Chapter 12: I'm Honestly Surprised At How Many Times We Got Sidetracked Over A Simple Task

  ?I watched Carter round the corner, disappearing into the mall’s artificial labyrinth. Beside me, Remi was already lost to the world, her mind hijacked by a rack of pastel-colored sweaters. I’d wanted to grab the fruit juice and bail, but we had officially entered a side-quest within a side-quest.

  I'm usually indifferent to timewasting, but this situation has stakes and we can't waste that precious time.

  Remi began shuffling through hangers, holding shirts up to her chest and checking the mirror with a focused intensity. I considered a dramatic face-palm, but that felt too cliché. I'm starting to feel like my restraints following my philosophy are becoming stronger.

  "Hey, Zeke! Do you think this would fit me?" Remi called out, beaming.

  "Uh… sure."

  Please hurry up with your shopping.

  I stayed hovering just outside the store entrance, maintaining a safe distance from the distractions and other various social noise. I scanned the crowd, half-expecting Alizée to teleport over to the both of us for a scolding regarding our delay. When I looked back, Remi had drifted deeper into the racks, her expression one of genuine, unburdened happiness.

  She was going to take her sweet time. I also realized, with a jab of guilt, that we were supposed to be stalking Carter. I hoped she’d forgotten. Actually, looking at the price tags in this place, I realized how dystopian this school really was. Most students were surviving on monthly allowances from their parents; it was a bubble of privilege that felt increasingly fragile.

  Why am I still standing here? I didn't owe Remi my afternoon. I turned and began the long journey toward the party supplies store.

  Just a few seconds without Remi, and it's already 5% more peaceful. I'm not saying I hate Remi's presence, 5% is pretty generous for someone of her caliber. It feels a bit refreshing walking through the crowd as a lone shopper, over in this outlet mall there's at minimum two students walking together. I'm honestly not surprised, because I can't think of a single sane person that would go to the mall alone.

  I stopped at a directory map. “You Are Here.” The party store was practically on the other side of the planet. Great.

  I began the "window shopping" grind, passing mannequins and 10% off deals that all looked identical. Ahead, I spotted Ajax and his entourage—the "Perfect Circle" of Aethelgard. I wondered if he and Ophelia were still doing their behind-the-scenes dance. Though, that possibility seemed both likely and unlikely, so I'm just gonna wish for the best between those two.

  I'm never really informed on secrets anyways, I just end up finding out myself because there's not a single person out there who trusts me enough. It's my fault I don't have many close friends, honestly.

  ...It's nice, though. I'm not constantly running into drama every corner I turn.

  I maintained my pace, scanning the crowd looking for threats—or worse, acquaintances. My goal was a shopping trip with zero social friction and maximum efficiency. I wondered briefly how Remi was faring on her own, then dismissed the thought. In terms of task relevancy, I was laps ahead of her.

  I’d initially judged Remi as the responsible, high-achieving type, but her behavior was beginning to oppose that thought. Between her frantic, last-minute homework sessions in the library and the way she folded under Carter’s low-effort teasing, she was less of a "Perfect Student" and more of a high-functioning klutz.

  Then again, a guy who spends his internal monologue auditing the social competence of teenagers probably isn't the best judge of "perfection."

  I blocked the sun with my forearm as the rays hit the skylights. A visor would be great right now, but that would require the effort of buying and wearing one. Suddenly, a blur of brown and sienna caught my eye near a circular patio table.

  It was Aaxya and Rosalie. They were actually talking.

  What a rare sight, I would've never guessed that the two would connect shortly after our unplanned waterfall meetup. This situation must've been orchestrated by Rosalie, but then we also have the possibility that Aaxya might've built up the courage to ask her out on a date.

  Wait, a date?

  I walked up to them, and Rosalie spotted me instantly.

  "Hey, Zeke. I don’t see you here often. Running errands?" she asked, her voice light.

  Completely oblivious to how she casually pinpointed my task.

  "Yeah," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck. I looked over at the direction I would've kept going in if I didn't decide to make a pitstop here. I'm supposed to be doing something important.

  "Student Council business, I assume?"

  "Mhm."

  "Alright. I won’t keep you, Errand Boy. Have fun." She gave a soft giggle and a wave. I looked at Aaxya, but she was staring intently at her feet, her confidence was fluctuating.

  Did she really just call me 'Errand Boy'?

  "See you guys. Bye, Aaxya."

  Aaxya’s head jolted up. She offered a quick, frantic wave before retreating back into her shell. I started walking again, thinking I’d finally reached the final stretch, until I saw a familiar shock of white hair through a shoe store window.

  Carter. He made eye contact. I’d been spotted.

  "What's up, Zeke?" Carter called out as he stepped onto the walkway. He had that same calm, bittersweet vibe from the bench earlier.

