chapter 3 I will try to pull him out of his grief

A dark room. Silence. And then—

THWACK.

A boy, no older than eleven, flinched as a slap echoed through the dim-lit hallway. The woman, her long black hair wild over her shoulders and rage flickering in her eyes, towered over him. Her voice cracked with fury as she beat him again.

"You have to be the best! ABOVE EVERYTHING!"

Each word struck like thunder, drowning the boy's cries. His small frame trembled, arms raised to shield himself.

"NO, MOM! PLEASE!" he screamed.

Then—a shrill sound.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Mark shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. The room was dark, messy—clothes strewn, books stacked unevenly, the curtain half drawn.

6:30 a.m. Monday.

He reached for the alarm clock and silenced it with a sharp click.

"That nightmare again..." he murmured, rubbing his forehead with a frown.

Scene shift: Classroom 1C buzzed with chatter. The students were scattered across the room, engaged in idle gossip and laughs. The bell hadn't rung yet, and the teacher was still absent.

The door slid open.

A certain pink head entered the classroom. It was Amber.

A hush momentarily fell over the room. Every boy's gaze snapped toward her as if on cue.

"Man, that hottie's here again," one boy muttered, eyes wide.

"Every time I see her, I fall in love all over again."

The girls murmured with envy, glaring at her with bitter expressions.

"What does she think of herself?"

Amber walked to her desk—third row from the back, beside Mark—and placed her bag gently on the bench. Her eyes scanned the room casually before settling on Mark. He sat still in his seat, unmoving, almost statue-like, as if the world around him didn't matter.

She approached him quietly, leaning in close enough to whisper, "Are you still alive?"

Mark blinked and answered plainly, "Yes."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "Jeesh, are you a robot or something?" she said, mock-exasperated. From her bag, she pulled out a familiar item: the umbrella Mark had given her days earlier.

"Here. Thanks for yesterday. I was… kind of having a hard time."

Mark didn't answer right away, but as she extended the umbrella toward him, he sneezed softly.

Amber frowned. "Wait, did you seriously catch a cold? Why did you wander off in the rain after giving me your umbrella? People aren't that nice these days, you know?" Her voice softened. "I'm really sorry if you got sick because of me."

Mark shook his head slowly. "No worries. I was already feeling cold before that."

Amber squinted. "Hey, don't lie to me. I saw you Friday—you were completely fine."

Mark gave a slight shrug. "Well, can't fool you."

She huffed. "You're not much of a talker, huh?"

Mark replied, "I told you no need to return it. So why did you bother?"

She shrugged lightly and said, "I don't keep someone else's item for a long time, you know. It felt kind of like stealing."

Mark looked at her, expression unreadable. "Stealing? But I gave it to you with my own will."

Amber just grinned.

Mark took the umbrella from her hand and slipped it into his bag, his eyes shifting away from her as if looking elsewhere.

As Amber settled into her bench beside Mark—her designated seat—the rest of the class watched with a mix of disbelief and fury.

"Why that zombie boy?" one of the boys growled.

"Why is she giving attention to that freak?"

"I'll kill him, dammit. He's a dead man."

The girls whispered in disgust.

"Ugh, does she not have any standards?"

"Disgusting. Did she really get down with anyone?"

"She must be insane… just like him."

A girl with long black hair, Emilia, approached Amber. Amber assumed Mark didn't want to talk much, so she had decided not to force a conversation.

Emilia leaned toward her and asked, "Why are you talking to that guy so friendly?"

Amber replied, "What? He's not a talker, but he's a nice guy."

She frowned slightly. "Why does everyone in this class treat him like that?"

Emilia leaned in, lowering her voice. "There's this rumor… they say he was involved in some secret crime organization or something."

Amber laughed carelessly. "What nonsense."

Emilia whispered, "Lower your voice. He's sitting right here."

Amber looked directly at Mark and suddenly asked, "Hey, are you involved in some secret crime?"

"No," Mark replied blandly, not bothering to look at them.

"See?" Amber said, pointing at Mark. "He's not that type of guy."

Emilia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like any thief's gonna admit they've stolen. Just some advice—keep your distance from him. He's creepy and scary."

