

A chill ran down my spine.

I barely noticed Adam pulling me away until he tightened his grip on my arm.

"Come on," he whispered. "Let's go."

As we walked, I felt a presence. A lingering stare.

I turned my head slightly and caught sight of the boy from class—the one who had questioned me. He stood in the distance, his eyes locked onto mine, filled with something I couldn't quite place.

Suspicion. Curiosity.

Recognition.

I swallowed hard. What did he see? Why was he looking at me like that?

But before I could dwell on it, Adam pulled me forward, and the moment passed.

For now.