  I decided to turn around to talk to him, rather than gesturing a "Can't talk right now, I'm busy."

  "Hey, Carter." I put my hands in my pockets, matching his low-energy frequency. He was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting around.

  "So... about that prank I pitched to you and Remi," Carter began, his voice lacking its usual theatrical edge. "I’ve officially missed the window. I had a whole thing planned for one of the Drama Club members, but their schedule shifted, and my timing is shot. We can't execute today."

  He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry. You know, in case you were actually looking forward to the chaos."

  "It's alright. I wasn't really looking forward to it anyways."

  "I figured." he responded, laughing it off.

  The silence between us was growing. I tried to focus on the pattern of the tiles on the ground—aiming for an easy distraction to avoid the awkwardness—yet it was only fueling it.

  "I'm bored," he admitted. "Haven't found much opportunity to prank people lately."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yeah. I’m on my last strike. I feel like I need to get away with the stuff I do, but..." He trailed off.

  Not surprised that he is. Wait, I would've thought he could care less about that. Is he really trying to not get expelled? I'm so confused.

  I was confused. "I thought you were the carefree prankster. Do you actually care about getting expelled?"

  Carter smirked, but there was no pride in it. It was a tired expression. "C'mon." He gestured for me to follow him into the store—a quiet, high-end place that smelled of expensive leather and air conditioning. We drifted into the shoe aisle.

  As I entered the store, it smelt nice and the atmosphere overall was totally chill. I'd still choose the library over this of course, mostly because the volume of people are much higher in a store. I'm sure there's still the argument that people occasionally shop for books, but that's on occasion.

  "It's not about being carefree," Carter started, picking up a sneaker and examining it from different angles. "I feel like if I get kicked out, I’ll lose my identity. Pranking is all I’ve got."

  "Can't you just… succeed in academics?" I asked.

  Carter exhaled, a ragged sound. He put the shoe back. "I’m not good at that stuff, Zeke. That’s why I stopped taking it seriously. Easier to fail because you didn't try than to fail because you weren't good enough."

  The words hit me like a physical weight. He was describing my own philosophy, just from a different angle.

  Hold on—am I really getting him to open up to me? There is no way he sees me as a shoulder to fall on, I haven't even done that much for him.

  "Sorry," Carter laughed softly, noticing my silence. "I'm unloading a lot of baggage on someone who barely knows me. You don't have to feel bad."

  "Don't worry about it," I responded, looking toward the front of the store. I needed to know one more thing. "Earlier, I saw those soccer players walking away from you. What was that about?"

  I heard a faint smile coming from Carter, then he began to speak again.

  "Alright, well... I'll just stop anyway. You can leave now if you want." Carter said, in lighter tone.

  Carter froze. He ruffled his hair, his usual confidence replaced by the awkward fumbling of a beginner in a communication tutorial. "I… I used to be on the team."

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  My brain stuttered. The delinquent was an ex-athlete?

  I honestly have no idea how to respond, because running into a bunch of the social landmines is an ending I largely avoided. A common flaw I've noticed throughout my time being around people.

  The silence between us grew heavy, suffocating the air like a weighted blanket. I felt the urge to bail, to let him say "it's fine" and walk away. But for once, I pushed with surprising composure. "Used to? Why?"

  "Sorry, if I'm prying too much... Carter." I added, realizing that I might have—

  "No, it's fine," Carter interrupted, then pressing his hand against his forehead, massaging it. "Uh, how do I say this."

  "Say what?"

  While waiting for a response, Carter smirked, it was subtle enough to go unnoticed by the inattentive eye.

  "I got kicked off," Carter said, his voice dropping an octave. "Got into a fight with a player from the opposing team. Lost my cool."

  The sound of footsteps had entered the atmosphere. The footsteps began to draw closer, and the conclusion of this situation was clear.

  A store worker rounded the corner, kneeling nearby to stock a shelf. The moment was shattered. Carter nodded at me, tipping an imaginary cap, and vanished into the racks.

  I stood there, reflecting on our exchange. We’re always surprised when people show us a different side, but should we be? Carter had shown me that vulnerability requires more confidence than pranking ever did.

  I envied him.

  My emotions always seemed to outgrow my psychological response. I was still stuck in the "Valley of Despair," unable to reach the heights of genuine connection. Carter taught me two lessons today: the cost of a performance and the weight of the truth. I could understand them. I could dissect them.

  But I couldn't apply them.

  The worker looked up at me, his face a mask of corporate friendliness. "Doing okay? Need help with anything?"

  I blinked, momentarily wondering if he was offering a solution to my existential crisis. Then reality set in. He waited for my response with immense patience.

  "I'm good," I replied.

  The worker looked at me and smiled, then he stood up.

  "Alright, well if you need anything just let me know."