Amber's eyes narrowed into a frown. "Enough. He's just an introvert who doesn't talk much. You can't say those awful things about him—especially not right in front of his face. Even talking behind his back is bad. I don't get why everyone treats him like trash."

Emilia gave her a look. "You'll understand as the days go by."

Just then, the bell rang, cutting their conversation short. A female teacher stepped into the room—it was Miss Isabella. Emilia turned away and headed for her seat.

Miss Isabella clapped her hands gently. "Alright class, we are going to study the next chapter—that is, the integration of passive voice with indirect speech. So, what is indirect speech?"

She began writing on the board as murmurs slowly died down. The class opened their notebooks, some students half-heartedly paying attention.

Mark sneezed again, his head dipping low. He wiped his nose on his handkerchief and coughed softly into his hand. His vision blurred slightly as he stared at the notes on his desk.

*I'm not feeling that good,* he thought, rubbing his temples. *I should had skip the school today.*

His head throbbed lightly, and he slouched forward. Even Amber, beside him, gave him a glance filled with concern.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she whispered again.

Mark nodded faintly but remained silent.

Miss Isabella continued, oblivious to the exchange. "Now, when converting from direct to indirect speech, the tense of the reporting verb plays a crucial role. For example…"

Her voice faded slightly in Mark's ears as his thoughts drifted, consumed by a dull ache and a chilling sense of exhaustion that refused to go away.

After bearing his sickness through the entire class, Mark waited, as always, for the class to be empty before packing his books and notes. As he was preparing to leave, he saw someone approaching him.

"Where are you going, zombie boy?" someone said with a creepy expression.

As the figure came closer, Mark saw clearly—it was the guy from Thursday who had thrown the geometry box at him. That guy pushed Mark back and said, "Because of you, that damn teacher complained about me to my parents, and that damn teacher insulted me right in the corridor in front of a whole audience. That's because of you. Damn you, zombie boy!"

He punched Mark in the face hard, making him fall backward. Then he grabbed Mark's head and slammed it on a bench.

"I will kill you!" he shouted, punching Mark in the ribs and hitting him hard on the forehead.

Mark was on the ground. The bench around him had fallen. The guy approached Mark, grabbing his collar with one hand and smashing his head on the floor. He put his leg on Mark's neck, pressing it.

Before he could do anything else, a white flash of light fell on him. A sweet female voice, dangerously calm and threatening, was heard:

"Come on, let's see how much you can hurt him."

He looked up in surprise and saw a girl with long pink hair holding a phone, recording with the camera. It was Amber.

"Come on, do it," she said coldly. "I'm making a movie. I'll make you famous. And do you want to know who will be the audience?"

She smiled, eyes sharp as blades. "The school authorities."

Mark thought in his mind, *What a drag. What is the problem with this guy? Why can't he leave me alone? And why is she butting in?*

The guy roared, moving toward Amber. "Hand over that damn phone!" he shouted, trying to snatch the phone from her while swinging his leg in an attempt to kick her.

Amber stepped back in a quick, fluid motion, intercepting his leg with her own and making him lose balance. He fell hard onto the ground.

Amber looked at him calmly. "Now, now. Resorting to violence, are we? Just because I'm a girl, you think you can hurt me whenever you want? If you want, you can come at me. But I can't guarantee you'll leave in one piece." Her expression darkened.

The boy stood up, flustered and furious. "I'll take care of both of you later!" he shouted, then turned and ran out of the classroom.

Amber looked at Mark, her eyes scanning the bruises on his face and the stiffness in his movements. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

Mark looked at her with surprise while still lying on the ground. He didn't glance at his injuries, nor did he move right away. Amber stepped closer and gently helped him up. As he rose, he suddenly began coughing hard, a wet sound echoing in the empty classroom. Thin trails of mucus dripped from his nose. Embarrassed, he quickly clamped down, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his face.

"Why did you come back?" he asked hoarsely. "And… how did you know he was going to attack me? And most of all… why did you save me?"

Amber raised an eyebrow. "Now, now. Asking that many questions to the person who just saved your guts? How rude of you."

She glanced around the room and then spotted her notebook lying near the fallen bench on the floor. She picked it up, brushing the dust from its cover and slipping it into her bag.

