Chapter 8
EIGHT
Rule Number Five of Adeline’s Guide to Overcoming Loneliness: Adeline, listen to a song that feels like it understands you (find playlist below). Music has a way of putting words to things we can’t quite understand.
“What class do you have next?” Bea asks, her voice casual as we weave through the crowded hallway.
“Um, English Literature,” I say. I’ve always loved writing.
It’s one of the few things that feels like mine, a way to let the noise in my head spill out in ink.
Business Studies seemed interesting too, and Maths of course.
My dad always insisted on all of us working extra hard when it came to Maths.
In fact, it had been his dream to be a Maths teacher at one point.
He would have done well.
“Room 204,” Bea says, glancing at me. “Want me to take you?”
“No, no, it’s fine. You’ll be late,” I reply, shaking my head. The last thing I want is to be an inconvenience to her.
Bea’s smile widens. “It’s no problem. Really, I insist.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage—”
“No worries, Addie. It’s my pleasure.” She cuts me off, taking my arm with a playful tug. “Let’s go.”
“Bye, Lilia!” she calls as she drags me away.
When we reach the door to room 204, Bea stops, releasing my arm. “There you are. Room 204,” she says, but just as she’s about to leave, she spins around, her eyes alight with a new idea.
“Can I borrow your phone really quickly?” she asks, holding out her hand expectantly. “I’ll put in my number, and you can text me later.”
I blink, too shocked to refuse. Bea Mallory wants my number? Wordlessly, I hand over my phone, trying to keep my eyes from popping out of my head.
As she types, she glances at the screen and quirks an eyebrow. “Not many contacts here. How come?”
I shrug, unsure of what to say. The truth? The only people in my contacts are Sam, Naomi, and Camille. The rest? Deleted. There wasn’t much point in holding on to people who had already let go of me.
“Well, now you have Lilia and me on there too,” Bea says, handing the phone back with a triumphant smile. Then, checking her own phone, her eyes widen slightly. “There you go! I’ll text you later. Gotta run. Bye!”
And just like that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd with the same whirlwind energy she arrived with. I take a deep breath, clutching my phone as if it’s a lifeline, and step into the classroom.
The room is already half-full, students chatting and shuffling papers. My nerves bubble up, a mixture of excitement and dread. But as I scan the rows of seats, my eyes land on Naomi, sitting near the front. There’s an empty seat beside her, and for a moment, hope flickers in my chest.
“Naomi! There you are!” I call out, my voice bright with relief. I’d texted her earlier, but she hadn’t replied. Maybe she’d been busy?
Her head snaps toward me, and for a brief second, I see something flicker across her face—annoyance? Embarrassment? “Adeline, not now,” she hisses, her tone sharp, dismissive.
My heart sinks, the hope shattering as quickly as it had formed. Is she embarrassed? By me? I hesitate, then step closer, gesturing to the empty seat.
“That seat’s for someone else,” she says curtly.
“Oh.” The word falls from my lips, heavy and hollow. And then I see her.
Ava Grey struts into the room and makes her way to Naomi’s side, claiming the seat with ease. I glance at Naomi, silently pleading for an explanation, but she won’t even meet my eyes.
“Aw, did you think she was saving this spot for you?” Ava mocks, her voice dripping with condescension. “How cute.”
Laughter ripples from Ava, sharp and undeniably cruel, but what cuts the deepest is Naomi laughing along with her.
The knife twists in my chest, and I’m sure if I stand there a second longer, I’ll shatter. So, I don’t. I turn, swallowing the lump in my throat, and make my way to the back of the room. They won’t get the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
As I scan for an empty seat, my gaze lands on someone unexpected. Christian Ryder, sitting alone in the corner.
He’s hunched over a book, completely absorbed.
He’s reading Shakespeare, I realize with a jolt.
I summon a shred of courage and approach him, blurting out, “Shakespeare?”
His head lifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes me in. For a moment, he looks genuinely surprised, but it fades quickly, replaced by indifference. “Mhm,” he replies, his tone flat.
My enthusiasm deflates. “I… I love Shakespeare too. Which play are you reading?”
“Hamlet,” he says in the poshest British accent I think I’ve ever heard, before returning his attention to the book, suggesting I’ve already overstayed my welcome, which I probably have.
“Oh. That’s one of my favourites,” I say, though my voice is quieter now.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
I step back, my earlier courage evaporating. “Well, enjoy your reading,” I mutter, retreating to an empty seat in the opposite corner.
Just as I sit down, someone slides into the seat beside me. I glance over, startled, and my breath catches. He’s… cute. Really cute, with ginger hair, warm brown eyes, and freckles scattered across his face like constellations.
“Hey,” he says, flashing a wide smile.
“Hello,” I reply, trying to sound normal. Which is difficult when your heart is suddenly racing.
He gestures toward Naomi. “Was that your sister?”
I nod, unsure of where this is going.
“Your sister’s a bitch,” he says matter-of-factly.
I blink, caught off guard. “She can be. I’m sure she didn’t mean it, though,” I say weakly.
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. A silence falls between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it feels… calm. Like he’s not in a rush to fill the space with empty words. His gaze lingers on me, and I shift slightly under the weight of it.
“Um, is there something on my face?” I ask, my voice smaller than I intended.
He laughs, a soft, melodic sound that sends warmth blooming in my chest. “No, not at all,” he says, his tone reassuring. “I was just thinking you’re really pretty.”
