one.

. . .

"Evans," my teacher commented, placing the graded essay face down on my desk. The coffee-stained back of my hastily done essay glared at me, the claw of the staple twisted on the creased upper right-hand corner of the stack, and I braced myself before flipping it over.

Papers placed face down on a student's desk meant a failing grade.

"Ma'am," I looked up at her, my hand hovering on my paper.

"Stay a bit after class, I just want to discuss something with you really quickly, alright?" She smiled, the crow's feet becoming more pronounced at her gesture. I gave her a nod and relaxed back in my chair; once she started talking, it was hard to get her to stop. I'd be here for a while.

The class filtered out of the room, curious glances thrown my way and I pretended to pick at my nails to avoid making eye contact with anyone. The fact that I had been held back in class would spread like wildfire among the Senior class of Central High School. Our grade was small compared to others, a measly 300 of us made up the graduating class. Rumors fared well and social status plummeted depending on who was the victim. It didn't help that the teacher who held me back had a reputation.

I slid down in my seat, leaning my head back on the connected chair. Deciding to make like Nike and just do it, I quickly sat erect and flipped the essay over.

The F was circled neatly on the left-hand corner of my paper, the extra accessory blending in with all the other red markings. I let out a small breath, raising my eyebrows in disbelief. I knew I wasn't the best of students, but this F was a bit excessive, in my humble opinion.

"I just wanted to go over your essay, Willa," the teacher nodded to the papers in my hand, and I looked up to her pulling a chair in front of me. "Your thesis was extremely well thought out; however, I noticed that you had some difficulty connecting your body paragraphs to the thesis statement. Have you noticed that as well?"

I chewed the outside of my bottom lip, embarrassed that she caught onto my weakness. Letting out a sheepish "yeah," I shrugged.

"What steps have you taken to help yourself understand this idea better?" She asked, her smile warm.

"Uh," I stumbled over my thoughts. "I haven't exactly sought out help."

"And that's completely okay," she nodded, the expression on her face genuine. "Don't be afraid to come ask me for help, okay?"

"It was just this paper, though," I defended, my words coming out sharper than I intended them to. "I can normally connect my thoughts. I was out of it when I did this, I'll be honest," I quickly added on to soften the harshness of the previous sentence.

"You're a bright kid, Willa," she stood up, brushing her pantsuit. "I just wanted to check in because this paper was a surprise."

"Thanks," I said as I stood up, messily brushing my papers into my backpack. "But I got this. There is no need to worry about me."

She looked surprised for a bit, the expression freezing on her face before easing into a contemplative look. Deciding not to say it out loud, she shook her head lightly. "All right, all right, get outta here," she jokingly said in a Boston accent. I threw up deuces and began walking to the closest exit.

I needed to smoke.

. . .

"Well, shave me bald and call me Dr. Phil; if it isn't Willa Evans," I froze at the slow drawl behind me, my hands clenching the lighter in my pocket. I bit the inside of my cheek. Maybe if I walked away and removed myself from the situation-

"C'mon, I know you heard me," the lazy drawl crawled up my spine and wrapped around my bones. I stiffly turned around, plastering a fake ass smile on my face. My eyes were bloodshot, red, and swollen and my patience was at its lowest.

"That's not even the fucking phrase," the words involuntarily stumbled out and I closed my dry eyes. Here we go.

"Alright, but isn't that what White folks normally say when they're shocked?" He raised his eyebrow and all I wanted to do in that moment was rip the smile right off his lips.

"Leave me alone, Delgado," I muttered, turning around and briskly walking away.

"Nah," he jogged up to my side, lightly grabbing my wrist. "I just caught the Willa Evans sneaking back onto campus, reeking of weed and cigs- c'mon baby girl, talk to me. What's got you so tight that you have to smoke a combination of both to get through the school day?"

"I said," I snarled, yanking my hand from his, "leave me the fuck alone."

He let out a bark of laughter, the sounds contrasting from his happy-go-lucky personality. Giving me a searing look from my dirty blonde hair to the bottom of my scuffed converse, he suddenly invaded my personal bubble. I opened my mouth to verbally lash out when he dropped a proverbial bomb on me:

"I will once your mother stops harassing my old man."

