A light drizzle wrapped the morning in a gray blanket. The wet asphalt reflected the gloomy shadows of the sky. Thomas walked along the sidewalk, his hand gripping the handle of an old umbrella with a broken spoke. The cold morning wind slipped beneath his white-and-blue uniform, but inside Thomas's chest, a fire was burning—a mixture of scorching anxiety and overflowing hope.
Today was the day of judgment. The distribution of report cards for the promotion to the next grade.
With every splashing step he took, Thomas's mind drifted far away. He recalculated every exam, every assignment, even the PE grades he had obtained with a bit of "cunning" to cover for his weak physique.
I should be able to do this, his inner voice spoke to the rhythm of his own footsteps. I have to get into the top five. I answered questions that even Chelsea didn't understand. I am not the Thomas of the past.
Arriving at the school gate, a painfully contrasting sight greeted him again. Cars were lined up, motorcycles stopped to drop off students. Almost all the children were accompanied by their parents. There was laughter, embraces, and umbrellas held by fathers for their children.
Thomas folded his broken umbrella, shook off the water, and walked in with his head held high. He was immune to this loneliness. In Thomas's world, parents did not show up for ceremonial moments; they were present only in the form of sweat and pocket money that didn't exist.
Just like last semester, Chelsea's mother—Auntie Ratna—was already standing in the corridor. The woman waved warmly, ready to act as a sudden guardian for Thomas again.
"Hi, Thomas!"
The voice snapped Thomas out of his daydream. Chelsea appeared from behind her mother's back, her face slightly pale.
"Hi, Chels," Thomas answered, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
"You're nervous, aren't you?" asked Chelsea, sensitive to Thomas's state.
Thomas shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm scared my rank will drop. If it drops... My dad won't speak to me for a week." Or worse, the yelling that would make his ears ring.
"Impossible, Thom," Chelsea cut in quickly, her eyes staring sharply to reassure him. "I'm serious. You are a genius. This semester you were much more active. The teachers know your name not because you're naughty, but because you can answer the difficult questions."
"But I feel I wasn't at my maximum..."
"Trust me. You'll definitely make the top ten."
When the homeroom teacher pasted the ranking list on the bulletin board, the crowd of students surged forward. Thomas's heart beat fast, as if it wanted to tear through his ribs.
His eyes scanned the paper wildly. Rank 12... His name wasn't there. His index finger trembled as it traced the list upwards. 10... 8... 6... His name hadn't appeared yet. Have I been thrown to the bottom? Fear choked his throat. Then his eyes stopped at the very top row. In the single-digit numbers.
Rank 4. Thomas Adijaya.
The world around Thomas seemed to stop spinning. The noisy voices of his friends muffled into a distant hum.
"Huh...?! Is this serious?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Four?"
"See! I told you so!" Chelsea's exclamation sounded right next to his ear.
The girl slapped Thomas's shoulder hard. "Your rank went up like crazy, Thom! From twelve to four!"
Thomas turned, his eyes glassy. "Is this... is this real?"
"Very real! Congratulations, Thom. You deserve it. You studied like a crazy person this semester."
Thomas smiled, a wide smile he rarely showed. Relief flooded his body. "Thanks, Chels. You... what rank are you?"
Chelsea's face changed slightly, her smile turning a bit sour. "I dropped one, Thom. So I'm rank three. Rafael is still number one, Sinta is number two."
"Oh... you dropped?"
"It's okay," Chelsea waved her hand, though her eyes betrayed disappointment. "I was indeed a bit unfocused this semester. Besides, the difference in our scores is very thin."
"Cheer up, Chels. Next semester you have to get back at them," Thomas said, but half his heart was no longer there. His focus was entirely on himself. On that number 4. The number that would be his golden ticket to his Dad's heart.
***
The journey home felt very light, as if Thomas wasn't touching the earth. He couldn't wait. He wanted time to jump forward.
Once home, time felt torturous. The hands of the old wall clock ticked slowly. Tick... tock...
