CHAPTER 5: APPLAUSE AND UNEASE

“I don’t want to do this, please don’t make me.” The fear in my voice is palpable. The tension in the room can be cut with a knife. Beads of sweat run down the side of my face and down my neck. I move to wipe it off and then remember the all too familiar liquid that coats my hand like a second skin. Blood. Looking up into the night sky, the stars seem to twinkle, unaware of the turmoil I face. Suddenly a wave of bitterness washes over me. Why do I always have to play the fool? With an angry grunt I swing the knife down. Red explodes into the night. Dangerous and beautiful, my new favorite color.

HOSEA

I hadn’t gotten much sleep.

It wasn’t just the scream from the day before or the way the boy had trembled like something had touched his soul and shaken it loose. It wasn’t even the awkward walk to the infirmary, filled with nothing but silence and slight dislike from Simeon.

No, what unsettled me was how composed Simeon had been. While I had frozen in panic, he had stepped up. Knelt down like it was nothing new, like the experience of comforting scared little boys was all too familiar.

That thought stuck to me like gum on a shoe.

Now, the auditorium is abuzz again, not with fear this time but with excitement once again.Students are eager to get a proper glimpse of Simeon and I can all but roll my eyes. The man I had met was nothing to go on about. Sure, he was drop dead gorgeous with a chiseled jaw, high cheek bones and lips that looked like they were perfectly drawn. And don’t get me started on that physique, goddamn, the man was swimming in muscle. His hands looked big enough to…

“What the fuck Hosea?” I slap my cheeks hard to stop the red that was slowly climbing up all the way to my ears.

Someone sitting behind me strikes up a conversation that piques my interest bringing me out of my reverie.

“So, what do you think he teaches?” He whispers.

“He looks too pretty to teach something terribly boring like geography.”

“I heard he’s doing P.E,” another voice chimes in.

“Finally, someone young. Coach Levi’s knees can barely handle the stairs.”

At this, several people start giggling and are quickly silenced by a nearby art teacher. I stare straight ahead with my arms crossed, slightly bothered by how ready everyone is to accept Simeon. Like a calm voice and one fitted shirt was all he needed to win over the entire population.

The double doors to the auditorium finally open up and the principle walks in tapping on her microphone

“Good morning students. Yesterdays unexpected interruption meant we couldn’t properly introduce our new staff member so I’d like to do that now,” she clears her throat smiling as the auditorium quiets down. “Please welcome, Mr. Simeon Sinclair, who will be joining us as your new physical education instructor.”

Soft applause ripples through the room.

Simeon steps out from the side of the stage, wearing a navy-blue shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. He walks in with a kind of ease I can never trust―too measured, too aware. Like someone performing for an audience.

He reaches for the microphone and I hear someone whisper about being the mic before Simeon goes on to address us.

“Good morning. I’m Mr. Simeon Sinclair.” His voice is velvety and rich, smooth but gruff at the same damn time and I can feel myself growing more irritated by the passing seconds.

“I look forward to getting to work with all of you and I hope we can make P.E something you enjoy and not endure.”

A few chuckles rise from the crowd. Some female instructors in the back row giggle but I don’t smile. I hate when people try too hard to sound relatable. Simeons eyes sweep the hall as if scanning for whatever danger may be lurking in its corners and for a split second our eyes meet. It doesn’t linger. It isn’t exactly as cold as yesterday, if anything, it is neutral, polite. I look away first.

The principal steps up again and resumes speaking. “Mr. Simeon has experience working with other schools and is highly recommended, I truly hope we can show him a warm welcome. Let’s give him another round of applause.”

More applause, louder this time.

Beside me, a boy―I think his name is Raphael nudges my shoulder.

“He’s kinda cool. Like…calm. Way better than the last coach.”

I shrug, “He’s just a teacher.”

“Bet half the school’s already crushing on him.”

“I’m not.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I instantly regret them.

“Of course you’re not,” he says with the biggest smirk I’ve ever seen. I don’t care to ask what he means. I turn away.

As the crowd begins to disperse, Simeon steps down from the stage and makes his way towards the exit where the teachers are gathering. I don’t expect him to pause―but he does.

“Yesterday,” he says, his tone clipped, edged with something I can’t quite place―resentment maybe? “Thank you. For helping me handle the situation.”

The way he says it sounds very forced, professional even. No warmth, no sarcasm. Just… calm.

“You’re welcome,” I reply stiffly.

“You handled yourself really well. Not many students would.”

I give him a short nod. “I guess I’m not like most students.”

At this he raises an eyebrow slightly but doesn’t respond. Instead, he offers a small sympathetic smile in my direction and turns away. Every fiber of my being itches to draw him back and demand an explanation for the look of pity he had deemed fit to throw my way. I do none of that. I turn my back to him and continue in the direction all the other students had earlier trudged through.

The corridor is quiet now, the type of quiet that makes every footstep echo too loud. Moving forward I just can’t help but run the events of the day through my mind. I can tell that these halls are going to be buzzing for quite a while but I wonder for just how long before something tragic happens. I think about miles and a pang of guilt hits me. I had been so occupied with thoughts of Simeon that I hadn’t even thought of miles. With a shake of my head, I try to push down the grief that threatens to swallow me and decide to move to safer ground. Safer thoughts.

I think about Simeon. About the way he talks. The way he looks at people like he can read them, like he already knows exactly what they’re about to say. The way everyone seems to like him without even trying. Everyone but me. It takes me a moment to realize that once again, I’ve singled myself from the rest. Am I delusional? Probably. I might as well just be searching for a reason to hate him.

I exhale sharply, rounding the corner.

Suddenly, I’m thrown against the lockers with so much force my head spins. Metal crashes behind my back, rattling through the hallway. My breath catches in my throat.

A hand presses down on my shoulder. Hard. I can’t see their face―just shadows, a breath on my cheek, too close.

“You need to watch yourself,” the voice says. Low. Flat.

My heart is pounding in an erratic rhythm, blood pumping so hard my ears pick it up with ease. I try to move but find myself completely pinned. In that moment I stop to think about the situation. Have I recently angered someone without my knowledge perhaps? No one seems to come to mind and then the person finally lets up allowing me move.

I spin around and suddenly my prior fear is quickly replaced with rage. I am beyond pissed.

“What the actual fuck? You?”