Chapter 53

Yoko

The numbers blur on the whiteboard, lines and symbols twisting into something completely meaningless. I know I should be paying attention—the way Ms. Catherine's voice drones on about derivatives and limits is a clear reminder—but my mind is miles away.

Specifically, it's tangled in soft brown hair, tucked behind glasses that sit just perfectly on the bridge of her nose.

Faye.

I sigh quietly, propping my chin on my hand as I stare blankly at my notebook, the margins filled with doodles and—yep—her name scrawled in cursive, circled, underlined, like some lovesick middle schooler.

I can still feel the ghost of her lips on mine from last night, the warmth of her sweater still clinging to me like an invisible second skin. I catch myself smiling like an idiot, my heart doing that annoying little flutter it always does when I think about her—which, let's be honest, is all the time.

A sharp click of chalk against the board snaps me out of it, and I blink up to see Ms. Catherine giving the class one last problem to solve before the bell. But I'm too far gone, my thoughts drifting back to Faye's voice, her soft laugh, the way her eyes darken just before she leans in—

Riiiiing.

The bell jolts me from my daydream, and I realize I've written exactly zero notes. Great.

I pack up my things quickly, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I make my way out of the classroom, letting the tide of students sweep me toward the lockers.

And there, like clockwork, stands Ink—leaning casually against the locker next to mine, her arms crossed, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of her lips like she knows exactly where my mind has been.

I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face as I approach her.

"Hey," I greet, my voice light, still buzzing from the remnants of my daydream.

Ink straightens, eyeing me with that knowing look that only she can pull off. "Hey. You look like you've been off in la-la land all day," she teases, bumping her shoulder against mine. "Thinking about a certain Ms. Tall-and-Cold, maybe?"

I roll my eyes, but the blush creeping up my neck betrays me.

"Shut up," I mutter, trying to fight the grin threatening to break free.

Ink just laughs, shaking her head. "Anyway, I was thinking of heading to the mall to grab some stuff for the Edinburgh trip. You wanna tag along?"

The idea of doing anything that isn't calculus sounds like heaven right now. Plus, I could probably use some last-minute shopping advice from Ink.

"Yeah," I nod, slamming my locker shut. "Let's go."

We weave our way through the crowded hallway, the buzz of after-school chatter fading behind us as we step out into the crisp afternoon air.

Sliding into my car, I feel the familiar hum of excitement stirring in my chest—not just for the trip, but for the thought of seeing Faye again, soon.

But for now?

A detour with Ink sounds just right.

The mall is bustling with that late afternoon energy—people weaving through racks of clothes, the faint hum of pop music overhead blending with the chatter of weekend shoppers. Ink and I wander into one of the stores, the fluorescent lights casting everything in that slightly-too-bright glow that makes you question if anything looks good.

Ink's already ahead of me, sifting through racks of sweaters like she's on some kind of mission. I trail behind, running my fingers over fabrics absentmindedly, my mind still half in the clouds, floating somewhere between calculus equations and Faye's lips.

Just as I'm thumbing through a row of jackets, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out, my heart doing that annoyingly familiar flutter when I see her name on the screen.

Faye

You went off already?

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

Yoko

Yeah, Ink dragged me to buy some clothes for the trip. Thought I'd follow, might as well get some stuff too.

I'm about to type something else when—

"Yoko!"

I glance up to see Ink waving a pair of jackets in the air like she's trying to flag down a taxi.

"Get over here," she calls, "I need your opinion!"

I chuckle, slipping my phone back into my pocket and making my way over, leaving Faye's message hanging like an unfinished thought.

After what feels like forever debating over jackets–and Ink rejecting every single one I suggested–we finally leave the store, our bags swinging by our sides. The mall feels a little quieter now, the late afternoon light filtering through the skylights, casting long shadows on the polished floors.

We stroll down the corridor, our pace lazy, the kind of comfortable silence that only real friends share settling between us.

Then, out of nowhere—

"So..." Ink nudges me with her elbow, that mischievous glint in her eyes. "How are you and Ms. Peraya?"

I shoot her a look, but the grin creeping onto my face betrays me.

"We're good," I say casually, though my heart feels like it's glowing just from thinking about her. "She met my dad last Friday."

Ink raises an eyebrow. "Duh, we had the mid-year review."

