Jennifer stared at the page. But the equation burned. Newton's laws bent into curves. The numbers . The numbers floated like dust, light and shifting, refusing to settle. Her hand trembled slightly, fingers curled around the pen, but her mind had turned soft-a blur of heat and memory.
The classroom was silent except for the faint scratch of pens against paper. Miss Emily paced the aisles like a shadow-silent, sharp, and all-seeing. Jennifer gripped her pen tighter, but her fingers felt numb. The formula blurred again. Not because she didn't know the answer, but because her skin still remembered the whisper of last night. Her body knew too much, and the weight of it pulsed under her collar, just above the ache in her neck.
Every time Miss Emily passed, Jennifer's breath hitched. Not from fear. From the unbearable awareness that the woman who stood by the board, elegant and distant, had once been inches away-closer than any answer she could write down now.
Maria raised her hand slowly, the tip of her pen tapping the desk like a dare.
"Miss Emily," she said, "this second question-the one about kinetic friction and incline angles-the way it's phrased... it's a bit off, isn't it? The coefficient you gave doesn't quite match the setup."
A few heads turned. The room tightened.
Miss Emily looked up from her notebook without pausing. Her eyes flicked-not to Maria-but slowly across the room.
"If the question were inaccurate," she said coolly, "I believe I would've been alerted by now."
Then she paused, her voice soft but direct. "Jennifer, don't you agree?"
Jennifer's fingers tightened around her pen. Her eyes stayed on her page. She didn't look up-couldn't. A hum began in her ears, low and thick, drowning the edges of the room.
Miss Emily moved on without waiting for an answer.
"Pencils down," Miss Emily said, her voice smooth but final. "Pass your papers forward."
There was a gentle rustle-the shuffle of pages sliding across desks, the scrape of chairs shifting slightly as hands reached out. The first row stacked their sheets. The second row followed. Quiet cooperation, smooth and practiced.
Except for one.
Jennifer sat frozen, her pen still hovering above her paper. The ink had stopped flowing, but her hand hadn't. Her thoughts swam in molasses. The question in front of her blurred. She hadn't finished. She hadn't even started, really.
Her fingers clenched tighter.
A shadow fell across her desk.
The soft scent of lavender reached her first-clean, floral, unshakable.
Then came the voice.
"Have you not heard me?"
Jennifer flinched. Miss Emily stood beside her now-close. She didn't look down, but her presence pressed pressed like a weight.
Jennifer glanced up, startled.
Miss Emily's expression was unreadable. Her voice dropped just slightly, enough for Jennifer alone to catch the sharp edge in it.
"Twenty minutes were up," she said. "Hand me your paper."
Jennifer hesitated, blinking.
Her paper was black but for a shaky line and a smudged formula.
Slowly, she slid it forward, her fingers brushing Miss Emily didn't comment. She took the page in silence, her gaze unreadable, and turned away-heels clicking softly back toward her desk.
Jennifer stared down at her empty hands, pulse loud in her ears.
The bell rang sharp and final. Chairs scraped. A murmur of relief passed through the classroom like a tide breaking free.
Out in the yard, under the shade of an old Jacaranda tree, girls clustered around chipped mugs of porridge and folded slices of sweet bread. The three of them-Jennifer, Cynthia, and Angela-sat on the low concrete edge near the flowerbeds, where the breeze could still reach them.
Cynthia was the first to notice.
"You're quiet today," she said, tearing her bread in half. "Too quiet. You didn't even fight me for the best piece."
Angela chuckled. "Not like our Jennifer."
Jennifer gave a faint smile but didn't answer. Her spoon stirred the porridge slowly, over and over.
Cynthia leaned in. "Hey. Is something wrong? You look ...off."
Jennifer hesitated, her eyes flicking between them. Then she asked, her voice low, "Have you two heard of... a woman being with another woman?"
Cynthia blinked. Angela raised an eyebrow.
"You mean-" Angela started.
"A lesbian?" Cynthia finished. Her tone wasn't mocking-just surprised.
Jennifer nodded.
Angela tilted her head slightly. "Yeah, I've heard of that . Why?"
Jennifer didn't answer right away. She glanced at her untouched mug, then asked, "Have you ever met one?"
Angela and Cynthia exchanged a quick look.
