"WHY ARE WE AT THE elementary school?"

Due to my surprise, I stop moving and simply gape at the child-made artwork and pot plants in the foyer. Funny how on the day I'm supposed to be ditching, I end up back in school. Just not my own.

Derek looks over his shoulder at me, saying simply, "I teach here."

"How are you qualified to? You're still in high school."

"Age is just a number." The receptionist doesn't even question Derek's presence as we walk by. She even goes as far as to smile at him.

"Having a nice day, Derek?" she asks.

"I suppose so. It's been very entertaining." His eyes glimmer at me when he signs me as his guest.

When I look at Derek, I see a very private, very destructive teenage boy, blackmailes by some insecurity of his. How could any adult look at him and see a man mature enough to teach children? How? Luckily, the school is in the middle of a period. From an outsider's perspective, the place seems to be resting.

Since Derek clearly knows where he is going, I walk quickly to keep up with Derek's long strides, peering curiously in each classroom. Deeper into the halls, there's a clear transition when we reach the music department. The walls stop being creamy white, and start accumulating a layer of music posters and signs.

The classes here are filled with students playing instruments or working on music theory. Derek skips multiple doors until he reaches the end of the hallway, and unlocks the room there. Damn. Do they trust this guy with a key?

The small room is dark, cold, smells of dust. Derek's silhouette is moving along the wall, hands outstretched for a light switch. Then the heater. He looks over his shoulder at me, hesitantly positioned by the door, as if to say you coming? I hurry into the room, shutting the door behind me as the air pump whirs to life.

There's a handful of music stands and chairs in the corner, guitar fingerings charts and pictures of music icons pinned to the wall. Inspirational quotes about music. "I'm guessing you teach algebra," I smirk.

Derek chuckles. "Totally."

"Do people know you do this?"

"No." Derek says warningly, "And I'd like to keep this out of the gossip column, too."

I roll my eyes. We both know I'm a girl of my word. But I can't help wondering what about this warrants so much secrecy. Is this why Derek ditches school so often? "Why?"

"This is just something too personal to share."

I frown. "I don't understand."

"You don't need to," Derek says, setting three music stands out in a semicircle. A chair behind each one. I pick up the guitar Derek brought into the room and pass it to him.

"Can I hear you play?"

"I've got a lesson in five minutes, Sophie."

Wryly, I tell him, "Most songs are only four minutes."

His eyes narrow at me, not with anger, but with something more along the lines of curiosity. "Fine. One four-minute song, coming right up."

He takes a seat in one of the chairs, propping the guitar on his knee, comfortably hunched over it. I stay standing, leaning my hip against the wall.

And, as I expected, he plays phenomenally. His fingers pluck a steady ballad, which I didn't expect to get much better. But then he starts singing, and I might have to hate this guy, but for one day I can simply listen to his voice and just die happily.

We still have time before his lesson when he finishes, and I regard him with impressed eyes. He knows all I have to say, so I remain silent, letting the seconds dance past us.

The door opens. My eyes shift toward the sound, and land on two children, both around ten years of age and carrying miniature guitars in cases.

"Hi, Derek!" the boy greets.

"Hey, Amish." And just like that, everything I thought I knew about Derek catches fire and burns in front of my eyes as I watch him interact with these two endearing kids. He's smiling, would you believe it? And laughing. "Did you guys practice the pieces I gave you—"

Why couldn't we all know this Derek, instead of a guy with half a soul?

I'm still unaccustomed to seeing Derek smile so animatedly, but I watch, mesmerised, as he talks. "—that's awesome. You and Nella can play it for me at the end, hm?"

Amish unpacks his tiny, ridiculously cute guitar and book, passing the instrument to Derek. He tunes it quickly, strums it a bit, hands it back, and repeats the process with the girl's guitar before sitting down. Nella, the girl, regards me warily.

Derek smiles at me, which is so unsettling in itself that I find myself smiling back out of uncertainty. "Sophie, this is Nella, and Amish."

"Hi," Nella replies politely, in one long syllable.

Derek turns to me. I've faced his dark eyes many times before, but this time, it's like I'm looking down a vortex straight to the bottom of the ocean. I can see his heart, his loves, his fears. He's opened up around these children.

"This is Sophie, a friend of mine." Oh, we're friends now, are we? He nods to tell me to go along with it. "She's here to provide some musical expertise."

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As he packs up his guitar, Derek looks over to me. "Why are you smirking?"

"You are a massive softie," I coo sweetly. The irritated glower on Derek's face only makes me speak more excitedly. "I know why you don't want anyone knowing about this. Derek Hale, classical music afficionado and friend to small children. You're a walking marshmallow. Charred black on the outside. A veritable bore— I mean, smore."

He rolls his eyes, straightening up from the floor and swinging the case onto his back. "That's your opinion."

Nella and Amish were only the first of a litany of children that came to see him today. After their thirty-minute lesson, during which Derek taught them simplified Pachelbel and Mozart, another group of older students came in. They played harder music, but nothing compared to what I know he can do. Half an hour later, they were replaced with children just younger than Luke's age.

And through it all, Derek was a perfect image of joy and laughter.

"It's not a bad thing," I admit, while we walk out of school. "It's super cute, actually."

"I'm glad you think I'm cute."

Unfazed at his jab, I continue, "I do, actually. Why wouldn't you want people to know? Really."

