Chapter 3

I just stared blankly at my inner thigh, where I'd stabbed thousands of tiny holes with a pair of compasses. Some wounds had scabbed over, and some others were still oozing a yellowish fluid.

I kept spritzing my wounds with a sweet-scented hand sanitizer spray to mask the faint smell of blood every day, but when Dad smelled it, he jumped to the conclusion that I was vaping behind his back.

"How dare you do such horrible things behind my back? Trying to act all tough like the thugs out on the street, are you? Why can't you just behave yourself for once?"

He then slapped me in the face and confiscated my phone from me. And from then on, I lost even the privilege to set an alarm to wake myself up if I really passed out.

The only thing I could do was continue stabbing myself again and again, harder, deeper, and many, many more times, just so that I could stay awake.

However, I still didn't blame Dad for it even after my death.

I knew that it must have been hard for him to raise two sons on his own, and I also knew that he was always very stressed out because of work.

I just felt it was a pity that I couldn't prove to him that I really wasn't being lazy on purpose.

The bell rang for the midday break, and students filed out of the school compound.

The hallway soon fell quiet.

There was no air-conditioning or heater in the abandoned classroom, and I had already turned cold and rigid on the floor. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, but none of its rays actually shone in through the classroom windows that were bolted shut with a metal sheet.

I began slowly counting the seconds on the clock, waiting for time to tick by.

It had been three hours since my fall. I figured that the golden window to save my life had already long passed.

A shadow approached the hallway just then, with a bright flashlight shining into the classrooms through their windows.

It was the school guard, Bruce Stark, or Mr. Stark, as we called him. He was checking the doors and windows to the classrooms while making his rounds.

As he swept the flashlight through the windows of the abandoned classroom, the light beam suddenly stilled on the floor.

Mr. Stark had seen my hand.

It was cold and pallid, my fingers still frozen in the painful spasms that had seized me before death, clutching a torn piece of my exam admission document tightly.

Mr. Stark froze. Then, he leaned closer to the glass windows to look inside.

"Hello? Is anybody inside?"

He tapped on the window and grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt.

"Hello? Is this the academic affairs office? There seems to be a student lying motionless in the abandoned classroom on the third floor."

My soul lunged toward the window, my eyes glued to his walkie-talkie.

I wanted to call for help. I wanted to ask him to open the door.

There was a static sound from the walkie-talkie. Then, Dad's cold, authoritative command as the department chair was heard.

"I was the one who locked the student up in that classroom on the third floor. You can just ignore him and move on."

Mr. Stark hesitated for a while.

"But Mr. Davies, the student looks like he's twisted on the floor at an awkward angle. Should I just go in and take a look?"

"I told you to ignore him! Nobody is allowed to open the door for him today!" Dad shouted into the receiver, his voice a whole pitch higher than usual, leaving no room for argument.

"Let him stay in there to reflect on his behavior. He won't die from starvation just from being locked up for a day."

Mr. Stark sighed and turned off his flashlight.

"Fine. You're the boss. Whatever you say, sir."

…

Steam rose from the small family-style restaurant across from our high school. Today marked the end of the final exams, and Dad had specially booked a private dining room and ordered a couple of Zeke's favorite dishes, from tacos and pizza to mac and cheese with lobster and mash.

However, my favorite plain grilled cheese was missing.

"Here, Zeke. Have some more lobster. It's good for brain development," Dad said, cutting up more of the lobster tail for him and putting it on his plate.

"Thanks, Dad!" Zeke responded with a sweet smile, passing the mac and cheese to Dad and giving him a huge scoop.

"You have to try their mac and cheese too, Dad. You've worked hard supervising the exams today too."

"It's fine. Nothing else matters as long as you get the top score in class again," Dad responded, looking at Zeke with deep affection in his eyes.

"Once your results are out, if you place first in the whole year again, I'll fulfill a wish of yours. So, tell me. What do you want?"

Zeke cocked his head to the side and thought for a while.

"I want to go to Toyland Amusement Park! My other classmates have all already been there."

"Alright. I'll take you there next week," Dad promised at once, beaming widely until even the frown lines on his face disappeared.

My soul floated in the private dining room as I watched them happily chatting and laughing with each other.

I felt a sudden chill and remembered that there was still a half-written wish in the pocket of my pants.