"I don't think so," Cynthia said slowly. "Not here, anyway."
Jennifer's fingers tightened slightly on her spoon. "Would you ever want to meet one?"
Angela wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, no. That's disgusting."
Cynthia shifted beside her. "Why are you asking such weird questions?"
Jennifer looked down at her porridge. "I don't know. I was just curious. I've read about them...in books. Seen it in some series too. I was just wondering if it's real."
There was a silence. A thick, hanging silence.
Then Cynthia waved her spoon. "Stop overthinking things. Anyway-"her voice brightened-" did you hear? The boys from the Science Club are coming over next week for the interschool showcase."
Angela packed up her snack wrapper, brushing crumbs off her skirt. "Yeah, from St. Andrew's ," she said with a smirk. "You better be ready, Jennifer. We need someone to represent us as Miss Our Lady of Fatima again."
She leaned in a little. "Just because someone else walks around like she owns the hallway now doesn't mean we forgot who wore that crown last."
Cynthia scoffed, picking at her charcoal biscuit. "Especially not someone who only thinks she's got the beauty to match."
They laughed softly. But Jennifer didn't join in right away. Her smile came late-thoughtful, quiet.
The bell rang softly in the distance, calling students back for afternoon classes.
Jennifer, Cynthia, and Angela stepped out of the dining hall together, their plastic cups half full of warm porridge. The sun had dipped slightly, casting long shadows across the walkway.
From the opposite direction, a group of younger students-Form Twos-strolled toward them. One dragged a worn-out volleyball by her side, the others chatted and laughed in soft bursts.
Two of the girls straightened when they saw the trio. They stopped in front of Jennifer with polite nods and perfect posture.
"Good afternoon, seniors," they said in unison.
Then the taller one added shyly, "Miss Jennifer, Miss Emily is asking for you."
Jennifer blinked. "She is?"
"Yes," the second girl piped in. "She's waiting in the Physics lab."
The first girl smiled wide. "Maybe it's because you're still Miss Our Lady of Fatima, right?"
They both giggled and hurried off before anyone could answer.
Angela raised an eyebrow. "Still holding the tittle," she teased.
Jennifer didn't answer.
"Do you think she needs help with something?" Cynthia asked. "Or...is it about Physics club?"
Jennifer gave a small shrug, her expression unreadable. "No idea."
"Well," Angela said, "you better not keep her waiting. You know how she is."
Jennifer inhaled quietly. Then she turned and walked toward the lab.
She paused at the lab door, barely breathing. Inside, Miss Emily moved with precision-adjusting glass tubes, scribbling notes, tightening wires on a circuit. The click of glass and hum of voltage echoed softly. A faint trail of vapor curled above a beaker on heat.
Jennifer stepped inside.
Still, Miss Emily didn't look at her.
She stood at the center table, back turned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Her every movement was clean, exact. The white chalk board still bore the fading scrawl of formulas.
Jennifer closed the door quietly behind her. Her palms were already damp. The air in the lab felt thin.
Miss Emily spoke without turning.
"Why didn't you attempt the test?"
Jennifer said nothing.
The silence thickened.
Miss Emily's hands slowed. The stopped completely.
Jennifer's heart pounded harder.
Miss Emily turned. Her heels clicked once against the tile.
She walked forward-slowly, deliberately-until the smell of lavender hit Jennifer like a wave.
Jennifer skin flashed hot. Her breath caught. The scent was too familiar now. Too close.
Miss Emily stopped just in front of her.
So close.
Jennifer didn't dare meet her eyes. Her pulse throbbed in her neck.
Miss Emily's voice dropped lower, barely a breath against Jennifer's skin.
"It seems you remember everything."
Jennifer's heart thudded violently. Her cheeks flushed, her throat dry.
Miss Emily moved closer-close enough that the scent of lavender and warmth wrapped around her. Jennifer's knees weakened.
Then, Miss Emily reached out. Slowly. Deliberately.
Her fingers grazed Jennifer's collarbone, just below the edge of the blouse. The spot where she had applied the cream.
"It worked," she murmured. "The swelling...it's gone."
Jennifer didn't move. Couldn't.
Miss Emily leaned in. Her lips parted-soft, precise-her mouth drawing nearer to the curve of Jennifer's neck.