At four in the afternoon, Mom came home, her hands pale and wrinkled from washing clothes. Thomas immediately shoved his report card at her. Mom wiped her hands on her house dress before taking the book. Her eyes widened when she saw the number 4. A sincere smile, rarely seen since the nail incident back then, blossomed on her weary face.
"Wow... You got rank four, Son?" her voice trembled softly. "Dad will be so happy to hear this. Finally..."
"Really, Mom? Dad will be happy?" Thomas asked, his eyes sparkling, demanding certainty.
"Yes. Later when Dad comes home, we will show him together."
Five in the afternoon. The front door opened.
The smell of oil and factory dust entered along with the figure of Dad dragging his feet. His face was hard, folded by the burden of work. Thomas held his breath, sitting silently in the guest chair, waiting for Dad's ritual to finish: taking off shoes, showering, and sitting in the living room. He knew better than to disturb a tired lion.
Only after Dad sat relaxed with a glass of sweet tea did Thomas gather his courage. His heart was beating faster than when he saw the announcement board earlier.
"Dad..." Thomas called softly.
Dad turned, his gaze flat. "What?"
"This is my report card." Thomas presented the book with both hands.
Dad put down his tea glass. He didn't take it immediately. "Your rank didn't drop, did it?" he asked coldly.
The question pierced him, reminding Thomas that love in this house was conditional. "Just look, Dad," Thomas answered challengingly.
Dad took the report card. Opened it slowly. Page by page. Thomas watched every twitch on his Dad's face. Those thick eyebrows furrowed reading the Math grades... then Science... then slowly the frown faded. Dad's eyes stopped at the bottom. Homeroom Teacher's Note. Rank 4 out of 35 Students.
Silence for a moment. Absolute silence. Then, slowly, the corners of Dad's lips lifted. Not a cynical smile. Not a thin, belittling smile. The lips blossomed into a small laugh, then turned into full-blown laughter.
"Hah! Four?!" Dad looked at Thomas, his eyes shining brightly—a sparkle Thomas had been searching for to the point of death.
"Is this true? You didn't misread it?"
"It's true, Dad. That's the homeroom teacher's signature," Thomas answered proudly.
Dad closed the report card loudly and placed it on the table, then, for the first time in Thomas's memory, those rough factory-worker hands clapped both of Thomas's shoulders firmly, full of pride.
"Finally, Thomas! Finally!" Dad's voice exploded, filling the small living room.
"You did what Dad asked! You proved that you aren't a stupid kid! Rank four! You beat thirty other kids!" Dad shook Thomas's shoulders gently.
"You made Dad proud, Son. Very proud."
Thomas's eyes grew hot. A dam of tears pressed to get out, but he held it back with all his might. That sentence. You made Dad proud. That was all he needed to heal the wounds in his heart since childhood. It felt like a long thirst finally quenched by cold water.
"Thank you, Dad," squeaked Thomas, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Eben, who was sitting in the corner of the room, heard the conversation and was very happy to see Thomas getting a high rank. "My little brother is cool indeed! Congratulations, Thomas," Eben said sincerely.
That night, their small dining table felt like a king's banquet table.
"Thomas, what do you want to eat? Tonight, specifically tonight, you are the king of this house. Choose whatever you want," said Dad, his face still beaming.
"I want to eat chicken, Dad. Fried chicken," requested Thomas.
"Alright! We're eating fried chicken!"
Seven in the evening. The aroma of fried chicken filled the house which usually only smelled of tempeh or salted fish. Mom and Eben were busy in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Thomas peeked from behind the living room window curtains. On the terrace, Dad was sitting holding his cell phone. His voice sounded loud and full of confidence.
"Halo, Bro? Yeah, it's me... Ah, usual stuff, just wanted to give you an update. Thomas, my youngest... Yeah, received his report card earlier. He's rank four! Hahaha, yes, he's smart, takes after his father!"
