The recess bell rang shrilly, shattering the silence of the public junior high school. Like a dam breaking, the students of Class 7-B surged out. The sound of screeching chairs, boisterous laughter, and chatter about the canteen menu filled the air. Thomas remained seated at his desk, frozen. His hands pretended to be busy tidying up the books on his desk, an old tactic to look "busy" and not pathetic.
Thomas didn't go to the canteen. Not because he was full, but because his pockets were empty. Pocket money was a luxury that didn't fit into his family's budget.
"We barely have enough money, Thomas. Besides, your school only lasts until one o'clock. Hold on a little, you can eat at home later," his mother would say every morning.
Thomas, accustomed to obedience, just nodded. He accepted the hunger as part of his routine, just as he accepted his father's cold nature.
When the classroom began to empty, Thomas rested his head on the desk, enjoying the solitude. In this new school, he had become a ghost again. No one knew him, no one cared. And that was comforting.
One month had passed since he set foot in this school. He hadn't made any new friends yet. To him, making friends meant opening up, and opening up meant letting others see how "lacking" Thomas's life was.
However, there was one exception. Someone from the past. Chelsea. The girl sat two rows ahead of him. His classmate for six years in elementary school. Chelsea's face had changed slightly now; her cheeks, once round, were a bit thinner with a sweet dimple on the left, and she let her hair fall long. She looked more mature, more radiant.
"Hey, Thomas." That voice broke Thomas's hungry reverie.
He looked up, startled. Chelsea was standing beside his desk, clutching a mathematics book.
"Have you... finished Mr. Bambang's assignment?" she asked kindly, as if Thomas weren't the weird kid who was always alone.
Chelsea asked because, coincidentally, only Thomas was in the classroom, and besides, she already knew him.
Thomas cleared his throat, normalizing a voice he rarely used. "Yeah, done. But out of five questions, I'm only sure about numbers one to three."
"Wow, what a coincidence!" Chelsea's eyes lit up. "I've answered numbers four and five, but I'm totally stuck on numbers two and three. Can we swap answers?"
Thomas was stunned for a moment. Chelsea, the popular former class president, asking for his help? "Y-yeah, sure, Chel," Thomas answered stiffly.
Without asking permission, Chelsea pulled an empty chair in front of Thomas and turned it around, sitting facing him. The distance between them was so close. Thomas could smell the sweet scent of strawberry shampoo from her hair. His heart pounded, a foreign sensation that made him nervous to death. Secretly, Thomas did admire Chelsea. But he knew his place. Rumors circulating said Chelsea was close to an upperclassman, or maybe a basketball kid. Whoever it was, it certainly wasn't a quiet kid with no pocket money like Thomas.
Chelsea opened Thomas's assignment book, her eyes scanning the rows of numbers Thomas had written.
"Whoa..." Chelsea murmured softly.
She stared at Thomas with a look of amazement. "How did you think of using this formula, Thom? This is faster than Mr. Bambang's way. That's so cool."
Hot blood rushed to Thomas's face. Cool? In his entire life, that word had never landed on him. At home he was "lazy," in elementary school he was a "bully." No one had ever praised his brain.
"Hehe..." Thomas scratched his head, which wasn't itchy, feeling awkward. "That... yesterday I was just randomly trying things out."
"Random genius," Chelsea praised sincerely. Then she slid her book over. "Here, these are the answers for numbers four and five. Actually, this was discussed when you were sick last Tuesday. Here, let me explain."
Since that day, the invisible wall surrounding Thomas cracked slightly. Chelsea often approached him during recess. Not for big things, just to ask about homework or borrow a pen. But for Thomas, it was the most precious human interaction.
Chelsea knew Thomas's past—she knew Thomas had once been a "bully" to Dimas—but Chelsea realized that Thomas had changed. The girl gave him a second chance without saying much.
Finally, the day of the first-semester report card distribution arrived. Thomas stood stiffly in front of the announcement board.
His heart pounded, not because he was afraid of failing, but afraid of disappointing his father. His finger traced the list of names. Rank 1... Rank 2... (Chelsea's name was there). Thomas's finger kept going down. He passed number 10. Then stopped at number 12. Thomas Adijaya. Rank 12.
Thomas's eyes widened. Rank 12 out of 35 students. In elementary school, he struggled just to touch rank 20. This was an extraordinary leap for him.
"Huh!? How is that possible..." Thomas muttered in disbelief.
"It is possible," a voice replied beside him.
Chelsea was smiling broadly, holding her own report card. "I already expected it. You're actually smart, Thom. Smarter than most people in this class."
Thomas stared at Chelsea, confused. "Smart? Me?"
"Yes," Chelsea nodded firmly. "Your only flaw is one thing: you're not active enough. You're too afraid to raise your hand, even though I see you know the answer."
Thomas fell silent.
Those words swirled in his head, an acknowledgment he had starved for all this time. I'm smart? All this time, the labels stuck to him were only "lazy," "naughty," or "the crazy kid's brother."
Thomas stared at his own number with amazement, soaking in the sensation of that small victory. His heart was busy cheering for himself. He was so focused on the validation he had just received, Thomas didn't even think for a second to say thank you to Chelsea. In his head, this moment was about him—about Thomas who apparently could—not about Chelsea who had helped him get there. He accepted the praise just like that, swallowing it whole without feeling the need to repay the giver's kindness.
"I never even felt smart enough," Thomas muttered softly, his eyes still fixed on the report card, ignoring Chelsea's sincere smile waiting for him. "I still can't believe I got this."
