LOGINOmniscient POV
Senior year had begun for the two complicated, secretly-bound lovers: Trish Carpenter and Joseph Roland. All of Mthland High’s students were gathered in the main hall for the traditional Hall of Fame walk and celebratory program, a ritual held before the final-year students ever sat at their desks as official seniors. The tall, slim, blonde-haired Principal, Mrs. Dante, stood at the podium. "Dear students of Mthland," she spoke, her voice ringing with pride and gravity. "These are our most respected seniors. Every year, we come together—teachers and students, to give our respect to those who will soon depart. Because after a short while, we won't see them anymore." She paused, letting the weight of her proclamation settle over the hushed hall. Mrs. Dante always had that personality; no matter how playful the atmosphere, her entrance demanded dead seriousness. Having taught at Mthland for so long, she had seen countless students come and go, a philosophical reality that fueled her decision to celebrate the seniors on their very first day. "We hold this brief program to urge you students to use your time wisely.” She continued. “We have only twenty-four hours in a day, and you all are the already-become. We hope to see you in better halls someday, living a life of integrity, and not what we adults—who are also parents—fear.” She paused glaring towards the final years who were sitted quite far away from the rest of the other years. “And so to our final years,” she spoke again. “Congratulations! But it's only just begun. Now is that moment, that dream, that resolve, and that tenacity that you need to walk your days, because it's not easy here on out.” She gave a weak smirk, catching a delightful response she intended to cause on students, knowing they'd only be a few. “I know my words may seem so overly cliché. But at least, looking at some people in the crowd, and some fierce persons raging and staring at me from the final year corner, I know that Mrs. Dante has definitely been heard today. So congratulations again to our final year, and thank you all for joining us today.” Silent laughters erupted from the final year corner as Mrs. Dante finished her speech. The students completely uninterested in her pep talk, were already throwing shades at their principal. “Ughhh. The horny principal is at it again, Dammit! I swear I've heard this since I was a fresher.” A senior year guy exclaimed, sending silent waves of laughter across the final year corner. “Damn how old is the b!tch principal anyway! I heard she's almost in her 60s now. How the hell does she still look so fucking hot!.” Another boy muttered, clearly seizing the opportunity to make his peers laugh harder. Mrs. Dante was about to step down from the podium, when she remembered a very "disturbing matter" that students treated as a joke. "Before I leave you all to your classes, I’d like to say this.” Her demeanor instantly changed, as she cleared her throat, waiting for utter decorum to be restored. ”Our school is not pervy, and has never been." She searched for words, looking to a young female colleague who whispered the offensive phrase. "Pervy Mthland," the colleague mouthed. Mrs. Dante frowned, finding it hard to even pronounce the slander against her prestigious home. "Yess! Ugh. Pervy... Pervy Mthland." The whole school erupted into quiet, uncontrolled giggles, sending even some teachers into stifled laughter. But Mrs. Dante regained her composure, barking like the tigress she was nicknamed for. "Hey! Hey! Quiet, everyone! It’s funny now, but I swear to you, anyone who is caught saying 'Pervy Mthland' ever again," she spat the word ‘pervy’ out, "whether first-year or senior, I assure you that student will be expelled." "Our school is never pervy! You do not give people the wrong image about us. If you want to call our school pervy, then you do not belong at Mthland High. Mthland High is the most prestigious school in Mthland City! Have I made myself clear?!" she roared in fury. "Yes! Yes! Principal!" the students replied in unified obedience. "Now go on to your classes, everyone! This program is over. Go on now, go!" Mrs. Dante commanded, storming off to her office. The hallway immediately became a busy, echoing place again after the long summer. Joseph and Trish ran into each other, unable to hide their bright, newly-confessed smiles as they stared across the crowd. “W-why are we even smiling?" Trish muttered to herself as she walked toward the school’s King. "Well, how's your first senior day going?" Trish spoke brightly. "Well, we opened the day with Mrs. Dante yelling and ranting at everyone again, so... I guess it’s awful," Joseph replied with a grin. A brief, comfortable silence fell between them. Clearly, they had nothing left to discuss at school that they hadn't covered under Miss Britney's roof. As Trish was about to break the long, warming stare, a loud voice stormed through the hall. "Hello, everyone! Announcement!" a teacher yelled. "Everyone, please kindly go over to the notice board to check your classes and where you’ll be placed." "There are Classes A, B, and C for the younger grades, but this year, our seniors have only two classes: Class 3-A and Class 3-B." The teacher walked toward the notice board. "The names of all students have already been recorded. Your classes are already assigned." ‘What if, wh—’ Trish’s mind rambled, as her heart leaped. She had secretly wished, prayed, to end up in Joseph's class. They had barely known each other during their freshman and sophomore years, but now, ending up in the same class for their final year felt like destiny pulling them together. The reduction to just two classes was perfect for her to stand a better chance to be close to him. She looked around and saw almost the whole hallway staring at her as they rushed to check their classes. Even in the urgency, the students, even the newly admitted first-years—looked to see the charming young man the whole school talked about. "Come on, Trish, let’s go see the class and possibly the classmates we ended up with. Ah, I just hope it’s not that ugly looking ass, Christian!" Joseph called out, the very name of his bitter rival giving him nausea. They both headed toward the notice board. “Hey, Joseph,” Trish said, looking at him with concern. “Why do you hate Christian so much? I heard you two almost got into a fight last semester?” “It's nothing, and we definitely won't be in the same class after what happened,” he assured her, though his tone held a definite edge of worry. They reached the board as students were loudly discussing their placements. Trish's eyes scanned the lists, searching hard for a certain name next to her own. She quickly found her name in Class 3-B, then searched for Joseph's name. Her joy exploded. "Hey, Joseph, we’re in the same class! Yay!" She sprang toward him, clutching his hand, expecting a matching triumphant look. Instead, she saw sheer terror in his eyes. "No way! I ended up with that freak? I ended up with Christian?!" he sputtered, his voice cracking with disbelief. Trish froze. Her joy immediately vanished. She had ended up with Joseph, that was the win. But the terror in his voice made her pause. Why does he hate Christian so much? He seems like a good guy, she thought, suddenly realizing her proximity to Joseph had just complicated every single aspect of her senior year.