Alisa tried to focus on making the streaky marker write better on the blackboard. Painstakingly, she willed her mind to process the question faster, stumbling through formulas as she underlined an answer she knew was wrong. Behind her, Mr. Velasquez stood, his index finger pushed up against the bridge of his glasses. His downcast eyes gave the impression that he was deep in thought. Yet—even without looking at him—she felt the brown of his irises burrow themselves into the back of her knees, just below where her skirt ended.
She shifted from one foot to the other, eyes glued to her scuffed Mary Janes. Muffled laughter from the back of the classroom made her turn around in defeat.
“Well, that was a good try, Ms. Marquez,” her teacher’s eyes crinkled, crow’s feet deepening. He took the marker from her hand, fingertips lingering on hers just a second too long. The smile on his face was too wide for her liking, almost as if she could see her reflection on each tooth. If she stared long enough, she could still see pieces of herself stuck between his gums. “I would be glad to offer extra assistance again after class if you need certain points cleared up.”
The hold she had on the backrest of her seat stiffened. Without a second thought, she dug her palms into the wood, forcing the metal legs of her chair to scrape against tile as she jerked it back. This silenced the room momentarily, Mr. Velasquez narrowing his eyes at her, his bushy, graying eyebrows creasing his forehead.
“Remember to lift your chair when you—”
“May I go to the bathroom?” Alisa flashed him a sheepish grin, the corners of her mouth not meeting her eyes. The way she puffed her chest out hurt her lower back, but she knew this was vital for getting permission. For a split second, the older man’s gaze fell upon the ends of the ribbon dangling from her collar.
“Just make it quick.”
In a blink of an eye, she was up. The squeak of her shoes against the polished concrete was the only sound booming out in the hallway. Passing by filled classrooms, her eyes swept over the backs of heads tilted towards worksheets and textbooks. For one room, she lingered a little bit longer, chewing on her bottom lip as she observed Micah.
She was a girl three classrooms away from them. They looked similar—a small, rounded nose, overgrown bangs tucked behind their ears, and dark hair that shone brown in the sun. She looked so small in her desk, especially with Mr. Abad’s figure bent over her shoulder. His lips were uttering something inaudible, his hand pointing toward something in her book.
Even from outside the classroom, Alisa saw the way Micah’s shoulders were stiffly straightened. She was digging the tip of her pen into her thumb, unnoticed by the man behind her. Wordlessly, her gaze snapped towards Alisa. At that moment, the girl outside the classroom remembered that Micah was in Mr. Velasquez’s morning class. They would see each other right after dismissal—when Micah was done with tutoring sessions just when Alisa’s were about to begin.
A wave of understanding passed between the both of them. With a subtle nod, Alisa made her way to the bathroom, locking herself in the farthest stall. She sat on the broken toilet seat, bringing her feet to rest at the ends of the bowl. The cigarette tucked in her left tube sock was quickly fished out and lighted.
Despite the sharp stench that permeated throughout the stalls, she had already planned on waiting the class out. Expelling smoke into the graffiti-carved door at least calmed her down—even though only for a while. She thought about her previous terms, all the way back to when she was in eleventh grade—when it all started.
If she hadn’t failed that major exam, perhaps she wouldn’t be the way she is now. Mr. Velasquez had taken her aside then—the first instance of what will be many. The memory felt like a patchwork of moments now, like she was reliving it through a broken tape.
“Your grade will surely be 74. You’ll definitely have to retake, maybe even lose the scholarship. Well… Unless…”
An almost imperceptible skittering broke her trance. With one last huff, she quickly stubbed out the cigarette before slowly opening the stall door. She held her breath, looking at the bottom of the other stalls just in case another pair of feet was there, just in case someone caught a whiff of the smoke. Instead, a thin tail crossed her sight.
A small mouse scampered on the floor, hiding behind the stall fixtures every few steps. Alisa rose, cautiously enamored by it. Its small ears twitched, snout pressed on the concrete floor as it followed whatever scent it caught. Finally, it stopped underneath the row of sinks. Sniffing the area where the floor met the wall, it stilled, whiskers twitching. Upon hearing the school bell ringing, it seized up, skittering into a hole meant for plumbing.
Alisa sighed, feeling an anchor sinking deeper into the pits of her stomach. In an attempt to delay the inevitable, she crouched down, hoping to stifle her curiosity in the meantime. From where the mouse paused, she saw a trail of white powder leading into the hole it disappeared into.
She stood up, moving to peer into the wastebasket. After kicking it a few times to shuffle its contents around, she finally saw what she was looking for. The vibrant red and yellow of the slim, cardboard box peeked through used tissues.
Ratiphol. Quick and easy death.
By the time she had reached the classroom, Mr. Velasquez had already sat on the chair next to hers. His arm was slung around the back of her chair, hand fiddling with the keychain on her backpack. The stupid “No. 1 Teacher” mug sat in front of him. The sound of Alisa clearing her throat brought his attention to her.
“You’re late, Alisa.” His toothy grin was back. “We’d have to make this quick, you’re already making me late for dinner with the Missus.”
He let out a wheeze. Alisa forced a weak chuckle through her lips—masking fear with politeness. Before she sat down, she pouted exaggeratedly, widening her eyes more than usual. “Sir, do you have an extra pen I could borrow?”
“Ah, let me get one for you. I do warn you, my desk is a mess.”
With his back turned to her, she took her handkerchief from her pocket, unfolding it over the half-filled mug. The white powder bobbed up and down in the coffee before sinking. She grabbed the handle, swishing its contents until the start of a whirlpool formed. Wriggling it a bit more, she set it down, praying that the liquid would calm in time. Behind her, Mr. Velasquez had shut his desk drawer.
“Okay. No more distractions,” he winked at her, settling back into his seat. His arm was pressed next to hers. She was still looking at his mug. “Alisa, eyes here.”
He pressed a calloused thumb on her cheek, turning her head to face the textbook. Finally, he grabbed his mug, taking a long sip.
Alisa couldn’t help but smile.
