Chapter Seven: Principle Trouble

Josh entered the hallway, but to his surprise, his hand went weak, as if he were carrying a heavy burden.

As he spotted the swarming bees of students—who looked remarkably familiar to him—he straightened his posture. He made sure that everything was perfect: his eyes were steady, his hair was immaculate, and his expression was cold and composed.

He stepped forward toward the group of students who were trying to get information from him. A girl stepped out from behind her classmates to speak to him.

"Hi, may I know who the student council president is at this school?" she asked.

Josh perked up. He was, after all, the president. He expected the students to ask him about the prestige of the position or the weight of his responsibilities.

"Um, I can assure you that you are speaking directly to the president himself," he said, giving the girl a sharp wink. Her face lit up with joy, and a faint crimson blush crept up her cheeks.

"Sorry, I didn't know, Mr. President."

Her voice was soft and high-pitched—it grated against Josh’s nerves, making his ears ring.

Once again, the nicknames began to vandalize his composure, and the anger that had been simmering began to bloom.

“Hey ladies. Oh, hey there, Mr. President.”

Tristan’s voice came out of nowhere as he dropped a broad arm onto Josh’s shoulder. Josh’s mind went into a void; the physical sensation of Tristan’s touch caused a total blackout to spread through his veins, chilling his blood. His heart leaped into his throat. He managed to control his shaking hand long enough to swat Tristan’s arm away.

He turned toward Tristan, his brows twitching. He could feel the impostor syndrome creeping up, flushing his face a deep, heated red.

“You are the Vice President. You should act professional among these students,” Josh commanded. He unleashed the power of his voice, trying to break down Tristan’s smug smirk. Tristan only bit his natural red lip.

“You’re right. Sorry, okay?” Tristan answered, as both boys turned their attention back to the students from the other school who were watching the tension unfold.

“Okay. Done with the drama, lovebirds?” the girl who had asked the initial question quipped.

“We are not lovebirds. Just call us by our names. I’m Josh, the council president,” Josh said proudly, his jaw set in a permanent line.

“And I’m the vice-president!” Tristan yelled, ensuring he stayed at the center of the atmosphere.

“We are really sorry for the intrusion. We just really needed this report,” said the girl, who had introduced herself as Glenda.

Josh sat straight, his lips pressed thin. He focused his sight on her, eager to impress—more so than Tristan.

“It’s totally fine. This is not a waste of time, anyway,” Josh spoke aloud.

“Yes, that’s right. You asked permission from the principal and the teachers, correct?” Tristan interjected.

“Yep, we surely did! We’re just gathering data on how your school functions, including the cleanliness standards,” Glenda explained. For thirty minutes, they answered questions. It was a delicate, luxurious, and sharp dance of words.

But then, the final question hit Josh like a brick to the pavement.

“So, the last question is… as officers with such busy agendas, how do you handle relationships? Or do you even have one?”

The question shattered Josh’s world. It threw him off script, and his stomach twisted. He had never been able to date one of those pretty cheerleaders—not that he wanted to. His life was built on studies and grades; those were his priorities, not romance.

“I handle them as well as I can handle you,” Tristan flirted with Glenda, who let out a sharp, amused chuckle. “I’m joking, of course. Now, what about you, Mr. President Josh?”

Tristan leaned in, his teeth white and shiny, his lips forming a silent string between them.

“Hello?” The girl snapped him out of the delusion.

“Ye? Yes?” Josh frantically found himself dumbfounded—yet still perfect.

She repeated the question. Josh’s gaze dropped to the pavement, his skin seemingly digging a hole to bury his rising emotions.

“Well, I’ve never experienced one. Not because I don’t want to, but…” he nearly slipped, his eyes locking onto Tristan’s for a fleeting second before returning to Glenda. “Because I prioritize education and achievement rather than playing around. And that’s it. Thanks.”

He stood up, his chest feeling heavy. The sound of students whispering made him begin to criticize his own actions.

“Mr. President! No need to be rude, you know!” Tristan yelled.

Josh rolled his eyes—here he went again.

“What?” Josh yelled back. The hallway went silent, as if the eerie tension that had been hiding beneath their shoes had suddenly been unleashed.

“That’s not fine, Josh. Apologize to her,” Tristan said. For the first time, Josh felt like he had been punched in the face.

Deep inside, guilt flowed from his chest to his stomach. He stepped up, ready to concede, but he was cut off by a booming voice.

“Stop! Josh, what is happening here?”

The principal stood there, his presence looming. The students continued to eat, suddenly very interested in their lunch.

“Nothing at all, Principal,” Glenda quickly reassured him, saving both boys from being swallowed whole.

“Really?”

Both boys nodded, their feet frozen to the floor.

“And study for the Math Decathlon!” the principal screamed, storming off with a walk that dripped with professional, demanding authority.