Chapter 4

If there's one thing I did manage to do perfectly, it was memorizing and clearly fixing in my mind the questions from the past independent work. And honestly, that's a very good thing. During all the breaks between my remaining lessons, I kept searching for answers with determination, and praise be to God, Allah, and all other divine beings—I found them! Found them, memorized them word for word, and started waiting for the moment of truth. That is, the end of classes.

After the seventh lesson, I told Sarah that I'd stay at school for a bit, so she should go ahead without me. Meanwhile, slyly rubbing my hands together and blushing furiously at my own silly idea, I asked if I could sit for a while in the tiny, closet-like room of the school janitor—Mrs. Green. We had a good relationship, by the way. She agreed without even asking why I suddenly needed to stay longer in this building, seemingly created by the Devil himself.

When I saw Mr. Gilbert heading toward the coatroom through the slightly open door, I took a deep breath, realizing—this was my chance. Mrs. Green kindly handed him a black cashmere coat, and I let out a surprised huff. It might be autumn outside, but judging by the temperature, you'd never guess. It was warm—too warm for such a coat, really. He'd just sweat in that thing. And so, flashing his radiant, mesmerizing smile, Mr. Gilbert accepted his outerwear, hastily put it on, and headed for the exit.

Your turn, Eva.

The moment the teacher's figure disappeared behind the door leading outside, I swiftly slipped out of the janitor's room, leaving my backpack there but grabbing just a pen. I had also, by the way, discreetly taken the keys from the same hidden spot in Mrs. Green's room—from the huge wooden board hanging on the whitewashed wall. At least, I hoped it was discreet. Very, very much.

Adrenaline didn't just fill my body—it completely consumed me, erasing any trace of reason or rational thinking. The sensation overwhelmed me entirely, and I gave in to it. Without a second of hesitation—though I usually would have doubted my own plans—I ran. Ran like my life depended on it, as if this was the only thing I had left.

And there it was. The door, marked with a marble-colored plaque that read "209." I was standing right in front of it, but still hesitating to insert the key into the lock and open it.

The adrenaline evaporated in an instant, as if it had never been there at all. Doubt crept into my mind, gnawing at me from the inside.

"No, come on, you started this—now finish it," I told myself between ragged breaths, standing in the deserted hallway. The words didn't exactly fill me with confidence, but they did push me to unlock the door and slip inside unnoticed.

The storage room was unlocked. Then again, no one ever locked it. I mean, why would they? No one would go inside if the main classroom door was shut—the only entrance leading to it.

At that moment, I felt like James Bond. Moving slowly and skillfully, like a seasoned spy. It was actually kind of funny.

My masterful infiltration almost turned into a clumsy spy disaster when the storage room door creaked impossibly loudly—something I mentally cursed about a hundred times. The moment I stepped inside, I accidentally bumped into a cabinet filled with various beakers, test tubes, and other random school junk, causing some of it to nearly crash to the floor. At that moment, a thought flashed through my mind—maybe it was time to lose some weight.

But, thank the heavens, I managed to catch everything before it fell. I mentally patted myself on the back. As they say, if you don't praise yourself, no one else will.

Grimacing at the damn door for squeaking again, I cautiously closed it behind me. The darkness was suffocating, but I decided not to search for the light switch—lest I knock something else over. Instead, I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and turned on the flashlight. A dim glow illuminated the dust-covered cabinets filled with books, chemistry equipment, and other school supplies.

In the distance, I spotted a similarly dusty table with a small stack of papers on it. Relief flooded through me—at least I wouldn't have to waste more time rummaging around and risking being caught.

I stepped forward, already imagining how quickly I'd scribble down the unfinished answers that were so vividly etched in my mind. The phrases stood out before my eyes, perfectly constructed and clear.

Glancing at the top sheet, I saw the surname of one of my classmates and felt completely sure—I'd found exactly what I needed.

But then, a problem arose.

A very big problem.

A problem I hadn't even considered, which made my entire plan a colossal mistake.

The assignments had already been graded.

What a plot twist.

How, for the love of everything, HOW?!

That question erased all the answers I had planned to write down just a moment ago.

How the hell had he managed to grade them on the same day we submitted them?! Sure, I was always annoyed by teachers' habit of delaying grading assignments forever—but now, that very habit had turned against me.

Letting out a disappointed sigh (which almost choked me on the dust suddenly filling my lungs), I was just about to slip away unnoticed, the same way I had gotten in.

But of course! Of course not, Eva!

Luck is NOT on your side, sweetheart!

The creak of the classroom door opening froze me in place like a statue.

I instinctively pressed my shaking fingers over the glow of my phone's flashlight.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

Stretching my neck slightly, I peeked through the crack of the barely closed storage door.

