(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 words predator, scandal, or video to shatter the room. I waited for her to tell Miss Britney that her house had been invaded by the very girl she was trying to protect.
Joseph dug his fingers into the marble edge of the island, his jaw set.
"What about them?" Miss Britney asked, her gaze flicking between my tear-stained face and Joseph's disheveled state. "They're right here."
"It's about their academic performance," Miss Forger lied.
The lie rolled off her tongue with such smooth, effortless ease that for a heartbeat, I bought it.
"They were paired together for the major British Literature term project," Forger continued, her voice gaining strength as she found her footing in the deception.
"I'm calling because I'm concerned. Their preliminary marks are… well, they're failing, Miss Roland. They aren't collaborating effectively at all. In fact, their lack of cooperation is starting to disrupt the rest of the class."
I felt the air rush back into my lungs. Beside me, I saw the tension bleed out of Joseph's shoulders, replaced by a stunned, confused silence. She was covering for us. Miss Forger, the teacher we'd ignored, the one the "brats" in 3-B treated like a piece of furniture was holding the shield over our heads.
Miss Britney let out a long, audible sigh, the suspicion in her eyes turning into a familiar, weary frustration.
"Grades? You're calling me about a project?" She looked at Joseph, then at me, her mouth thinning into a hard line. "I walk in and find my house feeling like a war zone because the two of you can't perform well even when you're paired together? That's embarrassing."
"It's a very high-stakes project, Miss Roland," Forger's voice came through the speaker, steady and grounding. She must've felt responsible for the mess, believing she could have handled the situation better. And if Joseph's life, or mine was ruined, the guilt would sit squarely on her shoulders. She hadn't been able to stop Christian's ugly display, or the way the rest of our peers fed on it, and she knew it.
"I'd like to see both of them in my office tomorrow morning before the first bell. I think a mediated study plan is the only way to ensure they don't lose their credits. Will that be possible?"
"They'll be there," Miss Britney said, her voice regaining its authoritative clip. "Thank you for the personal touch, Miss Forger. I'm sorry you had to call this late."
She ended the call and tossed the phone onto the counter. The tension in the room shifted from 'The End of the World' to 'The End of Our Freedom.'
"I am disappointed," Britney said, her voice cold as she looked at us.
To her, the Mthland gossip forums didn't exist. She lived in a world of balance sheets and boardrooms, restricted from the toxic digital playground where our reputations were currently being burned alive. To her, this was just a case of two teenagers being lazy and argumentative.
"We're supposed to be a family, not fall apart together. Joseph, go to your room. Trish, go. I don't want to hear another word about this 'disagreement' until you've fixed your grades."
We moved instantly, fleeing the kitchen like survivors of a natural disaster.
As we reached the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows of the long hallway, Joseph caught my arm. His grip on my arm was tight, his face a storm of confusion and lingering adrenaline.
"She lied for us," he whispered, the 'Hard Man' facade cracking just enough for me to see the sheer terror underneath. "She's trying to cover her own tracks. She knows if the Principal finds out what's really happening in 3-B, she's done. She's just saving her own skin, Trish."
"No," I snapped, pulling my arm back. The unfairness of his cynicism hit me like a physical blow.
"She's just a twenty-one-year-old teacher, Joseph. How could you speak like that?" I said quietly. "She looks at us and sees people, not just 'problems' to be managed. She knows that if that gossip breaks out of the forums and into the real world, our lives are over. She's not selfish. She's protective."
"Exactly. She's a teacher," Joseph countered, his voice dropping into a low, bitter hiss. "They're all the same."
"Stop it! You know Miss Forger is nothing like that. She's a human being, and she feels guilty!" I hissed back, stepping into his space.
"She feels responsible for not being able to control those brats at school. She's holding the shield because she knows we can't hold it ourselves. Don't turn her kindness into something ugly just because you're scared."
Joseph stared at me, jaw tight, then let out a long, ragged breath and looked toward the stairs, where his mother was probably still processing the so-called academic failure of her two stars.
"She wants us there tomorrow," he muttered. "Saturday morning. In her office. Just us, her, and an empty school?"
"It's better than the alternative," I said, turning toward my own door.
"Is it?" Joseph asked, his voice hollow. "Tomorrow's Saturday. No students. No crowds. Just the two of us, with someone we can't even trust. We can't trust anyone anymore, damn it!"
The door to his room slammed shut, leaving me alone in the shadows of the vast corridor. I retreated to my bed, but sleep didn't come.
I kept thinking about Miss Forger, about the weight she was carrying for us. She had bought us twenty-four hours. Now, we just had to survive them.
And about Joseph, how he was already slipping away from me again. If a solution didn't come soon, it was only a matter of time before he went back to being the King of Mthland High.