  "Alright. Just let me know if you need anything." He walked away, keys jingling.

  I was alone in the aisle, surrounded by expensive shoes and the lingering ghost of a conversation I wasn't supposed to have.

  As I made my way out the store, I spotted Remi near the mall exit, clutching two shopping bags and the oversized punch bowl. She was pacing, her head darting in every direction like a bird of prey looking for a lost hatchling. For someone I’d labeled a "klutz," she’d managed to finish her errands before I’d even made it through the shoe store.

  I stepped out into the open air and looked up. The sky had turned a bruised shade of purple, the clouds closing in with an aggression that felt personal.

  Let's hope it doesn't rain. I don't have my umbrella with me today, or any day for that matter.

  The walk toward Remi felt like a journey toward an inevitable series of complaints waiting to slap me in the face. I decided to accept my fate and continue my trek toward the girl who was supposedly full of joy. Her awareness heightened and she glared at me as soon as I entered her periphery.

  "What were you doing?" Remi demanded as soon as I was in range. She didn't wait for an answer, delivering a light, sharp chop to my shoulder before thrusting the heavy bowl and juice bottles into my arms. "I thought you’d abandoned me to the fashion gods."

  "Uh... sorry," I muttered. The weight of the bowl was a physical reminder of the time I’d wasted with Carter.

  She sighed, but as I adjusted my grip to match her pace, her expression softened. "It’s okay, Zeke. I’m just giving you a hard time." She giggled, but it felt thin—like a recording played at the wrong volume.

  I felt a sharp, unexpected pang of guilt for ditching her. I’d spent the last hour mentally complaining about her lack of responsibility, only to realize she’d been outperforming me the entire time. She took my abandonment with a lightness that was almost insulting—a grace I didn't deserve.

  I caught myself tilting a subtle, bitter smile toward the pavement. The irony was palpable: in my quest to avoid the "burden" of others, I’d managed to become the most unreliable of them all.

  I'm sorry. For ever assumed you were at least a little bit irresponsible.

  The silence that followed was heavy. Remi kept checking her phone, the plastic bags crinkling rhythmically against her legs.

  "Do you think Alizée is going to come looking for us?" she asked, her thumb hovering over the group chat.

  "It's just fruit juice, Remi. High priority for a party, low priority for... everyone else."

  "We're late. Maybe she gave us this easy job to us because she doesn't trust us with anything else."

  That's actually... valid. Given our current social standing in the council, that's a real possibility. Then again, I don't want to assume the worst just to be wrong.

  "Maybe she’s still mad," Remi whispered, her pace slowing until I was forced to "hit the brakes" to stay beside her. "About the assembly. I think... I think I lost her respect that day."

  "I see."

  "Zeke... I want to forget that day ever happened," she muttered, her voice barely rising above the rustle of the shopping bags.

  She wasn't alone in that. We all wanted to bury that memory under enough mundane days to make it disappear.

  "That’s why I decided to start over with you," she continued. The weight of her confession was heavier than the punch bowl and juice bottles I was carrying. "What was I thinking? Introducing myself with a clean slate, only to drag you into all this drama later? I know... it’s not a good look for me."

  "It’s fine," I said, keeping my voice level despite the sudden gravity of the moment. "You wanted to change. I can respect the thought."

  She offered a small, fragile smile. I watched her for a second, trying to decide if I was finally starting to understand her.

  I definitely don't understand her in the slightest.

  As we neared the mall exit, the bay came into view—a vast, shimmering expanse that made my frantic search through the shoe department feel even more trivial. Time is strange; the journey back felt twice as fast as the slog toward the store.

  A thought occurred to me, a simple bit of logic I’d overlooked in the heat of the "side-quest."

  "Hey, Remi..."

  "Hm?" She glanced up, her pace steady.

  "Why didn't you just... call me? You have my number."

  Remi squeezed her eyes shut and let out a nervous, self-deprecating laugh. She didn't stop walking, but her gaze drifted toward the horizon. "I was actually reaching for my phone when I spotted you. But honestly? I don't know the first thing about your habits, Zeke. I didn't know if you were at a cafe, a bookstore, or halfway back to the dorms. I guess I just thought looking for you manually was more reliable."

  "Fair enough," I muttered.

  We stepped onto the sidewalk, the transition from the climate-controlled mall to the humid air outside hitting me like a physical weight. The warm, orange tint that had graced the afternoon was gone, swallowed by an aggressive wall of grey clouds. It was a meteorological mood swing—a drastic shift that felt almost scripted.

  I shifted the punch bowl in my arms. I wanted to stretch, to work out the knots of tension left over from my encounter with Carter, but carrying party supplies made that impossible.

  "Zeke..." Remi’s voice dropped, the playfulness from the mall replaced by something hollow. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

  I nearly tripped over a crack in the pavement. "What? Where is this coming from?"