He came back?!

Why the hell did he come back?!

Mr. Gilbert was glancing around, clearly searching for something. When he found it, he let out a triumphant little squeak and moved—probably toward his desk, which was now out of my view.

To avoid being spotted by his sharp, observant gaze, I carefully backed away, mentally praying that I wouldn't knock anything over.

But apparently, God had long since abandoned me.

Because at that moment, a plastic beaker tumbled from the top shelf.

First onto my head.

Then onto the floor.

And sure, the sound of falling plastic shouldn't have been that loud.

But right then, it sounded like a nuclear explosion.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, holding my breath.

Please don't come here. Please don't.

Something fell? No, it's just your imagination, teacher! Get out of here, don't ruin everything for me!

Movement in the classroom halted.

Not a good sign.

But then, seemingly deciding he had imagined it, Mr. Gilbert continued what he was doing. Moments later, I heard the door open and close again.

I let out the most relieved exhale possible.

This whole stunt had me walking on a knife's edge.

I had nearly been caught.

Muttering curses at myself for even attempting this, I waited a moment before stepping toward the exit. Opening the creaky door, I turned my back to the classroom and quietly stepped out of the dark little room.

And then, I froze.

Mr. Gilbert's piercing stare locked onto me instantly, sending a chill down my spine.

His eyes held everything and nothing all at once—curiosity, seriousness, irony, reproach, and a thousand other emotions I couldn't decipher.

"Well, Martin… What exactly are we doing here?" Mr. Gilbert arched a thick black eyebrow, arms crossed in his usual manner.

He remembered my last name?!

Damn.

His casual way of phrasing the question seemed to tame the fire of my growing anxiety. But only for a brief, almost microscopic moment. The second he threw another expectant glance my way, a fresh, unpredictable wave of unease crashed over me.

"I…" Lying wasn't my strong side—clearly not my forte at all—but I held my ground, even tilting my freckled nose up proudly, gripping my pen so tightly my knuckles ached.

"You…" Mr. Gilbert dragged out the word in the same tone I had used, still waiting for something coherent from me instead of the inarticulate mumbling I had managed so far.

Face it, Eva. You've been caught. Accept it and find the courage to admit it. Don't be a coward, for God's sake!

But I had no courage. Not even an ounce of it! And I had absolutely no idea what to do, what to say. I just stood there, frozen in place, staring back at Mr. Gilbert—not with the same piercing gaze he had fixed on me, but rather a guilty one. A look that told him everything without words.

"Sigh… Your silence is making this even worse," Mr. Gilbert huffed in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose before turning away. "Where did you get the key?"

Again, I said nothing. My ability to speak had abandoned me, my tongue completely paralyzed. But in my mind? Oh, in my mind, I was answering him just fine—clearly, even with a hint of sarcasm, though without a shred of rudeness. In my mind, for fuck's sake.

"Ah. Mrs. Green, then," Mr. Gilbert—sharp as ever—figured it out without my useless muttering. "And what exactly do you propose I do with you?"

"Understand and forgive," I blurted out instantly. Only after those absurd words had escaped my lips did I realize the utter nonsense I had just said… to a teacher.

"Well, well, look at that," he turned back to me, throwing a sly glance my way, his piercing light-blue eyes—why did they remind me of ocean waves?—locking onto mine. "So you're not mute after all, Martin!"

No, sir. Despite my many "ailments," muteness was not on the list. Not now, not ever. Although, if I got caught red-handed like this a few more times, who knows…

"I suppose I'll be seeing your parents tomorrow," he finally declared after a moment's pause, as if carefully considering the punishment in his mind.

My pleading eyes begged him not to, but he paid no attention, continuing:

"We'll have a little chat about the great lengths you're willing to go to… over a measly B. A rather generous B, I might add," his sarcastic remark made me grit my teeth in frustration.

Really, Mr. Gilbert? You just had to trample my biology knowledge into the dirt with that last comment, didn't you? No doubt about it.

"But…" I tried to protest—didn't know how exactly, but at least I tried! It was hopeless, though.

"Out of my sight, Martin," he declared theatrically, his voice dripping with disappointment.

Damn, it almost felt like I had rejected his confession instead of breaking into the supply closet to "adjust" my assignment. Keeping my gaze fixed on the floor like a scolded child, I trudged toward the door.

Mr. Gilbert stopped me—the miserable sinner—just as I reached the exit.

"The keys," he said, extending his hand.

"Oh, by all means," I muttered, rolling my eyes so hard the whites were probably visible for a second. Without even bothering to turn around, I tossed the keyring over my shoulder straight into his waiting palm.

And, of course, Mr. Gilbert caught it.

The bastard was quick, I had to admit that.