***
That afternoon, the school gate was crowded with parents and students. Thomas walked out alone, clutching his report card tight to his chest. His parents didn't come because they were busy working. Thomas didn't mind; he had been used to picking up his own report card since the 4th grade of elementary school.
At the gate, he crossed paths with Chelsea walking with both her parents. They were laughing, looking happy. Coincidentally, their houses were in the same direction, so Thomas walked behind the small group, keeping a safe distance of about ten steps, becoming an uninvited tail. Several other classmates also walked the same route. The afternoon atmosphere was lively and warm.
However, at the turn of the road, about 400 meters from the school, Thomas's steps stopped abruptly. His blood ran cold. Ahead, on the edge of the sidewalk, was a figure he knew very well. Eben.
His older brother was wearing a shabby political party t-shirt and dull shorts. Slung over his shoulder was a large, dirty gunny sack. Eben's hands, black with dust, were busy rummaging through a trash can in front of a shophouse, sorting plastic bottles.
Thomas's heart felt like it stopped. An overwhelming sense of shame hit him like a tidal wave. His face turned beet red. Up ahead was Chelsea. There were Chelsea's parents. There were his classmates. If they saw Eben... if Eben saw Thomas and called out to him...
I'm done for, Thomas thought in panic. They'll know. Chelsea will know I'm a scavenger's brother. Eben was now in the first year of high school. Although he had limitations and was slow in thinking, he still attended a regular high school, trying to blend in despite often being left behind. Thomas was grateful they weren't in the same school, but meeting on the street like this was a nightmare.
Thomas had to run. He couldn't face that judgment.
"Eh, Chelsea!" Thomas called out suddenly, his voice trembling slightly.
Chelsea turned, and so did her parents. "Yeah, Thom?"
"My water bottle!" Thomas slapped his forehead, acting panicked. "Left it under the desk. I... I have to go back to school first, okay!"
"Oh, really?" Chelsea chuckled softly.
"Alright then, run along. Be careful!" "See you!"
Without waiting for an answer, Thomas turned around. He ran away, not towards the school, but turning into the first narrow alley he found to hide. His breath came in gasps. He leaned his back against the alley wall, peeking slightly toward the main road. He watched Chelsea's group walk past where Eben was. Thomas held his breath. Don't call me, Kak. Don't look over here.
Then, the scene happened. Chelsea stopped right in front of Eben. Eben looked up, smiling that signature innocent smile of his—the smile Thomas always hated because he considered it "stupid." Thomas saw Chelsea reach into her side bag. The girl took out a bottle of mineral water that was almost finished. She extended it to Eben with a sweet smile, without a hint of disgust. Eben accepted it with delight and said thank you.
Thomas slid down behind the alley wall. His legs felt weak. Relief at not being caught mixed with a strange pain in his chest. He was relieved his friends didn't know Eben was his brother. But seeing Chelsea—the girl he admired—being kind to the brother he actively avoided made Thomas feel very small. Chelsea gave a bottle of water to Eben. While Thomas, his own biological brother, chose to run away out of shame. I'm a coward, Thomas thought bitterly.
***
That evening, the atmosphere at home returned to normal: cold and full of demands. In the living room, Eben proudly showed off his high school report card. His academic grades were indeed mostly red, but he passed. Mother smiled thinly, then turned to Thomas. Thomas handed over his report card with a slightly trembling hand. There was a glimmer of small hope in his heart. Rank 12. That was his best record ever. Maybe this time... maybe this time Father would smile.
Mother opened the report card.
Her eyes swept over the rows of numbers. "Rank 12," Mother murmured flatly.
She closed the report card and placed it on the table. "Good enough, Thomas. There's improvement." That was it. No hug.
"Father will surely be happy, but you have to be more diligent," Mother continued as she stood up to clear the table.
Father, who had been smoking in the corner chair all along, took the report card. He glanced at it. The corner of his lips lifted slightly, a thin smile that was barely visible. There was a small nod of satisfaction upon seeing the number.
"Twelve," Father murmured. His tone was slightly lighter than usual. "Not bad. Much better than your elementary school grades."
Thomas's heart briefly soared hearing the rare praise. However, the thin smile on Father's face disappeared immediately, returning to a hard, serious line.
"But..." Father stared at Thomas sharply. "Don't be happy just yet. Twelve is halfway there. Why not top ten? Why not top five?"
Thomas's chest tightened again. The hope that had just taken flight was immediately shot down.
"Your friend, that Chelsea, what rank is she?" Father asked suddenly, starting to compare again.
"Two, Dad," Thomas answered quietly.
Father snorted. Cigarette smoke billowed from his mouth. "See? She can rank second. You're only rank twelve. It means your effort is still lacking."
Then Father turned to Eben, who was sitting quietly.
"You too, Eben," Father scolded firmly. "Just because you have a hard time understanding lessons, don't let it be an excuse to be lazy. Look at your brother, he helps your Mother scrub the neighbors' clothes and he can still improve his rank. Don't let yourself lose."
Father glanced at the gunny sack resulting from Eben's scavenging placed in the corner of the room.
"I'm happy you're diligent in finding bottles, it's good for adding rice money. I appreciate your initiative. But remember, I don't want to have a child with an empty brain. After looking for bottles, study immediately. Don't just use your muscles, your brain has to work too."
Father tossed Thomas's report card gently back onto the table.
"Study harder, both of you. I'm tired of working, is this the only result? You must have more spirit."
Thomas nodded slowly, swallowing the stinging feeling clumping in his throat.
"Yes, Dad." He took his report card and walked into his room. Out there, Chelsea praised him as smart. But in this house, rank 12 was only proof that he was still less than perfect. Father's praise earlier was just a passing breeze immediately covered by a storm of new demands.