The end of the world started when I stepped foot inside the premises of that goddamn school.

I remember the air was humid, autumn had just poured its way in and everyone seemed to already get a hang of it.

Well, everyone except me.

The place was magnetic, drawing you in like a shipwrecked sailor to the sound of a siren. It had everything you ever dream about a school. Furnished classrooms with ACs, indoor swimming pools, icecream parlours and state of the art canteens, and my most favourite, a canopy of trees where birds sat judging the basketball game.

It was everything.

St. John Bosco High School was the epitome of privilege.

If you were a part of it, you were respected in society ; applauded for having cracked the entrance, patted on the back for being able to keep up with it. It was charismatic, I'll give it that.

And I, like everyone else, was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

What I didn't know then (perhaps i should've known) that flames have a way of catching and I was no superwoman.

The moment I stepped in through the gates, it was like the outside world just paused. Or muted itself. My father's voice drowned in the cacophony of the new world I was in.

And that's when my eyes caught sight of her.

My beloved best friend and the girl that ultimately twisted the knife on my back.

My very own Brute.

My Bernadette.

________________

Arm in arm, she led me towards my personal hell and I didn't even know.

There's a thing about trust that people don't get. It's a fragile little thing, too easy to break. Yet, all people crave for in this rotten world is trust.

Pathetic.

The seventeen stairs leading up to the hallway on the third floor wasn't the hard part. The hard part was coming face to face with what I then thought, was my new "safe haven" ; class 11 E.

How do I describe in words what 11 E was for?

From the outside, it seemed like your average classroom. Chairs and benches stacked in unison , a whiteboard, a duster, posters of positive thoughts and quotes, and the bubbling chatter of the fresh batch of freshers.

So normal, so average.

And yet, class 11E had managed to etch into my brain like permanent ink on paper.

As soon as I stepped into class, the glimmer of someone's watch caught my eye and I turned to look at who it was. A sly smile, an almost grin, and a short wave.

Miles Montgomery.

He invited me like an old friend. I rolled my eyes. That was us.

A little backstory here; Miles and I were next door neighbours since we were 4. We had practically seen each other's every phase. I often used to tutor him whenever he needed help with math. In return, he would tell me all the gossip about the neighborhood we lived in.

It was a pure transactional friendship.

Up until he did what he did. But that's a tale for later.

As Bernadette and I made our way towards the bench next to Miles' seat, a few guys glanced our way. Well, our way would be incorrect. They looked at Bernadette.

Bernadette Miller was the kind of girl you think of when you think of the word 'pretty'. With her coltish ballet dancer frame, lucious blonde curls and doe eyes, Bernadette knew she was pretty. She was just the kind of girl people write poems about.

Me, not so much.

I wasn't conventionally attractive. In fact, I hardly ever put any effort into my looks despite my mother's constant indiscretions about it. I never felt the need to look anything more than decent.

Studying in an all girls school for a decade had solidified that habit.

Bernadette was different. She liked dressing up and being approached for her looks. At times, she would act a bit dumb on purpose so guys would linger around her a bit more and give her the validation she needed.

Because what do men love more than mansplaining?

Once we adjusted ourselves and our stuff in the seat, Miles turned to me. "Are you excited to finally get some opposite gender action?"

My nose scrunched up in disgust. "Really? Is that really the first question that you could've thought of asking me on my first day?"

"What?" He shrugged. "Stop acting all high and mighty for once in your life, Cairo."

I puckered my lips. "No thank you. Just because I'm surrounded by boys now, doesn't mean I have to lose my personality."

Little did I know, it wasn't just my personality I was about to lose.

Miles mouthed a 'whatever'.

"Who's your friend?" He asked next, his eyes lingering on Bridget who was busy talking to the other girls from class.

"Her name is Bernadette." I said. "And no, you cannot bed her."

"I didn't even say-"

"Your eyes say enough."

"Why in the world are you looking into my eyes?" He leaned over. At the time, I never really thought much of it but he always seemed to attempt to flirt with me.

"Ew. I have better things to do." I retorted.

"Uh-huh?" He leaned closer.

I gave him a sardonic smile. Just then, the teacher entered and her eyes immediately caught sight of the lack of space between him and I.

"I see we've already made friends with the opposite gender here." Came her first words. Miles immediately moved back and I hung my head low in embarrassment.

Little context here, St. John Bosco High was a catholic school. When it had first opened its doors in 1967, it was an all boys convent. However, around the early 2000s, the school had decided to transform it into a co-ed school.

Yet, the rigid mindset of the authorities never really changed.

The male teachers were cool. All they ever cared for was that everyone respected them like they were god's descendents. But the female teachers, on the other hand, had made it their life goal to keep the two genders as separate as possible despite us sitting in the same classroom.

They hated seeing any male-female interaction. They considered it a sin.

We were advised to tie our hair properly, because apparently keeping our hair loose would attract boys' attention. We had to tuck our shirts in, keep our nails short, never wear any makeup, and maintain our decency at all times lest the boys get distracted.

You must be thinking, what kind of ancient century school was this?

Well, convents are an experience of their own.

Anyways, back to the story, as the teacher went on with her orientation program, I scanned the faces around me. After all, these were the people who were gonna be my friends for the next two years of my life. I needed to scope out my people.

As I kept looking, my gaze landed on a guy sitting in the last bench of the classroom. He had his eyes trained over his fingers as he absentmindedly kept tapping his nails on the table. With glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose, jet black curls sitting like a crown atop his head and pouty lips, the guy looked like every girl's dream.

I leaned over to Miles and whispered. "Yo, who's that guy over there?"

He looked at me then at the guy and then back at me and gave a sly smile. "Why?"

"Just answer the question."

He coughed. "He's out of your league."

I gave him a poker face. "Do you want me to break your nose on the first day of school?"

"Fine." He shrugged. "His name is Damian Vos."

Even the name sounded exotic, didn't it?

"But like I said," he continued. "He's wayyy out of your league."

"Shut up before I make you."

He quieted down, looking away. I looked back at Damian and a slow smile appeared on my face.

Seventeen year old Cairo was so ready to make that boy hers.

But little did she know that not everything that glitters is gold.

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shipwreck of a chapter but anywho-

this short story will contain not more than 13 chapters.

hopefully it'll be a short but sweet ride.

xoxo,
Bosedisha