My cheeks flush instantly. “Oh, uh, thank you,” I stammer, fumbling over the words. “You’re… you’re also… pretty.”
Oh my god. Why am I like this?
He laughs again, the sound brighter this time. “Thank you,” he says, grinning. “You know, I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends. What’s your name?”
“Adeline,” I reply, the excitement slipping through despite my best efforts to keep it cool. “Adeline Ross.”
“Adeline,” he repeats, as if savouring it. “That’s a beautiful name.”
I blush again, feeling warmth spread through me. “Thank you,” I murmur.
He extends a hand, and I hesitate before taking it. His touch is warm, his grip firm but gentle. “Ajax Ambrose,” he says, his voice rich with warmth.
“Ajax,” I echo, the name unfamiliar but lovely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
***
The teacher finally walks into the classroom. A bit late, I might add.
But before my thoughts can wander further, my stomach chooses that exact moment to growl—loudly. Mortifyingly loudly. My cheeks flush, heat spreading through my face like wildfire. If I could disappear into thin air, I would. Right now.
Before I can sink fully into the pit of embarrassment, Ajax’s laughter breaks through the silence. “Someone’s hungry,” he teases, his tone light.
I let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am,” I reply, attempting to play it off and relieved that he found it amusing rather than… you know. Mortifying.
But then another thought barrels into my mind, one that replaces the embarrassment with cold, hard panic. How the heck am I going to pay for lunch? Imagine the awkwardness when Naomi and Sam aren’t be able to pay for a meal in front of all their classmates.
Even worse, they would starve. In my panic, I turn to Ajax, blurting out, “Wait, how much does the food cost in the caféteria?”
Ajax raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Relax, Adeline. Everyone pays for their own food in the caféteria. You grab what you want, and you pay at the counter. Unless you have a free meal card, but not many people have those.”
I feel the unease creep back in. How could I have been so
foolish? I don’t have any money to afford all those meals, and the thought of my sisters going hungry makes me sick to my stomach.
Well, I do have money, but that wouldn’t be enough for three people. Not even close. I’ve just paid the electrician’s bill; there’s no way I’m going to have enough left.
I guess I just assumed when Mr Ryder showed up at our door saying he would pay for everything, he meant everything.
Clearly the free meal card is only for the privileged.
Why am I not surprised?
Panic grips my chest, and I swear I can feel the colour draining from my face.
Ajax must have noticed my distress, because he turns toward me with a concerned look. “Hey, Adeline, is something wrong?” he asks, his voice filled with genuine worry.
I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as shaky as it feels. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Just a silly thought that crossed my mind.”
But Ajax isn’t convinced. He leans closer, his brown eyes searching mine. “Come on, Adeline. I can tell something’s bothering you. You can talk to me.”
I bite my lip, hesitating. There’s a part of me that wants to spill everything—the fear, the stress, the pressure. But the other part of me, the part that’s been holding it together for so long, knows better.
“It’s nothing,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing I can’t take care of.”
Ajax’s eyes linger, but the classroom goes silent before he can say anything more. The teacher’s voice breaks the silence, and I startle.
“Are you alright, Adeline? You seem a little distracted,” he adds in a level but worried tone.
I’m taken aback for a second. How does he know my name?
“Oh, um, yes. I’m fine,” I stammer, my cheeks flushing again. “Just lost in my thoughts for a moment.”
The teacher’s brow furrows slightly, but before he can ask anything else, I blurt out, “Actually, sir, would it be alright if I excused myself to use the restroom?”
The teacher nods in understanding, but I think I see a glimmer of worry in his eyes.
Ajax’s gaze lingers, but before he can press further, a hush falls over the classroom. I jolt in surprise as the teacher’s voice cuts through the quiet.
Desperate to avoid making eye contact with anyone, I quickly leave the classroom, keeping my eyes on the floor. My heart races in my chest as the weight of everything terrible falls on me, making every stride feel heavier than the one before.
Does the corridor seem longer than normal? It appears to go on forever in front of me.
My hands are trembling by the time I get to the bathroom. I quickly open the door and enter, closing it after me. I close my eyes, shakily exhale, and lean against the cool tiles.
It’s here, in the solitude of the bathroom, that I finally allow myself to release all my emotions. Because I swear, they have been swallowing me whole lately. It doesn’t take long for the tears to well up, spilling down my cheeks, unstoppable, as I sink to the floor.
My sisters are going to starve because of me.
The thought loops in my mind, relentless, and… cold.
My sisters are going to starve because of me.
Stupid. Useless.
I take slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.
Each inhale is a desperate plea for composure. Each exhale feels like I’m falling apart all over again.
Just why does everything need to be so hard?
There are moments where I feel I can manage the responsibility given to me, and there are other moments, moments like these, where I’m not so sure.
There are moments when all it really is, is a prison.
I suppose it’s my fault when I’m the one that let it wrap its chains around me.
But it had promised purpose, and it had promised forgiveness.
Maybe all it really did was deliver me a cell.
Glancing up at the mirror, my heart sinks as I catch a sight of my dishevelled appearance. I stare at my tear-streaked face, at the vulnerability and desperation etched into every line and curve. I stare at my green eyes that don’t seem so bright and vibrant anymore.
It’s a sight that fills me with disgust.
I straighten myself as much as I can, wiping away the tears. Ignoring the ache in my chest, I take one final deep breath fully knowing the decision I’m about to make might end absolutely horribly.
I square my shoulders and step away from the mirror. What’s the worst that could happen?