Thomas leaned his head against the wall. His chest was tight with overflowing feelings. This was the first time his Dad spoke about him with such a tone to the world. Not a complaint, not shame, but pride. Thomas felt seen. Truly seen.
During dinner, Dad didn't stop smiling while chewing his fried chicken.
"Thomas," said Dad between chews. "Dad's harsh attitude all this time, Dad's yelling... do you see the result now? It bore sweet fruit, right?"
Thomas nodded quickly while spooning rice. "Yes, Dad."
"You made it so Dad can walk with his head held high at the factory tomorrow."
"Thank you, Dad. But..." Thomas swallowed his food, courage growing in his heart. "Actually, I feel I could do more, Dad."
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yes, Dad. I feel maybe I deserve rank two or three. My toughest rival is only Rafael. The rest... I feel smarter than them."
Dad put the bone on his plate, staring at Thomas intently. There was a glint of approval there. Thomas's ambition pleased him.
"Good. That's the spirit Dad wants. Don't be easily satisfied." Dad leaned his body forward. "This rank four has already made Dad proud. But imagine if you were rank two... or one. Dad would definitely be even prouder."
Then, as usual, Dad's eyes shifted to Eben who was enjoying the chicken skin ravenously. Dad's smile faded slightly. "Ben, do you see your little brother?" Dad scolded.
Eben stopped chewing, looking at his Dad with a greasy mouth. "He could get rank four because he tried hard. You can't lose to him, okay? Have some shame in front of your little brother."
Eben looked down, his cheerfulness dimming instantly. "Yes, Dad..."
Thomas saw that. He saw how his success was used as a whip to strike his older brother. There was a thin sting of guilt, but Thomas immediately brushed it aside. He was enjoying his throne. He didn't want to ruin this moment just to defend Eben. Let it be. I won today, Thomas thought selfishly.
***
The school break passed, and the first day of Grade 8 began. Thomas came to school no longer as a ghost wanting to hide. He came as a conqueror. His steps were firm. He needed more. He needed more extreme validation from Dad, from friends, from everyone.
The classroom was still empty when Thomas entered. Before, he would look for the backmost bench, in the darkest corner, to be invisible to the teachers. Today, Thomas placed his bag on the very front bench. Right in front of the teacher's desk. The row of champions. He claimed that territory.
Not long after, Dustin entered, panting. His round face looked sweaty. He looked around the classroom which was starting to fill up, then his eyes caught Thomas at the front. Dustin's opportunistic brain immediately went to work. Sitting next to the smart kid was the best survival strategy.
"Hi, Thom! Is the seat next to you empty?" asked Dustin while approaching.
"Hi, Tin. Yeah, empty. Just sit," answered Thomas casually.
Dustin threw his butt onto the chair. "How have you been, Thom? Where did you go for the holidays?"
"Good, Tin. Actually very good. I was just at home, studying Grade 8 material a little bit. You?"
"Crazy, so diligent," Dustin shook his head. "I just played games non-stop. It's rare for you to pick the front seat, Thom? Usually, we are the corner team."
Thomas smiled crookedly. "I did it on purpose. To be more focused. I want my grades to be even better this semester."
"Wow... ambitious now, huh," Dustin laughed, then patted Thomas's shoulder. "Eh, btw, congrats. You were rank four yesterday, right? Sorry I didn't get a chance to say it, the holidays started too soon."
"It's okay, chill."
Dustin leaned his face closer, his voice lowering slightly, as if leaking a state secret. "Actually, some people were a bit shocked seeing the results."
Thomas turned. "Shocked why?"
"Well, just shocked. You should have gotten a better rank than that, Thom."
Thomas frowned, trying to be humble though his heart leapt with joy. "Not really. The ones above me are indeed smart."
"No, Thom. I'm serious," Dustin cut in confidently. "I watched last semester, if Mr. Bambang asked a question, the one who understood first was you, not Chelsea. Chelsea just wins because she's diligent at taking notes. But when it comes to logic, you win by far."
