Movie night
Chapter 35
SOPHIA
I owe a massive thank you to the elderly lady who woke me up just in time to get off at the right stop, purely because she wanted the seat next to me.
I made it. Now, I walk the last five minutes home on foot, still trapped completely inside my own head.
I am still entirely haunted by what happened today.
It isn't even the kiss itself that bothers me.
It is the fact that I let him do it. Whatever his sick game was, he knew James was standing at the end of that corridor.
That is the only explanation that makes any shred of sense.
He drops chaos into situations and just stands back to watch what happens.
And I walked right into his trap. Again.
Speaking of trouble, I have had a terrible feeling about him and his group of friends for a while now.
I think back to the first time I caught Ben and Alex taking money from a student in the car park.
Today, during school hours, it was the exact same thing.
Why would people like them, who basically drown in money, be threatening other students for pocket change?
Then, a memory surfaces. One day before swimming class, I passed a group of girls whispering in the corridor. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but a few words cut through the noise. They were talking about a massive bet. And I distinctly heard the name Santos.
I might not be Sherlock Holmes, but it isn't difficult to connect the dots to the illegal street races and the exclusive parties thrown around the city.
One of the girls had mentioned her boyfriend lost an unforgivable amount of money on a bet he had made with other students.
Whatever dark underground market is running through Weststarr, it is so much bigger than what I can see from where I'm standing.
It's complicated, dangerous, and corrupted in ways I don't fully understand yet.
But I know one thing for certain. I wanna find out what it is.
Keep your enemies close. A bit more insider knowledge wouldn't hurt, would it?
I just have to figure out what to do.
You kissed me first.
Absolute rubbish.
Now we're even.
God, I hate his stupid, arrogant grin.
"Shopi, we need to talk."
Clara's voice reaches me the second I put my key in the door—loud, immediate, and pulling me clean out of my own thoughts. She swings the door open before I can even turn the lock.
Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail and she is wearing
Oh, no.
A cooking apron.
"What's wrong?" I ask, completely confused.
We haven't really talked properly since everything happened beyond the strict scheduling, beyond the shallow pleasantries.
But she takes my arm, pulling me firmly into the living room.
I drop my schoolbag on the floor and look at her, then I look at what is waiting in front of me, and my words desert me completely.
"What"
"I'm sorry, Shopi." She takes off the apron, looking at me with an expression I haven't seen from her in a while.
It is genuine, laced with a quiet guilt "I haven't been a good guardian. I've been thinking about everything, and I should have believed you from the start. It's just...you know how much this opportunity means, and taking care of someone is so new to me. I was just so..."
She stops when I wrap my arms around her.
She hugs me back, tight and fierce.
"Worried," she finishes quietly, her voice muffled against my hair.
"Thank you," I whisper.
And just like that, I can't hold the tears back anymore. I don't even try to.
"Sweetie, are you crying?" She tries to pull back gently to look at my face.
I hold on tighter, refusing to let go. One more second, I think. Just give me one more second of feeling safe. Of feeling at home.
She understands, and she lets me have it.
When I finally pull back and look at the living room properly, the sheer weight of what she has done hits me.
The sofa has been completely folded out, buried under every single pillow and blanket in the apartment. On the television screen, paused at the very opening frame, is the iconic Disney logo for Aladdin. My absolute favorite. The one movie I have watched more times than I can count.
The coffee table is entirely covered.
There are drinks, chips, and popcorn, but she didn't stop there, she actually went all out with the theme.
Platter after platter of dates, fresh fruit, sweet baklava, and filled pastries.
The air carries a heavy, delicious scent of honey and rose water, a combination I have loved since I was small.
In the center sits a large dish of rice and chicken, still steaming slightly.
She has put out so much food I genuinely wonder for a second if she invited the entire neighborhood over.
"Don't worry," she says quickly, catching my stunned expression. She grins. "I didn't cook. I ordered it."
We both laugh at the exact same time.
"You are the best aunt," I say, and I mean it with every single piece of my heart.
Without meaning to, my mind drifts back to the movie nights my mother and I used to share.
One film a month, with food themed perfectly to match.
Harry Potter was our usual go-to. The two of us would curl up on the sofa under a massive blanket, loudly arguing about which scene was the best, while my father pretended to read his book, secretly watching right along with us.
"I know you always did this with" Clara pauses. It is a small, careful hesitation, the delicate pause of someone deciding whether to step toward a painful memory or step away from it.
"Thank you, Clara," I say instead, cutting through the silence.
"Really. I love it."
She doesn't need me to explain the ache in my chest. She just nods once, a small, warm gesture, and doesn't push any further.
Without even knowing it, she has completely saved my day with this one beautiful thing.
"I'm going to go get changed quickly," I say, already heading for my bedroom.
"Hurry up, or the food gets cold!" she calls out after me.
I am already smiling before my hand even touches the bedroom door.
I love it.
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