I shake my head, my grin widening. "Not just that. I mean, she came over after. Had dinner with us at home."

Ink's eyes light up like I just dropped the juiciest piece of gossip.

"No way!" she exclaims, grabbing my arm. "How was it? Did your dad take it well?"

I nod, the warmth from that night bubbling up in my chest. "Yeah, he was super supportive. I was so stressed about it, but he was cool. He even teased me the whole night."

Ink laughs, shaking her head. "Man, your dad's a legend." She pauses, her smile softening. "But, you know... it is kind of a forbidden thing. Teacher-student and all."

Her words hang in the air for a moment, and I feel the weight of them settle in my chest.

"Yeah..." I sigh, kicking at an invisible pebble on the floor. "With Edinburgh coming up, it's gonna be even harder."

Ink shoots me a knowing look. "How are you guys gonna keep away from each other?"

I exhale, feeling that familiar ache creep in.

"We agreed not to be close at all," I admit quietly. "Not even going to her room at night."

Ink whistles low, her eyes wide. "Damn. That's gonna be tough."

I shrug, trying to play it cool, but the thought of those cold, lonely nights without Faye's warmth beside me gnaws at the edges of my heart.

Ink nudges me again, her voice teasing now. "Bet you won't last a day."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the laugh that slips out. "Watch me."

We continue down the mall, the weight of our conversation lightening with every step. The shops blur into the background as we drift from store to store, laughing, teasing, and trying to ignore the silent countdown ticking in the back of my mind.

Because no matter how far Edinburgh is, the real distance is the one I'll feel every time I'm not by Faye's side.

After dropping Ink off at her place—with her smug little "Don't forget to pack your self-control for Edinburgh!" still echoing in my ears—I finally make it home.

The moment I step through the door, Ham comes barreling toward me like I've been gone for years instead of just a few hours. His tail is wagging so hard, it's like he's trying to summon a small tornado right there in the living room.

"Hey, you big fluffball," I laugh, dropping my bags near the door and crouching down to ruffle his fur. He responds with an enthusiastic lick to my face, which, gross, but I'll let it slide because he's cute and doesn't tease me like Ink does.

I spend a few minutes tossing his chew toy around, pretending I'm not avoiding the inevitable. But Ham's too smart. The second I stop, he tilts his head at me like, 'Girl, you know you've got stuff to do.'

"Alright, alright," I groan, standing up and wiping my hands on my jeans. "Let's get this torture over with."

I fill Ham's bowl while he trots happily behind me like my little shadow. Once he's munching away, I head toward the dreaded corner of doom—a.k.a. the place where my dusty suitcase has been hiding since the last time I pretended to be an organized human being.

Dragging it out feels like I'm unearthing some ancient relic from a tomb. I swear it creaks in protest, like it knows I'm about to shove it full of clothes I probably won't even wear.

I flop it open in the middle of my room and stare at it like it's personally offended me.

"Ugh," I groan dramatically, collapsing onto the floor beside it. "Why is packing the worst thing in the world?"

Ham watches me from his spot by the door, blinking slowly like he agrees but also secretly judges my lack of motivation.

"You're no help," I mutter, pointing an accusing finger at him. He wags his tail in response, totally unbothered.

I drag myself up and start tossing clothes onto the bed—shirts, jeans, sweaters. But the more I throw, the less progress it feels like I'm making.

Do I need this sweater? Probably. What about this black shirt? Wait, didn't I already pack a black shirt?

I stare at two identical black shirts in my hands.

"Do I really need both of these?" I grumble to myself. "They look the same!"

But, of course, I throw them both into the suitcase anyway. Future me can deal with it.

I pack in bursts, groaning between each round like I'm running intervals at the gym. When I finally glance at the suitcase, it's barely half full.

Seriously? That's it?

I flop onto the floor again, arms splayed out like I'm about to have a full-on existential crisis.

"I'd rather do calculus than finish this," I mutter to the ceiling, and that's saying a lot.

Ham trots over, plopping down beside me, his big, fluffy head resting on my stomach like he's offering emotional support.

I scratch behind his ears. "If you could pack for me, I'd give you all the treats in the world."

He yawns in response, completely unimpressed by my suffering.

With another groan, I force myself up and start scanning the room, wondering what else I might need.

Then my eyes land on her side of the closet—the few clothes Faye's left over from the times we've stayed over at each other's places.

