I stepped into the washroom and poured cold water over my body. My skin was burning up, like I was running a fever from the inside out. And the thirst—God, the thirst. No way I'll survive in Central like this.
I bent over and drank straight from the tap. Not a polite sip. I drank like something inside me was dying of thirst. Liters and liters of water. It just kept going. When I finally stopped, I gasped for air, wiped my mouth, and stared at my reflection. Now you're normal, Ernesto.
I didn't look very normal. But I felt normal, at least for now. The fire inside me had quieted. The gold veins had faded. I could almost pretend everything was fine. I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out, bumping straight into Derrick.
"Bro, you've got six packs now," he said, eyeing me up and down. "I wonder why you're so scared of girls."
I shot him a look, the leave-me-alone kind, but of course, he grinned like it was a compliment.
"Sometimes I wish I was you," he added. "Blue hair. Mystery issues. Hot but shy. It's a vibe."
"Bro," I said as I grabbed my uniform, "please."
We were already late for class, and my brain was moving faster than usual. A-level was no joke, and I had questions. Big ones. Like: Why do we study for all these years just to get shipped off to the South? Not exactly a popular opinion, but still. I was thinking about holidays and about Maureen.
Derrick and I had just been promoted from Ordinary Level to Advanced that year. New classrooms, new teachers, same recycled lies. As we got closer to the A-Level block, a voice echoed through the hallway speakers.
"Centuries back, there was a planet called Earth, and—"
"Professor Dildo Bagins," I muttered under my breath.
Derrick burst out laughing, nearly tripping over himself. "Dude, you can't keep calling him that."
"Why not? It's literally his name."
That was literally the name of our history teacher. He always said it with pride, like it belonged in some great academic dynasty. Bagins, not Baggins, he'd emphasize whenever someone snickered. And yes, Dildo is an ancestral name. Whatever helped him sleep at night.
We followed the classroom protocol: knock and enter. Simple rule. We entered only to find our usual back seats taken by Marvel and his giant white friend, two upperclassmen who'd been held back so many times they practically had their own wing in the detention center.
I'mwaiting for the day they ship you off to the South, I thought, glaring at Marvel's smug face.
Derrick was sharp, so he managed to snag a seat in the front row, leaving me standing there like an idiot, scanning for somewhere to sit. That's why I hate being late—it turns you into a scavenger, desperate for scraps.
"Please, sit down. You're distracting the class," Professor Dildo said without looking up from his holographic display, then continued with his lecture.Trust me, I want to sit.
"It is believed that there was a development of technology on Earth that would take Vezia a thousand years to reach," he droned on.
I spotted two desks in the middle row that only had one person each. One was occupied by Camilla Mendy, believed to be the cutest girl at SchoolCentral, with her perfect auburn hair and the kind of smile that made grown men walk into walls. The other desk belonged to Frank Caleb, the nerdiest boy at SchoolCentral, already taking notes even though class had barely started. Ernesto, try your luck.
I didn't say it out loud, but I felt all eyes on me as I approached Camilla's desk. The classroom had gone suspiciously quiet, and I could practically hear the collective intake of breath from every boy in the room. Students were probably thinking, What the hell is this nerd thinking? All the boys in our class feared Camilla—not because she was mean, but because she was so far out of our league that even attempting conversation felt like social suicide.
"Mind if I seat here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
I swear to God, those fools weren't listening to Professor Dildo anymore. They were watching history in the making—the blue-haired freak about to get shut down by the school princess.
Camilla looked up at me with those green eyes that had probably launched a thousand teenage fantasies. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe? But then her expression hardened.
"No," she said, just loud enough for the people around us to hear, "but I prefer sitting alone."
Dear God, I hope this was a whisper. I said a prayer for the first time in my life and looked around to see if anyone had heard. They were all suddenly very attentive, pretending to listen to Professor Dildo while their ears strained to catch every word of my humiliation. I could feel my face burning—not the supernatural fire from before, but the very human heat of embarrassment. I shuffled over to Frank Caleb's desk, my footsteps echoing in the too-quiet classroom.
What a shame. Frank looked up at me with genuine sympathy behind his thick glasses. "Rough morning?" he whispered as I slumped into the chair beside him.
"You could say that," I muttered, pulling out my book and trying to pretend I cared about Earth's lost technologies.
But as Professor Dildo continued his lecture about humanity's fallen civilization, the fire inside me stirred again, and I pressed my palm against my chest, willing it to stay quiet. And now I could hear the professor's thoughts.
What is happening to me?