1 •√ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒
𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔?
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒔
𝑰𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆
𝑳𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔
𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 ~ 𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐗 𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧
❥❥
ᴛʜɪs sᴏɴɢ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ sᴏɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs ʙᴏᴏᴋ!!! ♡☻☻☻
㋡♡
𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔞𝔞𝔰𝔢..ℑ𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤!! 🍒🖤
•••
𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 ♡
It was done. They had kicked me out of school for good this time, all because I broke the one rule nobody gets away with: no copying answers on tests. Plain and simple, I cheated.
I had thought I was being clever, sliding that tiny note under my sleeve like some spy in a bad movie. But the universe laughed in my face the second the invigilator’s shadow fell over my desk. Now I sat squeezed into the headmaster’s office, the kind of room that smelled like old books mixed with strong coffee from the mug on his desk. My eyes burned, puffy and tight from all the tears that had streamed down my face out in the hallway. I kept my stare glued to my lap, fingers twisting the hem of my white skirt so hard the fabric bunched up and left little creases I knew I’d never smooth out again.
The panels on the walls pressed in close today, making the space feel smaller than usual, like the whole place was teaming up against me. A faint hum from the air system buzzed in the background, filling every awkward gap. My stomach kept flipping over and over, this heavy knot sitting right under my ribs that made it tough to sit still.
Mom perched to my right, her hands locked together so tight the skin across her knuckles pulled pale and shiny. Dad took the spot on my left, one foot tapping out a restless beat against the polished tiles, each soft click cutting through the quiet.
"Miss Olives," Headmaster Herod broke in, his voice slicing sharp and cold like ice splitting on a frozen lake. He pushed his back into the tall leather chair, the seat giving a low creak under his weight, and brought his fingertips together in a point while he pinned me with his stare. A glint of something pleased flickered across his face.
My skin prickled all over. This man had always left me with a sour taste, the way he’d find excuses to linger near us girls in the halls, his hand grazing an arm or shoulder like it was nothing. Today his beard looked patchy and gray, strands sticking out at odd angles, and his eyes held that same slick look that made me want to shrink away.
Mom and Dad stayed mostly stone-faced while he launched into his lecture, words dripping with superiority. Their expressions pulled tight with hurt and anger, lines deepening around their mouths and eyes.
My luck had hit rock bottom.
I figured he probably slipped the invigilator extra money for spotting me right in the middle of it. Dad’s gaze drilled into the side of my face, burning with silent blame that screamed louder than any shout.
My brain wouldn’t shut up. You knew better. This was always going to explode.
Herod kept talking, layering on fake sympathy. "You had everything lined up, but one choice like this ruins it. We hold no space for moves like that here."
He paused, eyes flicking my way again, lips curling at the edges. Heat flooded my cheeks. Yeah, sure, act like you’re above it all. As if I didn’t remember how you’d corner me with those “helpful” chats and let your fingers brush too long. I’d shut that down every single time, and now this felt like his twisted payback.
Who in their right mind would ever get involved with a forty-two-year-old guy rocking gray whiskers, a pack of kids, and a wife waiting at home?
I wasn’t even sure he had exactly six children, but picturing it made me feel a tiny bit better. Hoping, really.
Cute guys my own age were out there somewhere, right? Ones who didn’t make my skin crawl.
I snuck a quick peek up. Dad’s face carried deep disapproval carved into every feature. Mom kept her lips pressed flat in quiet judgment. They had every right to feel that sting, but my reasons had felt so simple at the time. I just needed to scrape by in the one subject that had tortured me forever.
Mathematics.
The class that made my whole body tense up the second the bell rang. This fight went way back. In kindergarten I had sat at that tiny desk, pencil shaking in my grip, trying to scratch out numbers from one to a hundred while everyone else zipped through like it was easy. Teachers had given me those pitying looks, whispering I might need extra help. I still remembered the chalk dust on my fingers and the way my cheeks had flamed when I mixed up a seven and a one.
"We feel terrible about this, Mr. Herod," Mom rushed out, voice thick with pleading. "She’s only seventeen. Teens pull stupid stunts sometimes. Couldn’t we try one more time?" She slid her arm around my shoulders and gave a firm squeeze, her sleeve brushing my neck with that familiar soft fabric.
"Mrs. Olives, Mr. Olives," Herod turned to them, tone flat and final. "The decision stands firm. Removal from the rolls is the only path now."
