My Only Fault

The morning air inside Oakridge High felt suffocating, heavy with the scent of floor wax and rain.

Jude Miller pulled the collar of his oversized grey sweater a little higher, wishing he could shrink into the locker lined walls. He felt raw, like a sunburned layer of skin exposed to a harsh wind. His parents’ divorce had been finalized over the summer, a loud, ugly affair that ended with his mother moving across the country and Jude staying behind with a father who barely looked at him. Jude had missed the first two weeks of the new semester sorting out his life, and now, walking down the crowded corridor, he felt like an alien dropping into a world that had moved on without him.

With his striking platinum-blonde hair and pale grey eyes, blending in was always a losing battle. He was small-framed, his features holding a delicate, almost feminine softness that had always made him a target if he wasn’t careful. His strategy had always been simple: be a ghost. Be observant, be quiet, and never give anyone a reason to look twice.

He reached his locker, his fingers trembling slightly as he spun the combination dial.

Click.

“Hey, look who decided to show up,” a loud, mocking voice boomed from just a few feet away.

Jude didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. He knew that voice. It belonged to Marcus, one of the parasitic shadows that always orbited the school’s undisputed king.

“The ghost returns,” another voice snickered. “Did you bleach your hair over the summer, Miller? Or did your mom take your color with her when she packed up?”

Jude closed his eyes for a brief second, swallowing the lump in his throat. He opened his locker, gripping the edge of the metal shelf to steady himself. He didn’t answer. He never answered. If you don’t feed them, they eventually look for easier prey.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, pretty boy,” Marcus said, his shadow falling over Jude’s locker. A heavy hand slammed against the metal door, threatening to pinch Jude’s fingers. “What, you too good to speak to us now?”

“Leave it, Marcus. He’s not worth the breath.”

The third voice was different. It wasn’t loud, but it possessed a natural, heavy gravity that instantly silenced the hallway. The casual authority in it made Jude’s chest tighten.

Jude turned his head just enough to look through the fringe of his blonde hair.

Roman Kael was leaning against the lockers opposite him. He was the school’s ultimate heartthrob, a star athlete, and a walking disaster academic-wise. He was built broad and tall, his dark hair messy but perfectly suited to his sharp, arrogant jawline. He wore a heavy leather jacket over his school uniform, the collar popped casually. His dark eyes were bored, staring at his phone as he flicked through something, completely uninterested in the world around him.

“But Roman, the freak is ignoring us,” Marcus grumbled, though he immediately stepped back from Jude, his posture turning submissive.

Roman didn’t look up from his screen. “I said, leave it. The bell’s about to ring, and I’m not getting another detention because you want to play with a nerd.”

Marcus spat on the floor near Jude’s shoes. “You got lucky, Miller.”

The group moved past, laughter echoing down the hall. Roman followed a few paces behind them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. For a split second, just as he pulled level with Jude, Roman’s dark eyes shifted. They locked onto Jude’s grey ones. There was no hatred in Roman’s gaze—just a cold, calculating assessment, like a predator deciding a rabbit wasn’t worth the chase. Then, he looked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jude let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heart hammered against his ribs.

An hour later, Jude was sitting in the back corner of AP Advanced Calculus. The classroom was quiet, the only sound being the scratching of chalk against the blackboard. Jude liked this room. It was predictable. Numbers had rules. They didn’t lie, they didn’t divorce, and they didn’t change overnight.

The heavy wooden door of the classroom swung open with a loud creak.

Mr. Harrison stopped writing mid-equation, his brow furrowing as he looked at the intruder.

Roman stood in the doorway, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He didn’t look apologetic for being twenty minutes late. In fact, he looked irritated to be there at all.

“Mr. Kael,” the teacher sighed, taking off his glasses. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence. Do you have a pass from the principal’s office?”

Roman walked in, letting the door slam shut behind him. “No. I was with the coach.”