(Trish’s POV)Miss Britney’s finger hovered over the 'Accept' icon.Joseph’s hand was still clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide, looking like he was staring at a live grenade.“Hello? Britney Roland speaking.”“Miss Roland? Good evening. My name is Miss Forger. I’m the homeroom teacher for Class 3-B at Mthland High.”The voice was too young. It had a slight tremor, the sound of a twenty-one-year-old who had spent the day realizing she was drowning in a sea of toxic teenagers. I felt my heart hammer against my ribs. Joseph went deathly still, his eyes fixed on the phone as if it were a ticking bomb.“Miss Forger?” Britney’s tone shifted, the razor-edge of her professional voice softening into the cautious curiosity of a parent. “Is everything alright? It’s a bit late for a school call, isn't it?”“I’m calling regarding Joseph and Trish,” she said. “Your phone number is listed as the primary contact on both of their school records.” Forger said. I closed my eyes, waiting for the word
(Trish's POV)"Say it again," I breathed, my voice trembling so hard the words barely left my throat. "Say it to my face, Joseph. Tell me I'm the reason your life is falling apart."The kitchen was a cathedral of cold marble and sharp shadows. Joseph stood across from me, his chest heaving, his school tie ripped open at the collar. He looked at me like I was the damage, like everything unraveling around him was something I'd caused. He didn't see my fear, or how small I felt standing there. He only saw someone convenient to blame for the mess he was desperate to outrun."You heard me," he hissed, his eyes bloodshot and terrifyingly dark. "Everything was fine. We had a plan. And then you brought that—that 'filth' Christian into this house. You brought the school's eyes into our living room!""I didn't bring anything! Christian must've followed us! Anaya barged in here after all!" I shouted, slamming my hands against the counter. The vibration rattled the empty glasses. "I spent every
(Trish's POV)Friday morning was a cold, clinical execution. I hadn't eaten; the very idea of swallowing felt impossible. Joseph hadn't looked at me once since we woke up. He had retreated so far behind his "Hard Man" mask that he looked like a statue carved from ice. We left the house separately, a tactical move that felt like a funeral procession.Room 3-B was a pressure cooker. The air conditioning hummed, but it couldn't mask the thick, cloying scent of Anaya's perfume or the restless energy of the other "problem" seniors."Final presentations," Miss Forger announced, snapping her ruler against her palm. "First up: Joseph Roland and Anaya Sterling."Anaya didn't walk to the front; she sauntered. She adjusted the podium, her eyes flicking to me with a sharp, jagged triumph. Joseph followed suit, stopping a foot behind her, his hands buried in his pockets."Our project is on 'Macbeth'." Anaya began, her voice sugary and loud. Anaya did most of the talking. She stood at the front wi
(Trish's POV)I sat at a mahogany table in the back corner of the library. My laptop was open to a blank document.Because of the limited time given for presentations, we were instructed to hurry up with our assigned partners. Christian Vane sat accross from me, his chair angled so close our knees occasionally brushed. He wasn't looking at the British Literature text; he was looking at me, his gaze sharp and analytical."You're distracted today, Carpenter," Christian murmured, tapping a rhythmic beat on the table with his pen. "Dark circles under your eyes. A certain jumpiness. Did you have a rough night?""I'm fine," I said, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears. "Can we just focus on the thesis? I want to get this done.""In a hurry to get home?" He tilted his head, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Or just in a hurry to get away from me?"Before I could answer, the library doors swung open. Joseph walked in, looking like he hadn't slept a second. He was followed closel
(Trish's POV)I was in the kitchen, leaning against the cold marble of the island, trying to wash the lingering taste of the school day, and the memory of Christian Vane's peppermint breath with a glass of water. The house was finally quiet. Miss Britney was at her late-shift volunteer gala, and for the first time since the "Pair Up Project" had been announced, I thought I could finally breathe.Then I heard a heavy thud of the front door groaning open, followed by the clicking of heels that sounded far too sharp and far too confident to be Miss Britney's soft step."Joey? You in here? The door was unlocked, as usual."The voice hit me like a bucket of ice water. High, melodic, and laced with an entitlement that made me pissed.Anaya Sterling barged into the foyer.I barely had time to set my glass down before she rounded the corner, sweeping through the living room and into the kitchen. She looked like she'd stepped off a runway, her cream-colored trench coat perfectly tailored, her
(Trish’s POV)Room 3-B smelled like expensive cologne and old chalk - too many egos, and not enough air. Following the chaos of the Greenland game, the administration had decided the best solution was to lock all their highest-performing "problems" in one place and call it progress. Senior capstone. One room. No escape.Joseph sat in the back corner, his chair tipped slightly away from the rest of the world. Three weeks of detention hadn’t softened him; it had refined him. His face was a mask of cold, quiet indifference, but it was the calm of something dangerous. He hadn't looked at me once since we stepped onto campus, the Silent Pact holding firm like an invisible wall between us.Miss Forger snapped her ruler against her palm, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. “This is not a social club. Your senior capstone is a take-home project. Monday to Friday. Presentation this Friday. I’ve assign