Mom tried again, softer this time but still strained. "Please. She’s young. Mistakes happen. Couldn’t you just—"
"No room for exceptions," he cut across her, chair shifting under him with another creak. "This isn’t her first slip, is it?"
The words landed hard. I flinched, shoulders jerking back.
Dad released a long breath. "We understand," he muttered, shoulders dropping a fraction. "Thanks for the time."
But inside I wanted to burst out how I was only human, scared stiff of failing again. All I managed was to sit there, legs pressed together so tight the muscles ached, shame curling hot through my chest.
Herod’s mouth twitched higher, almost a full smirk. "I hope she absorbs the lesson. Brighter heads don’t reach for shortcuts."
His words stung like tiny needles. I balled my hands under the desk edge, nails pressing half-moons into my palms.
I snapped my head up and met his eyes with a glare sharp enough to cut. He just smirked wider, clearly loving it.
"Order," he added, leaning deeper into the chair. "Young folks miss that these days." And by young folks he meant me, loud and clear.
Mom’s patience snapped. "We’ve heard enough, sir. Come on, honey."
I snatched my bag strap, the rough canvas digging into my palm as I swung it over my shoulder, then dragged my sleeve across my damp cheeks. Mom’s final jab stopped me mid-step in the doorway.
"Thorex," she said to Dad, voice carrying clear, "time to walk out of this fool’s office and leave his nonsense behind."
Dad let out a sudden bark of laughter, the sound cracking the heavy air like a window opening.
Herod’s face clouded over fast, jaw muscles bunching tight. He didn’t like the spotlight turning on him, especially after I’d spilled the details about his hallway creeps to my parents.
We started down the hall, my shoes squeaking on the tiles. I hung back a beat, a wild idea sparking hot in my chest. I spun on my heel, stuck my tongue out as far as it would go, and flipped him the middle finger high and proud. His eyes flew wide, mouth dropping open.
"You insolent little—"
I slammed the door with everything I had, the bang echoing down the corridor. "Screw you," I hissed under my breath, half-laughing, half-terrified, as I jogged to catch up with Mom and Dad.
The car ride home wrapped around us like a thick blanket nobody wanted. Mom stared out her window, fingers drumming a quick pattern on her knee. Dad gripped the wheel, knuckles shifting every few seconds. I folded myself small in the back seat, knees pulled up as much as the belt allowed, the leather sticking to the backs of my thighs. Outside, traffic hummed past, but inside it stayed dead quiet except for the occasional click of the turn signal.
This wasn’t my first mess-up with tests, but this one hit different, deeper, like I’d finally tipped over the edge I’d been dancing on for months. Math had always scared me stupid, numbers blurring and twisting no matter how hard I stared. Now that fear had ripped everything away.
➪♡
Dad eased the car into the garage. The engine ticked softly as it cooled, filling the space with the sharp scent of oil and rubber from the tires stacked in the corner. He killed the ignition with a heavy exhale. Mom popped her door open before he even moved, heels clicking fast across the concrete as she marched toward the house. The side door shut with a solid thunk behind her.
Dad and I sat there a minute longer. His hands stayed on the wheel, fingers flexing once. I wondered if he felt as mixed up as I did. Finally he turned, face softer than I expected, lines around his eyes crinkling in that gentle way.
"Cupcake," he said quietly, "don’t tear yourself apart over this, alright? Your mom needs a minute to cool off. She’ll come around."
Tears prickled again, hot behind my eyes. "Are you angry with me?" I whispered, voice cracking on the last word.
He reached over and gave the back of my hand a gentle press, his palm rough from work but solid. "I was at first. But I get it. Numbers never came easy for me either. You wanted us to see you succeed, and you grabbed the only rope you saw. But listen, pride grows from the trying, even when it’s messy. You’ve got more spark than you know."
His words tugged something loose in my chest, like a rope pulling me up from deep water. I gave him a wobbly smile, the first real one all day. His support felt like the only steady thing left.
"You’ve got a good head on your shoulders," he added, voice firmer now, eyes locking on mine. "Nobody gets to say different."
Mom’s call floated out from the doorway. "You two finished chatting? We need to talk this through."
Dad chuckled and reached over to ruffle my hair, messing it up on purpose. "Let’s go face the music."
Inside, the tension snapped right back. I kicked off my shoes by the door, toes curling against the cool tiles, then dropped onto the couch. The cushions sank under me as I picked at a loose thread on my skirt hem, twisting it around my finger until it pulled free.
Mom sat across from me, brows drawn close in that way that always meant a serious talk. "We’re hurt by what happened today, Daniella. It wasn’t just rule-breaking. It cracked the trust we have in you."