"What do you mean?" I instantly snapped back, my mood sour. "I don't even know where she's at anymore." The combination of weed and cigarettes certainly did not help the hate slowly churning within my veins.

"You heard me," Delgado sneered back, the snarky cadence sounded wrong coming from him. Mateo Delgado was the resident jokester; nasty words did not come out from his mouth.

I was reckless.

"Maybe if your whore of a mother didn't fuck up my ma's life then w-"

"Take that back, Evans." Delgado took a threatening step forward, his eyes hard, his mouth a firm line.

"Why? It's true, isn't it?" I carelessly laughed, spreading my hands out and taking a step backwards. "Everyone in this goddamned town knows how bad Amaya Sawyer had it for Richard Delgado, even though he was in a long-fucking-term relationship with Faith Evans, his high school sweetheart and her best-fucking-friend."

He took another step forward and I continued to step back, winking. The drugs gave me liquid courage. I could say what I wanted to without any instant regrets. Those would come later.

"Aaannnnd, with full knowledge that Richard Delgado would marry Faith Evans after high school, Amaya Sawyer sabotaged their relationship by fucking him at prom," I threw my head back and maniacally laughed. "Something about white women stealing Black men or some shit. She went ahead to take matters into her own fucking hands and single-handedly fucked up four people's lives."

By the end of my rant, I was breathing heavily and there were tears in my dry eyes.

"So, before you go holier-than-thou and bitch at me about my ma, Delgado, you should remind yourself how the fuck you were even conceived."

At this point, Mateo looked almost as furious as the blood that ran in my veins and I felt a tinge of regret for my word vomit. That tinge disappeared the moment my drugged induced mind realized that they were true words that were thought and never spoken. I just saved everyone time and headache by saying them out loud.

Delgado quickly closed the gap between us, getting down in my face, his eyes glinting. "Careful, Evans. Don't say shit if all you can do is bark, bitch."

I let out a bark of laughter, wiped the tears leaking from the corner of my eyes, and sneered, "What? You hit girls like your old man?"

At this, I saw him clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I'm just gonna pretend that this isn't you, but the drugs talking. You're normally not this big of a bitch," he took a couple of steps back, exhaling forcefully, visibly trying to calm himself down.

I pursed my lips. "Whatever makes you sleep at night, baby," I drawled like him, trying to mask the hiccupping that came with trying to hold in my sobs.

He was about to verbally retaliate when a loud ping! had him taking his phone out and quickly skimming the notification. The bright light of the screen illuminated his face and he looked annoyed at whatever he was reading. He paused for a second before putting his phone back into his pocket.

Looking back at me, he gave me another heated look before shaking his head. "As much as I would love to set you straight on the bullshit story your mom told you, I have more important things to do."

He turned and began walking out of the hallway, leaving me to stare at his retreating back.

I don't know how long I stood there for, but a bony hand on my shoulder shook me out of my reverie.

"Willa?" My teacher asked, her concern filled voice breaking the trance I was in.

"Huh," I blinked, the dryness stinging my eyes. "I'm good."

"Are you sure?" She persisted. "I've been calling your name for quite a while, now."

"Don't worry about it," I dismissed her concern. "I was just lost in thought."

"And your interaction with Mr. Delgado was part of that thought?"

"Mrs.," her name didn't come to my drugged-up mind, so I just continued. "What do you know about Delgado and me?"

"What do you mean?" She raised her eyebrows. "You're both students of mine."

"Stop pussyfooting-"

"Willa!" Her eyes grew wide and her voice raised in pitch at my usage of the word.

"Sorry," I unapologetically threw back. The drugs within me wanted to share info that sober me would've fought tooth and nail to keep to myself.

"But you're just hovering over the issue instead of dealing with it head on. Delgado and I have had issues since the day we were born, no high school or amount of time will fix our shit history." Scratching the back of my neck, I shrugged at her surprised expression. "The whole town knows the story, dunno why you're so shaken up about it."

"Well, I suppose I didn't realize the severity of it," she supplied. Nodding at her words, I shrugged again.

"Like you say in class, ignorance is not an excuse, right?" With that statement, I took my leave; I needed to get out of this goddamned school.

---

word count: 1721

edit 12/7: jack pililaau is how i imagine mateo delgado.