Dustin's words were like gasoline poured onto a small fire inside Thomas's heart. Chelsea just wins because she's diligent. Thomas remembered how Chelsea usually asked him questions.
"Ah, no, Chelsea is indeed smart," Thomas refuted automatically, but the tone of his voice was unsure.
"Trust me," whispered Dustin, fueling the fire. "You are actually smarter than her. If you put in just a little more effort, Chelsea is history."
Thomas fell silent, digesting that sweet poison. All this time Chelsea was his friend. His helper. But Dad's words echoed back: "She could get rank two, you only got twelve? It means your effort is lacking." And now Dustin validated his thoughts. That Chelsea's position should be his to take. That Chelsea was no longer just a kind-hearted friend, but an obstacle to the peak position.
"But she is smart..." mumbled Thomas softly, more to himself.
"No, Thomas. You are smarter. Period."
Thomas leaned his back against the chair. He stared at the whiteboard at the front of the class with a sharp gaze. A dark sense of satisfaction crept into his heart. He liked being praised. He liked being considered greater. And if to be great he had to consider Chelsea a rival... then so be it.
Sorry Chelsea, thought Thomas coldly. This year, I won't back down.
***
A few weeks later, shocking news arrived. Rafael, the reigning class champion, stood at the front of the room with a somber face.
"Hi guys," Rafael said, his voice heavy. "Next week I'm moving to Jakarta. My dad got a new job, so my whole family has to go."
The class suddenly erupted with disappointment. "Aww... why are you moving, Raf?" Dustin exclaimed, disappointed. "Now there's no one to share homework answers anymore!"
"Honestly, it's really hard leaving you guys," Rafael continued. "I promise I won't forget this class."
While the whole class was busy being sad, Thomas sat silently at his desk, his heart pounding hard. Not out of sadness, but from a euphoria exploding in his chest. His eyes gleamed sharply as he stared at Rafael. Go, Thomas thought, smirking internally. Go far away.
To him, Rafael's departure wasn't the loss of a friend, but the opening of a throne. His main obstacle was gone. The path to the top was now wide open without hindrance. Thomas realized that Rafael was a genius who was difficult to beat.
Thomas studied like a madman for the rest of that semester. He devoured every subject, ignored sleep, and isolated himself completely. His ambition was no longer a small flame, but an uncontrolled wildfire.
And sure enough. During the report card distribution for the promotion to 9th grade, that name was finally called at the very top. Rank 1: Thomas Adijaya.
That afternoon, in the cramped living room of their house, the explosion happened.
"ONE?!" Dad's voice boomed, louder than his snapping when angry, but this time filled with the ecstasy of victory. Dad held the report card with trembling hands, staring at the number '1' as if it were a lottery ticket worth billions.
"You... you actually did it, Thomas!" Dad laughed freely, a laugh so loud it made Mom, who was in the kitchen, jump in surprise.
Dad pulled Thomas in, hugged him roughly, then patted his back repeatedly with full force. "Number one! My son is number one! Did you beat that Rafael kid? Did you beat Chelsea?"
"Rafael moved away, Dad. But my grades are far above the class average," Thomas answered proudly, puffing out his chest.
"To hell with whether he moved or not! What matters is your name is at the very top!" Dad gripped Thomas's shoulders, staring intently into his eyes. "Now this is Dad's son! This is Dad's own flesh and blood! You proved that our family isn't a family of losers!"
That night, Thomas peeked from behind the window. Dad wasn't home. The man was at the Pos Ronda, where the neighborhood dads usually gathered to play cards. Dad's voice sounded the loudest, breaking the silence of the night.
"Wow, my son Thomas, he really is different," Dad exclaimed while slamming down a domino card with style. "He's number one now! His brain, you know, is really sharp. Well... he takes after his dad, right? Superior seeds don't fall in the wrong place!"
The laughter of the other men could be heard chiming in. Thomas listened from a distance. The corner of his lips lifted into a satisfied smile. That feeling of superiority seeped into his bones. He felt on top of the world. He felt powerful.