Celeste

Studying as a young student shapes who I am and who I’m becoming. I sit at my desk, repeating the words out loud as the audiobook plays, trying to keep my voice steady. Mr. Dominic listens intently, his eyes following my lips, and when I finish, he nods. “Your accent and intonation are improving,” he says, but then his expression shifts, a mix of stern and encouraging. “There are still some words you’re struggling with.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a USB flash drive. “Here, I downloaded some educational movies. Watch them; they’ll help boost your confidence and learning.”

“Thank you, sir.” I take the USB from his hand and carefully tuck it into a pocket in my school bag. As I start packing up my books, my eyes fall on the small box holding the black tie I bought as a gift for Mr. Dominic—a thank you for helping me with my studies. I planned to give it to him today, and now seems like the perfect time.

I walk up to him, stretching my hand toward him with the box. He turns around, his face tightening. “What is this?” he asks, his voice deeper than usual.

“It’s a thank-you gift,” I say quietly. “For helping me… Please accept it.”

He stares at the box in my hand, and a frown forms on his face. “Celeste, I’m not that cheap. I can’t take presents from students. What if someone misunderstands?”

I don’t even think before I respond, my voice sharp. “What is there to misunderstand? I said it’s a gift of gratitude! Why can’t you just take it?”

His jaw tightens. “Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for me, stupid.” The words hit me like ice, and I feel my cheeks burn with a mix of shock and humiliation. “I only helped you because I’m your teacher,” he adds, his tone sharp. “And don’t ever raise your voice at me.”

A strange laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it, and he looks taken aback, his hand still resting on a stack of books. “I still hate you,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “I just wanted to say thank you… Is that so wrong?” I try to blink away the tears, but one slips free and rolls down my cheek.

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, an awkward silence hangs between us, growing thicker with each passing second. His blue-gray eyes soften, just a little, as if he’s about to say something, but when he reaches out and grabs my wrist, I jerk away as though burned. I snatch up my books and bolt out of the classroom without looking back, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I can't believe I let myself be so vulnerable.

The bus ride home feels like a blur of humiliation and anger. As soon as I get inside, I throw my bag down and head to my room. I change into my favorite One Direction fan shirt and a pair of palazzo jeans, pulling my hair up into a messy ponytail. I need to clear my head. I need to focus on something—anything—else.

That’s when I remember the rats. The ones I found hiding in my wardrobe last week. I managed to trap them, a mother and her seven pups, and I’ve kept them in a small cage ever since. Now seems as good a time as any to get back to my impromptu dissection.

I lay out a clean sheet of paper on my study table and line up the rats in a row, tagging each one with a scrap of cell tape. I pick up the small knife and start with the mother rat. Her fur is coarse, her body stiff, but I try to keep my hands steady as I explore her insides, matching each organ to the diagram in my biology textbook. My hands move mechanically, and for a moment, I forget everything else—until a loud knock snaps me out of my focus.

“Celeste, dinner’s ready,” Uncle Kunle calls out from the hallway, his voice edged with curiosity.

“I’m busy!” I shout back, irritation flaring. Why does he always interrupt when I’m finally getting into something?

“I made pizza and Mediterranean salad,” he says, trying to coax me out.

“I said I’m busy,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intend. He knocks again, harder this time.

“Are you messing with your specimens again?” There’s concern in his voice now. “Did something happen at school today?”

“No, nothing happened,” I lie, my voice wavering slightly. “I just… I just need to be alone. Give me thirty minutes.” I listen as his footsteps fade away, leaving me in a tense silence.

I let out a shaky breath and stare at the half-dissected rat on the table. The room feels colder, and the faint smell of formalin hangs in the air. My fingers tremble as I reach for the knife again, but I hesitate, my thoughts drifting back to Mr. Dominic’s words.

How am I supposed to face him after what happened? What if… What if he really thinks I’m some stupid, lovesick girl? The thought makes my stomach twist, and I grip the knife tighter.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the desk, startling me. It’s a message from an unknown number. I wipe my hands and unlock the screen, my pulse quickening as I read the text:

“I know what you did. And it’s not over.”

A smirk face emoji follow.

I drop the phone, my breath catching in my throat. What is this? Who sent it? And how do they know…