"This again?" Derek asks flatly.

"Yes, this again. What's with the secrecy?"

"Because I have a reputation to live up to," he murmurs hushedly. "People don't like to be proven wrong in their assumptions, and I'm not about to cause drama in my last year of high school."

"It wouldn't cause drama," I scoff. Who would have thought the uncaring Derek Hale cares so much about his own image? "I think people would admire your talent, especially because you're helping kids."

"Then, you think society is nicer than it actually is."

"You think society is full of people like Brittany."

His eyebrow arches. "Isn't it?"

"Ha! I choose to believe that it isn't." He's really not as untouchable as he makes out.

"Look, I'm just doing this for a little extra money. Why make a big deal out of a simple part-time job?"

I sigh, acknowledging that Derek's secrets are once again locked in a vault once he leaves the presence of his students. "Alright. Good for you."

Nothing more fascinating has happened to me this week than seeing Derek shy about something. I didn't think he'd even share much with me in the first place. I can now see two lights shining on him: the image he shows everyone on Brittany's command — and the real Derek.

This part of him is approachable and bashful, yet willing to talk. Of course, the shadow of his alterego is still hanging over me. The overlap of shadow and light is the murky undercurrent I'm seeing Derek through, with a lot of bad parts and the promise of some hidden goodness.

For a moment, all I can see is Derek's interest in classical music, his childhood dreams of musicianship, and the self-aware shyness that lies under his impervious veneer. It completely disorients me. My internal compass is reeling, spinning erratically from one point to another, leaving me wondering if this is really bully versus bullied anymore.

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Time really is a river.

And by that, I mean that time is ever-flowing, unstoppable, and it's done an annoyingly thorough job of eroding my pride. All the stubbornness that was preventing me from mending things between Benjamin and me has washed away, leaving a fair amount of regret and longing. I just miss him.

I almost forgot about the whole thing during the time I spent with Derek. I've had a day of escape from the tension between us and a weekend to simmer away my hurt. Now the uncertainty about what we are going to do if Benjamin does leave the Revolution leaves a tense air around our friend group. With so much at stake, my brain is telling me to choose my battles. I stand by my reasoning, but — just to get my friend back — it's due time I apologised.

I catch Benjamin in the hallway near the gymnasium.

"Hi," I greet, warmth oozing from my voice.

Benjamin slows, realising I am at his side. "Hello."

"About the other day. I'm sorr—"

"Don't you have Home Ec. now?" he says absently. My eyebrows raise. I do indeed have Home Ec. but I only recalled that now. "Why are you on this side of the school?"

My heart squeezes. I wish he didn't guard himself around me. I wish we could speak freely with each other like we used to. Admittedly, the last time he spoke freely around me, I disagreed and threw his words back at him but he shot back, too. Could we just erase that day?

"I knew you were headed this way, so I decided to take the long way to class."

"Well, I hope you enjoy the walk."

Then, he redirects his focus in front of him. It's so awkward between us. He is acting like an unfamiliar acquaintance of mine, ignoring me and swerving around people in the hallways without looking back to see if we've gotten separated. I feel like I've entered a deep freeze.

I grab his sleeve. "Benjamin, wait."

"Yes?" he asks robotically.

"Why are we like this? I hate the silence between us. I'm so sorry for not hearing you out and diminishing your opinion. That's not what good friends do. Especially not on such an important day. I'm sorry."

I'll admit, I took the time to piece together my apology and rehearse it in my head. Even as I say it, a small part of me questions if I want to be genuine or just want to sound genuine. A larger part thinks I'm the one who deserves the apology. Who deserves being chased and fought for.

And Benjamin is not fooled. "I'm sorry, too. Next time, I will be sure to keep my spoilt ambitions to myself."

"Don't," I plead. "I want to hear your ambitions. That time was a stupid one-off. I promise I won't react so harshly anymore when you tell me personal things about you."

Benjamin sighs and repeats his own rehearsed apology, "I'm not mad at you anymore. You are entitled to an opinion, and you shouldn't apologise for voicing it when I did the same. I know what you said is what you think, and I shouldn't have been insulted just because your ideas conflicted with mine."

"Um." In fear of detonating another fight, I let my next words trickle out slowly. "You are being... suspiciously understanding about this."

Benjamin clears his throat. "I've thought about this a lot. And, Delaney may have told me to patch things up and not to force our friends to pick sides."

"Sounds like her," I chuckle.

"And, I might have come to conclusion that I'm not as smart as I thought I was."

"Oh?"

"Smart people don't prioritise competitions and medals over their friends. I really didn't want to face that about myself, but I'm glad you made me. You're more important than all that. It was really stupid that I ever thought otherwise."

My heart squeezes in my chest, and then pops and whirls around my ribcage like a helium balloon. Fuck, yes. I struggle to keep a smile blossoming on my face. With feigned suspicion, I ask, "What about your beloved valedictorian's trophy?"

"Even that. Though, I don't think it's at odds to you, at all."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I thought my attention was a zero-sum game, but strangely—" Benjamin gives me a lopsided smile, turning his head away from me when he next speaks. "—being on good terms with you makes me study better. The opposite makes my brain go to pieces."

"Strange," I echo, my grin finally bursting onto my face like sun rays.

Our eyes hold each other one beat longer than a casual glance. Ben nods bashfully. "Yeah."