I pause, staring at one of her oversized black shirts, the one that always smells like her subtle perfume and that faint hint of something uniquely Faye.

A mischievous grin curls at the corner of my lips.

Without thinking twice, I grab the shirt, holding it up for a moment, feeling the familiar softness between my fingers. My heart does that stupid fluttery thing again, and I swear I can hear Faye's voice in my head, laughing at me for being such a sap.

"Mine now," I whisper to no one in particular, stuffing it into my suitcase with a smug little smirk.

Ham lets out a soft huff, like he knows exactly what I'm up to.

"Shh," I whisper, glancing around dramatically even though no one's here to see me sneak Faye's shirt into my luggage like it's some kind of forbidden treasure. "She doesn't need to know."

But let's be honest—Faye's definitely going to notice.

And honestly? I hope she does.

With a final groan that sounds like my soul is leaving my body, I sit up again and force myself to keep going. I toss in socks, underwear, random toiletries, and the sweater Faye gave me, holding it for a moment longer than necessary because it still smells like her.

Focus, Yoko.

By the time I finally zip the suitcase shut, I feel like I've just run a marathon. I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with a dramatic sigh of relief.

"Done," I announce to no one in particular, though Ham wags his tail like he's proud of me—or maybe he's just excited that I'll stop complaining now.

Packing? Complete.

Sanity? Questionable.

I flop face-first onto my bed, groaning into the sheets like the dramatic mess I am. My arms feel like noodles, my brain is mush, and honestly? If I didn't have a literal flight tomorrow, I'd consider leaving half my stuff behind just to avoid this nonsense.

Ham pads over, nudging my side with his cold, wet nose like, 'You done being dramatic yet?'

"No," I mumble into the pillow, voice muffled. "But thanks for checking in."

I roll over, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet of the room settle around me. That's when it hits me.

Shit.

I never replied to Faye.

Bolting upright, I fumble for my phone on the nightstand like it's life or death, the screen lighting up to reveal our last conversation still sitting there, unanswered.

Smooth, Yoko. Real smooth.

My thumbs fly across the screen.

Yoko

What are you doing?

The reply comes quicker than I expect, and I can't help the little flutter in my chest when her name pops up.

Faye

Grading. You disappeared on me.

I grin, fingers moving fast.

Yoko

I didn't disappear, I just... got swallowed by the black hole of packing.

There's a pause, and I picture her smirking at her phone, probably shaking her head at my dramatics.

Faye

A tragedy. Truly.

Yoko

It WAS. I hate packing. I'm traumatized. You should feel bad for me.

Her reply comes with a teasing edge I can hear even through the screen.

Faye

I'll be sure to send flowers to your funeral. Cause of death: overexposure to sweaters.

I snort, tossing my phone onto the bed beside me.

God, I love her.

After lying there for a few more minutes, basking in the glow of not packing, I finally drag myself up and shuffle to the kitchen.

Ham trails behind me like my fuzzy little shadow, his tail thumping against the walls as I rummage through the fridge. I throw together something simple—because who has the energy for gourmet after that ordeal?—and set it down on the counter.

As I eat, Ham rests his chin on my knee, giving me those big, pleading eyes like he hasn't been fed in years. I roll my eyes but sneak him a bite or two because, honestly? I'm a sucker.

Once dinner's done, I rinse off the dishes, letting the warm water soothe the last of the packing stress from my fingers. The rhythmic sound of water and clinking plates fills the quiet space, grounding me in the simplicity of the moment.

After cleaning up, I head to the bathroom, washing my face, brushing my teeth—the whole night routine thing, though I move slower than usual, my mind already drifting toward tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

The word feels heavy in my chest, like it carries more weight than just a trip. It's not just about Edinburgh—it's about the distance, the stolen glances, the pretending we're just teacher and student when all I want is to be with her.

I sigh, tugging on an oversized shirt—hers, of course—and climbing into bed. Ham jumps up beside me, curling into a warm ball at my feet like he knows I need the comfort tonight.

I grab my phone one last time, fingers hovering over Faye's name. I don't text her, though. I just stare at the screen for a second, letting the ache settle quietly in my chest before I finally set it down.

Tomorrow's going to be hard.

But for now, I let sleep pull me under, the faint scent of her on my shirt the only thing I need to carry me through the night.