  "It’s nothing. Just..." She trailed off, her fingers tightening around her shopping bags. "That day at the assembly. When I talked you into that whole sabotage plan. Did you see me as a 'good person' then?"

  I looked at her. It was odd—her mind was clearly stuck in a loop, clawing at the same traumatic memories I had tried so hard to filter out. But then again, for someone like Remi, who lives and dies by social perception, that day wasn't just a mistake. It was a stain on her record.

  "The assembly was a mess for everyone," I said, trying to steer us away from the social landmine. "But the damage would have been worse if you hadn't sabotaged the plan. That’s just utilitarianism."

  "Utilitarianism is just a fancy word for being selfish," Remi countered. Her voice had lost its playful lilt. She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. "I chose my friends over the student body. I made us all scapegoats just so I could feel better."

  "Remi, the student body appreciated your—"

  "Oh, yeah? What about Heckler? He made everyone look down on us! We're the villains of the story now, Zeke."

  I looked at her, searching for a rebuttal, but the words felt like lead in my mouth. She wasn't wrong. We had traded one kind of ostracism for another.

  "...No, you're right. I'm sorry."

  "It's alright."

  It looks like sometimes even heroes doubt themselves. Does she not see herself as a worthy, capable student?

  Remi looked up at the sky. The first few drops of rain began to speckle the pavement. "I resonate with rainclouds," she said, her voice dropping into a register I’d never heard. "It’s a painful reminder of how I actually feel about the world."

  "Don't pull this crap again," I muttered, my "spectator" instincts screaming at me to run. "...You sure I'm the right person to talk to?"

  She turned to me. The "bubbly girl" mask was gone, replaced by a default expression of profound exhaustion. "You're quiet. Quiet people are safe."

  Which I feel is partly a lie, not saying it is. But there's probably more to it than that.

  I would've never guessed that the two most extroverted people I knew would open up to me in the same day.

  "Sometimes, I just want to escape from all of this," Remi said, her voice thinning as if the wind were carrying it away. "There’s nothing left for me to do here. I spend so much energy making sure everyone else feels okay just so I don’t have to look at my own reflection."

  The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic scuff of our shoes on the pavement.

  "..."

  "O-oh. Sorry," she stammered, catching my lack of a response. "I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?"

  "It’s fine," I said, the words feeling inadequate against the weight of her confession. "Keep going. If you want."

  We walked in silence for a while longer. I could practically see her gathering her scattered thoughts, organizing them into a coherent tragedy so she could hand it over to me. It felt less like a conversation and more like she was transferring a burden she could no longer carry alone.

  She took a shaky breath. "I’m not who you think I am, Zeke. I realized a long time ago that life is just a series of mistakes not worth making. Sometimes... I just want to end the loop. To be freed from the darkness."

  The air felt thin. Is there even a response for this? I wondered.

  "I’m sorry," she whispered, her eyes darting to her shoes. "That was dark. Forget I said it."

  "No, it's... it's fine. Venting is... good," I said, my voice cracking in its awkwardness.

  Remi softly giggles, then looks down at the ground with slightly more composure.

  She let out a dry, hollow laugh. "You're so awkward, Zeke." Then, the humor vanished. "The assembly almost pushed me over the edge. Why can't I handle these thoughts? They just keep stabbing at me."

  It's almost like I'm looking at a version of me who really can't handle their own negative thoughts. The only person that can comfort her right now is me, but I have no idea how to. I'm a failure.

  Her voice broke. The pressure of the last few weeks finally cracked the hull. Remi collapsed to her knees on the damp concrete. I kneeled instinctively, the punch bowl clattering beside us. I reached out, my hands hovering in the air—unsure if I was allowed to interfere with someone else's tragedy.

  Remi didn't wait for permission. She lunged forward, burying her face in my shirt. I froze, this wasn't anything I was socially equipped for. I eventually settled for reciprocating the hug, my arms feeling like wooden planks.

  "I'm scared, Zeke," she sobbed, the sound muffled by my chest. "I'm really scared."

  “Students, please head indoors. Rain is expected to intensify shortly.” The overhead speakers hummed with the announcement, a cold, robotic contrast to the girl crying in my arms.

  Then, the sky opened up.

  It was a total cliché. The rain soaked through my shirt, filled the punch bowl like a birdbath, and ruined her newly bought clothes. I sat there in the middle of the sidewalk, a spectator who had been forcibly dragged onto the stage. I wanted to tell her I understood—that I lived in that same darkness—but those words were locked behind a door I wasn't brave enough to open.

  In this moment, I realized that complaining about the cliche's in life weren't translating well. I was lost.

  So I just sat there, avoiding the landmines, hating the fact that I was the only "white knight" she had.