The morning sun struggled to break through the thick curtains, casting a dull grey light across my room. The alarm buzzed incessantly, pulling me from a restless sleep. I dragged myself out of bed, the cold tiles jolting me awake as I shuffled to the bathroom. The mirror reflected my tired eyes, a testament to another sleepless night. I went through the motions—brushing my teeth, throwing on a T-shirt and jeans, and heading downstairs where the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. My mom had already left for work, leaving a neatly packed breakfast and lunch on the counter for Liam and me.
I shook Liam awake, his groggy protests echoing down the hallway as he reluctantly got dressed. The drive to school was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. The car—a shiny, red sedan, a reward from our grandparents for maintaining good grades—glided smoothly along the road, but the tension inside it was palpable. At school, we parted ways, and I trudged through my morning classes, each one dragging on endlessly.
By the time rugby practice rolled around, the locker room buzzed with energy. The smell of sweat and deodorant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of wet grass wafting in from the field outside. Lockers clanged open and shut as the team got ready, the usual banter filling the space. The locker room was our sanctuary, a place where the outside world faded away, replaced by the camaraderie of the team. But even here, there were divides—those who followed Charles, the golden boy, and those who didn't.
Charles Easton was everything you'd expect from a high school jock—tall,brown eyes,the looks, and a senior. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew he owned the world, his every step exuding an air of superiority. I was lacing up my cleats when he swaggered over, his smirk as infuriating as ever.
"Yo, Lucas," he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "Ready for practice? Or is your mom still single?"
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. "I envy those who've never had the misfortune of meeting you," I shot back, my voice low but firm.
Charles's smirk widened as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my face. "So, you've got a smart mouth, huh?"
I met his gaze, my eyes narrowing. "Keep my mom out of your mouth."
"Or what? You gonna tell mommy?" he sneered, his laughter echoing through the locker room, joined by the chorus of his lackeys.
I could feel the anger boiling inside me, but I kept my voice steady. "Even if you were twice as smart, you'd still be an idiot."
That did it. His face turned an alarming shade of red, and his voice was a low growl. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
Before things could escalate further, Coach stormed into the locker room, his presence commanding immediate attention. He barked orders, and we quickly formed into two teams. My heart pounded as I realised I'd be facing off against Charles. This wasn't just going to be a practice—it was a battle.
We lined up on the field, the grass still wet from the morning dew. "Crouch. Set. Bind," Coach's voice cut through the tension, and we moved into position.
As the scrum half, I was in the thick of it, my focus razor-sharp. I received the ball and passed it to our number 8 in one fluid motion, but before I could react, a crushing force hit me from the side. I was slammed into the ground, the wind knocked out of me.
"What the hell, Charles? I didn't even have the ball!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet, my voice edged with disbelief.
Charles just stood there, a smug look on his face as he chuckled. "Aw, did little Lucas get hurt?"
That was the last straw. A red haze clouded my vision, and before I knew it, I was on top of him, my fists flying. The impact of my knuckles against his face was a sickening thud, but I didn't stop. It took several teammates to pull me off, their shouts of "Lucas, stop!" barely registering in my ears.
I was left panting, my knuckles raw and throbbing. The reality of what I'd done hit me like a cold wave, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the principal's office. The detention slip in my hand felt like a death sentence, the ban from the rugby team only adding to the weight of the day.
The detention room was a stark contrast to the chaos of the field. The moment I stepped in, I was struck by the room's odd sense of grandeur. It was like stepping into a different era—a study room from a century ago, with brick-patterned wallpaper and dark oak bookshelves lining the walls. The floor was polished wood, the kind that creaked underfoot, and the air was thick with the smell of old paper and leather-bound books. Portraits of historical figures—Oppenheimer, Einstein, Newton, Darwin—stared down at me from their gilded frames, their expressions solemn and severe.
I let out a long sigh, my body sinking into one of the heavy wooden chairs. I fumbled with my phone before tossing it onto the table in frustration. My eyes wandered to the nearest bookshelf, and I grabbed a book at random. "Guns, Germs, and Steel" by Jared Diamond—an ironic choice given the day's events.
"Aren't you an interesting fellow? You don't look like the reading type," a voice broke the silence, light and teasing.
I looked up, surprised to see a girl sitting a few seats away, half-hidden behind a thick copy of "Mrs. Dalloway." Her hood was pulled low over her head, but I could see the sharpness in her light brown eyes as she watched me.
"Never judge a book by its cover," I replied, a bit defensively, though I couldn't help but be intrigued.
She set her book down, revealing a wry smile. "What are you in for?"
"You make this sound like a prison," I said, arching an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged, her smile widening. "Isn't it? The institution, the rules, the authority figures breathing down our necks?"
"Touché," I admitted, unable to suppress a small grin. "I beat up Charles Easton."
Her eyes lit up with amusement. "Well, look at you. A nerd with a strong right hook. Where's Charles now?"
"He's probably nursing a broken nose in the nurse's office," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a hint of pride in my voice.
"Serves him right," she said with a chuckle, her laugh light and almost musical. "I'm Ava, by the way,Ava Harlow."
"Harlow?" I repeated, recognizing the name. "Any relation to—"
"Don't even ask," she cut me off, her tone playful but with a hint of exasperation.