“The basketball season hasn’t even started, Roman. And your athletic status won’t save your grades this year. The administration was very clear: you fail one more core class, and you are off the team. Permanently.”

A collective whisper rippled through the classroom. Everyone knew Roman’s older brother had graduated two years ago as a straight-A valedictorian, currently attending an Ivy League school. Roman, on the other hand, was notorious for being a beautiful, wealthy failure who skated by on his family’s donations.

Roman’s jaw clenched, a dangerous, dark look flashing across his face at the mention of his grades. “I know the rules, Mr. Harrison.”

“Good. Then take a seat. The only available desk is in the back.”

Roman scanned the room, his eyes instantly landing on the empty chair right next to Jude. A flicker of recognition passed through his expression, followed by a slight grimace. He walked down the aisle, his heavy boots thudding against the linoleum. He pulled the chair out with unnecessary force, making it screech, and dropped his bag onto the floor.

He slumped into the seat, radiating an aura of pure, suffocating hostility.

Jude kept his eyes glued to his notebook, his pen moving steadily. He could smell Roman from this close—a distinct mix of expensive woodsy cologne, leather, and a faint hint of tobacco smoke. It was an overwhelming, masculine presence that seemed to shrink the space around Jude.

“Alright, class, back to the board,” Mr. Harrison called out. “As I was saying, the derivative of the function...”

For the next thirty minutes, Jude tried to pretend the giant sitting next to him didn’t exist. But it was impossible. Roman didn’t take out a notebook. He didn’t take out a pen. He just sat there, slouching, staring blankly at the board, his leg bouncing up and down in a restless, agitated rhythm that vibrated through the floorboards.

Suddenly, the bouncing stopped.

Jude felt a heavy gaze burning into the side of his face. He kept writing, his hand stiffening.

“Hey,” a low, gravelly whisper came from his left.

Jude ignored it, copying down a complex formula.

“Hey. Blonde hair. I know you can hear me.”

Jude bit his inner cheek, slowly turning his head. He kept his expression completely neutral, blank. He didn’t want to show fear, but he didn’t want to show defiance either. “Yes?” he whispered back, his voice soft, almost airy.

Roman leaned in closer, his elbow resting on Jude’s desk, invading his personal space without a second thought. “What language is the old man speaking? What does that symbol mean?” He pointed a blunt, large finger toward the board where a integration sign was drawn.

“It’s an integral,” Jude whispered back, keeping his voice barely audible. “It finds the area under a curve.”

Roman stared at the board, then back at Jude, his dark eyes narrowing in genuine frustration. “It looks like a deformed ‘S’. Give me your notes.”

“What?” Jude blinked, surprised.

“Your notes. Give them to me. I need to copy them or whatever so Harrison stops breathing down my neck.”

Jude looked at his neatly organized notebook, written in precise, immaculate handwriting, color-coded with blue and black ink. Then he looked at Roman’s empty desk.

“Class is almost over,” Jude whispered gently, trying not to sound condescending. “If I give them to you now, you won’t have time. I can... I can let you borrow them after class.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, a slow, arrogant smirk creeping onto his lips. It wasn’t a friendly smile; it was the look of someone used to getting exactly what he wanted. “Look at you, actually speaking. I thought you were a mute this morning. What’s your name again? Miller, right?”

“Jude.”

“Jude,” Roman repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a strange, heavy weight. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Fine, Jude. You’re going to give me those notes when the bell rings. And you’re going to explain them to me, because looking at that board gives me a headache.”

“I don’t think—”

“I wasn’t asking,” Roman interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, losing any trace of casual banter. It was a direct command.

Jude looked down at his desk, his fingers tightening around his pen. He didn’t want to get involved with Roman Kael. Roman was trouble, the kind of wealthy, volatile force that destroyed anything in its path. But Jude also knew that saying ‘no’ to Roman usually resulted in Marcus and the rest of his gang cornering you behind the gym.

“Okay,” Jude whispered softly.

Roman let out a small, satisfied huff and went back to staring at the clock.