28
Ares
“Why did you steal it?” Mr. Murphy asks Ares for the tenth time, leaning forward in his armchair, his expression furrowed in that way Ares has seen on the faces of so many teachers before: worried, disapproving, deeply unhappy to be here.
That makes two of us,Ares thinks to himself, and contemplates punching an exit route through the classroom wall.
A clock ticks above the whiteboard. With every second, he can feel the vision slipping further and further away from him. What is Chanel up to? Was this whole necklace scheme her way of getting back at him for the prom rejection? He wouldn’t put it past her. Has to almost admire her for her nerve—if he weren’t trapped here, the only person in detention, watching the sun stoop lower behind the trees while Mr. Murphy tries to introduce to him the concept of moral integrity.
“...can’t be about the money,” Mr. Murphy says. “You are evidently in a very fortunate financial position, Ares. Few people have donated as much to the school as your mother.”
He frowns. “My mother? No, that can’t be right.”
“I assure you it is,” Mr. Murphy tells him. “She donated a significant sum only last semester.”
He considers reasoning—But dead people can’t make donations—except he never brings up his mother, and certainly won’t now. There must have been a mix-up.
“Is it for the thrill of it? The adrenaline rush?” Mr. Murphy goes on. “Is that what you’re chasing? I know, with all the media youths are consuming nowadays, you might have been led to believe that stealing is cool. But I can tell you, Ares, that it is very muchuncool to steal from your classmates.”
“I didn’t steal it,” Ares says flatly.
Mr. Murphy sighs. “I would like to believe you. I really, really would—”
“Believe me, then.”
“But you cannot expect me to think that the necklace unchained itself from Chanel’s neck, sprouted a pair of legs, and wandered into your pencil case on its own, did it?” Mr. Murphy asks. “So what’s therealreason here? I won’t judge.”
It could just be the quiet of the room, but the clock’s ticking seems to grow louder. Ares clenches, then unclenches his jaw. “Will you release me from detention if I give you a reason?”
“No,” Mr. Murphy says simply. “Either way, you should take some time to think over your actions today.”
He doesn’t haveany time left. Maybe he can just make a run for it. There’s no way Mr. Murphy would have the speed, stamina, or willpower to actually chase after him....
The classroom door slides open, and Ms. Hoang steps inside, her teacher’s badge swinging over her blouse.
“Oh, is my shift over already?” Mr. Murphy asks, looking visibly relieved.
“You’re free to go,” Ms. Hoang tells him. “I’m on detention duty for the evening.” She turns to Ares with some surprise. “And what did you do to land yourself here, young man?”
“He stole a necklace,” Mr. Murphy says, but moral integrity doesn’t seem to hold very strong against the relief of clocking off, because he’s already on his way out.
“I didn’t,” Ares mutters. “TheythinkI stole a necklace.”
“Ah.” Ms. Hoang nods, like this could be a real possibility. She waves politely to Mr. Murphy. “Have a nice night, Jon. Hope you get some quality time with the kids.” When the door shuts after him, she turns back to Ares. “You’re saying you were falsely accused?” Still with the same receptive expression, sympathetic even.
And Ares feels a faint flutter of hope. Thanks to his help with the peer tutoring sessions and his consistently impressive math grades, Ms. Hoang is much nicer to him than any of the other teachers. He’d daresay that she even likes him. “Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.”
She nods slowly. “Hmm.”
Sensing an opening, Ares asks in his politest voice, a voice that doesn’t even sound like his, “Do you think I could go get my math workbooks from my locker? There’s nothing else for me to do in detention, so, you know, I might as well prepare for the next math test.”
Ms. Hoang considers him for a moment. “That sounds like a sensible idea,” she says at last.
“Thank you,” he says, with genuine gratitude. He stands, the chair screeching behind him, and heads out into the bluish light of the corridor, but he doesn’t stop at his locker. He keeps walking, his strides lengthening, phone in his hand as he calls the earliest available DiDi to take him home. He just has to hurry, and everything will be okay. He will meet Long Ge, and his brother will be safe, and there will be a fire tonight.
Chanel’s here.
Even in the darkness, even from a distance, he knows it’s her. He could recognize her just by the shape of her silhouette. The very sound of her breathing. She’s as inevitable as the future, as familiar as his own past, and for reasons he can’t possibly fathom, she’s waiting below his apartment on the night everything changes.