"I'm Lucas Howard," I introduced myself, feeling an unexpected sense of ease with her.
"I know. We're in the same art class," she replied, picking up her book again but keeping her gaze on me.
"Right," I said, mentally kicking myself for not noticing her before. How small was my world, I wondered, as I settled back into my chair and opened my book.
For a while, we read in comfortable silence, the ticking of the old clock on the wall the only sound in the room. After a while, Ava broke the silence again.
"Is it your first time reading it?" she asked, nodding towards my book.
"No, it's my fifth," I replied, getting lost in the familiar text.
"What's your favourite quote?" she asked, her voice soft, almost as if she was afraid to break the calm that had settled over us.
"'Domesticable animals are all alike; every undomesticable animal is undomesticable in its own way,'" I quoted, feeling the weight of the words sink in.
She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made something inside me relax. "You sound like a poet."
I chuckled, surprised at how light I felt, despite everything that had happened. Time seemed to pass quickly as we talked, the tension from earlier in the day slowly fading away. Ava was easy to talk to, and for the first time in a while, I didn't feel like the world was weighing down on my shoulders.
After the conversation with Ava, the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the detention room. The once bright, regal room now felt slightly ominous, the portraits on the walls seeming to watch with quiet judgement. The old clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the slow passage of time, each second pulling me deeper into my thoughts.
Ava had returned to her book, her focus intense, but I could feel her presence like a steadying force in the room. There was something calming about her, something that made me feel like I could finally breathe after the storm that had been the day. I found myself glancing at her every so often, wondering what her story was, what had brought her to this room at the same time as me. But for now, I let the silence between us be, content in the companionship.
I turned a page in my book, though my mind wasn't really on the words. Instead, it drifted back to the events of the day—the fight, the anger, the way my fists had connected with Charles's face. My knuckles still throbbed slightly, a dull ache that reminded me of the moment I lost control. But more than that, I couldn't shake the image of his bloodied nose, the shock in his eyes as I struck him.
A part of me felt justified—Charles had pushed me too far—but another part, a quieter, nagging part, wondered if I had gone too far. What would my mom think if she knew? What would Liam say? I hadn't been able to tell them anything yet. The thought of facing them, of explaining what had happened, made my stomach twist with guilt.
A soft sigh escaped me, drawing Ava's attention. She glanced up from her book, her brown eyes searching mine for a moment. I quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in my own reading, but I could still feel her gaze on me, sharp and perceptive.
"Lucas," she said softly, her voice cutting through the thick silence. "Do you regret it?"
The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I didn't answer right away, instead letting the question settle in my mind, turning it over like a stone in my hand.
"Part of me does," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But part of me doesn't."
Ava nodded, as if she understood exactly what I meant. "Sometimes, we do things in the heat of the moment that we can't take back. But that doesn't mean it defines who we are."
I looked at her then, really looked at her, and saw something in her eyes—a depth, a knowing—that made me wonder just how much she had seen, how much she had experienced. There was a story there, I was sure of it, but I didn't push. Not now.
"Thanks," I said quietly, appreciating her words more than I could express.
Ava gave me a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, and went back to her book. The moment passed, but the words lingered, giving me something to think about, something to hold on to.
As the detention hour neared its end, the door creaked open, and the principal walked in, his presence filling the room. He was a tall man, with a stern face and greying hair, dressed in a sharp suit that made him look more like a businessman than a school administrator. He looked between Ava and me, his expression unreadable.
"Lucas Howard," he said, his voice steady but with a hint of authority that commanded respect. "Your time's up. You're free to go, but I suggest you think long and hard about your actions today. This isn't over. We'll be having another conversation tomorrow."
"Yes, sir," I replied, my voice respectful, though inside I felt a pang of anxiety. Tomorrow will be another battle.
The principal turned to Ava but didn't say anything. Instead, he simply nodded, and she gave a slight nod in return. It was a silent exchange, one that hinted at something more between them, but I didn't dwell on it. I gathered my things and stood up, feeling the weight of the day settling on my shoulders again.
As I walked towards the door, Ava called out to me, stopping me in my tracks.
"Lucas," she said, her voice firm but kind. "Don't let today define you. Tomorrow's a new day."
I turned back to her, offering a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Ava."
With that, I left the detention room, stepping out into the cool evening air. The sky was painted with shades of orange and pink, the last light of day fading into night. I breathed in deeply, letting the crisp air fill my lungs, and started walking towards the parking lot where my car waited.
As I walked, I couldn't help but think about what tomorrow would bring. The fight with Charles had set off a chain reaction, one that I knew I couldn't stop now. But Ava's words stuck with me, a small beacon of hope in the chaos. Maybe tomorrow could be different. Maybe I could be different.
I reached the car and paused, looking back at the school building, now bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The day wasn't over yet, but I knew one thing for sure—whatever happened next, I wouldn't face it alone. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had someone in my corner, even if that someone was a mysterious girl in a black hoodie who read Mrs. Dalloway in detention.
As I got into the car and drove away, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter, the path ahead a little less daunting. What was felt is to pick up Lucas from the Library downtown but tomorrow was another day, and maybe, just maybe, things would start to look up