"I know," I answered fast, my voice wobbling. "I’m sorry. Really, really sorry."
She let out a long breath, the tight lines on her forehead easing just a touch. "We forgive you. But this pattern has to end. Shortcuts never fix the real problem."
"It won’t happen again," I promised, swallowing hard against the knot still lodged in my throat.
"Swear on it?" Dad jumped in, holding up his pinky with a crooked grin that crinkled his whole face.
"Thorex, seriously?" Mom rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her mouth.
"What? Pinky promises are sacred with my girls. And you too, obviously." He leaned over and tapped the tip of her nose playfully, earning a surprised laugh from her.
Watching them, warmth spread through me, the kind that made my eyes sting again but in a good way. No matter how badly I screwed up, they still showed up with love like this. I hooked my pinky with Dad’s, the little gesture feeling silly and perfect at the same time.
"Oh, and your sister phoned earlier," Mom added, voice casual but the words landing like a fresh jab. "She wrapped up her law exams and sent in her thesis already. You know how she is."
My stomach dropped. Claire. Always the one with everything lined up neat, no slips, no drama. The golden one they compared me to without even trying. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and focused on the thread in my fingers instead.
"Go freshen up," Dad said, leaning back into the cushions. "Shower, rest a bit. We’ll eat soon and talk more later."
I nodded and headed upstairs, feet dragging on each step. The shame still clung, but so did a tiny spark of something else, envy maybe, mixed with that stubborn itch to prove I could figure my own way forward.
The shower felt like a reset. Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror while hot water beat down on my shoulders, easing the knots I hadn’t noticed until they loosened. I scrubbed with my lavender soap until the school smell washed away, singing some silly made-up song under my breath about numbers running away scared. By the time I stepped out, towel wrapped tight, my cheeks felt less tight and my head clearer.
Down in the kitchen, chaos ruled like always. Mom stood at the stove, flipping things in the pan with quick wrist flicks, the sizzle of garlic and onions filling the air with that mouth-watering scent. Dad hunched over the counter, peeling potatoes that ended up in all shapes but cubes, chunks flying onto the board.
"Thorex, those are supposed to be even pieces, not modern art," Mom teased, tossing a carrot his way.
"Rustic style," Dad shot back, puffing his chest out. "You just don’t get genius when you see it."
I grabbed an apron, tied it fast, and squeezed in beside him. "Hand it over. I’ll show you how it’s done."
"Careful with those fingers, kiddo," Dad warned, eyes wide in fake alarm.
"I’ve got this," I laughed, taking the peeler. Within minutes the kitchen buzzed with clatter and chatter, the three of us bumping elbows and trading jokes.
The table ended up loaded with roasted veggies glistening with oil, rich chicken stew bubbling in the pot, and rolls Mom had baked that morning, golden and warm. We sat down, and Mom lifted an imaginary glass with a dramatic flourish. "To Daniella, for teaching us that even the worst days leave room for a fresh start tomorrow."
My face heated up as Dad added, "And to me, the potato Picasso of the century."
Laughter burst out, loud and real, bouncing off the walls. It felt good, the kind that loosened the last tight spots inside me. Even with the day’s mess still lurking in the back of my mind, this right here made everything bearable.
As plates emptied, Mom shared stories from her own school days, the ones about sneaking notes and nearly getting caught that she’d never told before. Dad jumped in with over-the-top impressions of his old teachers, complete with funny voices and wild hand gestures that had me snorting into my water glass. I joined in too, talking faster than usual because being with them always loosened my tongue, recounting the exact moment I knew the test had gone sideways and how I’d whispered a panicked prayer under my breath.
At one point I reached for the stew ladle and knocked my roll off the plate. It bounced across the table and landed in Dad’s lap. "Oh no, my cheating strike again!" I blurted, then clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide.
Everyone froze for half a second before cracking up harder than before. Mom wiped tears from her eyes, Dad tossed the roll back at me gently, and the whole room filled with that easy, loud family noise I loved.
Later, when I finally climbed into bed, the sheets cool and smooth against my legs, I pulled the blanket up to my chin. The house had gone quiet. My body felt heavy but not in a bad way anymore. Maybe I wasn’t a complete disaster. I had a family that stuck by me through the ugly parts, laughter that could chase away the worst feelings, and tomorrow… well, tomorrow could be the start of something new.
I drifted off smiling, already half-dreaming of whatever came next.