"Well, for your questions—first, I forgot my notebook here in the desk," she said simply. "And then I saw him attacking you. That's all."

Mark looked at her, expression unreadable. Amber gave a half-smile and added, "And why did I save you, dummy? Because you helped me earlier yesterday. Remember?"

She crossed her arms. "Even if you didn't help me that day in the rain, I still would've done something. I don't tolerate that kind of bullying."

She tilted her head. "And aren't you forgetting something?"

Mark blinked. "Oh… yeah, yeah. Thanks."

Amber threw her hands up. "This is the way you show gratitude to the person who just saved your damn guts?"

Mark looked at her, something shifting in his visual mind. Her free-spirited personality, the way her appearance burst with color, made her look almost like a bird ready to take flight.

Then something strange happened—he smiled. A genuine, warm smile of gratitude… and maybe something more. Admiration.

"Thanks for helping me, Amber."

For a moment, there was a flicker of emotion—gratitude, a glimmer of happiness. Just for a few seconds, but it was there. For the first time in a long while, he had shown such an expression to anyone.

Amber blinked, then grinned. "So you're not a robot, I see."

Before she could even finish her words, Mark's face returned to its usual gloomy, unreadable state. His eyes dulled again, as if the warmth had never been there.

Amber pointed at him, laughing. "What was that?"

Then her expression turned curious. "Wait—how do you know my name?"

Mark replied plainly, "You said it during your introduction. Friday."

"You remember that?" Amber asked, genuinely surprised.

Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah. I remember.

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Amber helped Mark out of the classroom, one arm wrapped around his back for support as he limped slightly. As they made their way down the hallway, Amber glanced at him and asked, "What was your name, by the way?"

Mark replied, "Marcus Herrington. Call me just Mark."

Together, they walked through the hallway and out of the school building. As they stepped into the open, they spotted Olivia and Kevin waiting nearby, their eyes scanning the entrance.

The moment Olivia saw the bruises and the worn-out, sickened form of Mark, her expression changed. She rushed toward him, alarmed.

"Mark, what happened?!"

Before Mark could respond, Amber spoke up. "Some guy was beating him up."

Mark muttered with his usual dull tone, "It's fine."

"Why would you say that to me?" Olivia shouted, clearly upset and offended. "What are you planning to do, Mark? Hide it from me again?"

"I didn't want to concern you, that's all," Mark replied.

Kevin frowned. "Look, Mark, you should tell us at least. Why were you hiding that?"

Olivia turned to Amber, finally noticing her. "Hey, Amber."

Amber gave a brief nod and replied in a flat, vaguely offended tone, "Noticing me now, huh?"

"Wait—you two know each other?" Mark asked.

Olivia nodded. "That's right. We've become pretty good friends."

She turned back to Mark with a worried expression. "You had a cold. Why did you come to school? You should've rested and skipped the day."

Mark nodded quietly.

Olivia looked at Kevin. "Help Mark get home. I need to have a little talk with Amber."

Kevin stepped forward and gently took Mark's arm, helping him walk away as Amber and Olivia remained behind.

After a short silence, Amber asked, "What's the problem with Mark? He's just like a robot… all gloomy and hollow."

Olivia's expression turned serious. "I don't know why, but… he blames himself for the death of his mother and sister."

Amber's expression changed as the weight of the words settled in. Olivia continued, her voice soft but heavy with emotion.

"The Mark you know right now… he wasn't always like this. He used to be cheerful, happy. He was the prodigy of our grade school and middle school. But after that… event, he was completely broken inside out. He forgot how to feel joy. He's been like an empty husk ever since."

Her words stunned Amber. A long pause lingered between them as she absorbed what Olivia had just revealed.

"You've known him for a long time, haven't you?" Amber asked gently.

Olivia nodded. "We were childhood friends. I've known him since he was three. Our parents were really close, and we've been neighbors for years."

Tears welled in Olivia's eyes. Amber, noticing, squeezed her shoulder supportively.

"Someone has to pull him out of that grief," Amber said with quiet determination. "Don't worry. I know him just enough to say—there's still hope. Hope that he can recover. I won't promise anything, but… I'll try my best."

Olivia softly repeated his name with emotion, "Mark…"