FORBIDDEN

(im gonna kill someone why wont itlet me put myfreaking banner in !!!!!! I LIKE THE BANNER!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

(I PUT THE BANNER ON MY PROFILE!!!! I WINNN)

The fluorescent lights of the history wing hummed with a clinical, soul-sucking drone that always seemed to vibrate at the exact frequency of my boredom. To the rest of the world, the teachers, the students, even my own brother, I was a pastel-colored cloud of perfume, lip gloss, and “oh my gosh” interjections. It was a comfortable camouflage. If people think you’re a ditzy airhead, they don’t expect you to carry the weight of the world. They don’t see the way I’m constantly calculating the social architecture of the room or how I’d already memorised the only places in the school I could be alone when I needed to hide, or daydream.

But today, the daydream had a name. And that name was Piers.

I hate school. Honestly, I could do without the never-ending cycle of awkward smiles and forced interactions with people I barely know. It’s like stepping into an endless, boring reality show where everyone is just playing their part, and I’m stuck in the background, trying not to trip over my own feet. The classrooms always feel gloomy, but somehow, amidst the grey chaos, there’s a glimmer of light that brightens things up.

Piers wasn’t just another junior. In the ecosystem of our school, he was the silent predator on the edge of the pack. He wasn’t the captain of the football team or the loud-mouthed class clown; he was the guy in the oversized denim jacket, headphones perpetually around his neck, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Teachers called him a bad influence because he was quiet and wore boots that looked like they’d seen a few fights, but I saw the way his fingers tapped rhythmic patterns on his desk—complex, challenging beats that suggested a mind far more structured than his messy dark hair implied.

Piers, He’s super tall, with that messy dark hair that looks effortlessly cool. I mean, I’d probably need a whole can of hairspray to achieve that look. He’s got this stoic vibe that totally makes my heart race. It’s like he walked right out of a movie or something. But here’s the catch: he’s my brother’s best friend. It makes me feel like I’m stuck juggling flaming torches, trying not to drop any and get burnt.

Today, class was dragging on, and my brain started to wander, floating from one thought to the next, mainly about how cute Piers looked in that leather jacket. Seriously, how do guys pull off wearing those? I feel like I would just look like poser trash. The substitute teacher’s voice, a woman named Mrs Gable, echoed like a dull drum, barely scratching the surface of my thoughts.

Suddenly, she screamed, “Cherrem! Is there a Cherrem in this class?”

My heart sank as every eye shifted to me. I shot my hand up, snapping into “Bubbly Mode” instantly. “I’m Cherrem!” I exclaimed, probably a little too loudly. I could practically feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks, but I kept the wide, vacant grin plastered on.

But, of course, in the sea of faces, there was Piers, his striking cyan eyes meeting mine with a slight flicker of interest. Wait, did he just look at me? Am I dreaming? The heat in my cheeks intensified as I immediately broke eye contact. Ugh, why is this so hard? Getting lost in thoughts of him makes it hard to focus, and then BOOM! The substitute was announcing our next assignment. something about group work for a history project in the 1970s.

Great. Just what I needed. My stomach dropped at the word “group.” Seriously? Why did it have to be pre-assigned? I crossed my fingers, hoping for a miracle, like maybe I’d be grouped with someone semi-normal and not the loud guy who throws paper aeroplanes just for fun.

As MrsGable walked around, I grabbed the slip of paper that held my fate. My heart went into hyperdrive! It was Piers! My partner was Piers! A silly grin broke out on my face, but I had to keep it together. Don’t freak out, Cherrem. You can do this! Keep the mask on. No one can know you’re so excited for this. It wouldn’t match ‘the persona’ Piers didn’t rush over. He moved with a slow, deliberate slouch, dragging his chair across the linoleum with a screech that made half the class wince. He sat down opposite me, smelling like rain and old vinyl records.

“You’re Cherin’s little sister?” he asked, his voice deep, smooth, and just a bit teasing.

“I am!” I squeaked, barely able to get the words out. My hands grew clammy as I did my best to hide the fact that I felt like a complete dork. My mind raced with thoughts. Stay cool. Don’t say something stupid. Focus, Cherrem!

“So, uh, do you totally get this assignment?” I asked, my voice almost squeaking at the end. I cringed on the inside; why do I sound like such a dits? But honestly, my brain was already sparking with different ideas. I knew the 70s weren’t just about disco; they were about the oil crisis, the end of the Vietnam War, and the rise of personal computing. I could blow him away with my brain, but instead, I said, “I mean, it shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Piers leaned against my desk, arms crossed, a flicker of amusement dancing across his lips. “Yeah, it’s like a puzzle… of sorts.” He raised an eyebrow, and I couldn’t help but fidget. He wasn’t looking at me like I was just some annoying little kid; there was something different in his gaze.

I suddenly got excited, bouncing a little on my feet. “Oh! And you know what’s super fun? We can totally take creative liberties with it. Like, what if we themed our project or something?”

He stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, and my heart raced, praying he didn’t think I was just a silly girl who was all fluff. I can be deeper than this! Under all this bubbly energy, I have layers, too; layers like an onion or a cake, or whatever!

“Totally,” he replied, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. “You’d make a great interior designer or something.”

“Yesss!” I squeal, trying to rein in my excitement, I despise the persona I’m putting on right now. . “But also”, I lean in a little, feeling bold, “I think we could totally make it fun. Like.. does this HAVE to be boring?” Piers chuckled, and it felt like fireworks popping inside my chest. “Maybe you’re right. It could be interesting watching you try to keep it together.”

With every passing second, the tension between us shifted, and though I was outwardly ditzy, my mind was buzzing away, analysing every cute thing he said. I noticed the way his fingers tapped a rhythmic, complex pattern on the desk.

“You sure have an interesting perspective, Cherrem,” he said.

“Thank you!” I blurted out, feeling that pink colour wash over my cheeks again.