Chapter 75

Faye

It's Day 2 of Final Examinations Week.

And guess who has the absolute privilege of spending the next few hours pacing up and down a silent exam hall, ensuring that a bunch of overly stressed students don't cheat?

Me.

I sigh, adjusting the stack of exam papers in my arms as I step into the hall, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly above. The atmosphere is thick with tension, students shuffling in, setting up their stationery, and mentally preparing for battle.

History.

The morning paper.

And I, lucky me, have been assigned as today's proctor. I can barely contain my excitement. 

I am, of course, not excited at all.

It's not that I don't take my duties seriously—I do. But proctoring is, quite frankly, mind-numbingly dull. There is only so much walking in circles a person can do before they start questioning every decision that led them to this point.

I sigh again, suppressing the urge to groan as I place the exam booklets on the front desk. The other proctors are already here, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, equally enthusiastic about our shared fate.

"Alright, we're starting in five minutes," one of them announces.

I glance at the clock. Five minutes before I am officially sentenced to three hours of aimless pacing, stiff silence, and resisting the urge to fall asleep standing up.

Wonderful.

I scan the room absently, eyes flicking over the students settling into their seats. Some are still flipping through their notes in a last-minute frenzy, others sit with their hands clasped together as if praying to their ancestors for divine intervention. 

A few, already resigned to their fate, simply stare blankly at the walls. And then, of course, my eyes find her.

Yoko.

She's seated near the middle of the hall, her posture relaxed but focused, her notes stacked neatly beside her. She taps her pen against the desk absentmindedly, brows slightly furrowed as she reviews something in her head.

She looks calm. Ready.

Good.

I smirk, just the tiniest bit, before catching myself.

Professionalism, Faye.

I shift my gaze away before I get caught staring, rolling my shoulders to prepare myself for the long, thrilling hours ahead.

Alright then, time to do my duty.

Time to walk.

And walk.

And walk some more.

The examination begins, and as expected, the hall falls into that familiar tense silence—only the sound of pens scratching against paper and the occasional rustle of turning pages breaking through.

I exhale slowly, watching as students bury their heads into their papers, some furiously writing, others staring at the ceiling like divine intervention might suddenly strike them with the right answers.

The other proctor immediately gets to work, pacing the aisles with an air of self-importance, scanning for any sign of wrongdoing. Perfect. That means I don't have to.

With that settled, I slide into my seat at the front desk, open my laptop, and pretend to be productive.

Barely fifteen minutes in, my phone vibrates against the table. I glance at the screen. 

Engfa.

Of course.

Keeping my movements discreet, I unlock my phone under the desk.

Engfa

Got more updates on the Blair-Allison mess. Call later?

I exhale through my nose. There's always more.

Faye

Can't talk now, proctoring. But I'm done at 11 AM—come over for lunch at mine.

Engfa

See you then.

I lock my phone just as the other proctor strides past, their expression the perfect mix of boredom and forced vigilance. I keep my own face neutral, like the responsible teacher I am, before turning back to my laptop.

I should work. Really, I should. But instead, my fingers hover over the keyboard for a beat too long.

And then—without much thought—I type: University of Edinburgh PhD Programmes in English Literature.

The results load instantly.

I scan the page, eyes flicking over the programme details, the faculty list, the application process. It's not a new thought. It's been sitting in the back of my mind for a while now, a quiet possibility I never quite entertained fully.

But now? Here I am, looking, wondering.

And for the first time in a long while, the idea of leaving MeowingHam High doesn't feel like a distant dream.

It feels like the next step.

I scroll through the website absentmindedly, my eyes scanning the course outlines, faculty members, and research opportunities, but my mind is already slipping into something else—something softer.

Us.

Me and Yoko. At the same university.

No more sneaking glances in hallways. No more stolen moments, no more carefully measured words. No more hiding.

Just us, as we are. As we should be.

Yoko would be working on her English Literature degree, probably spending hours in the library, surrounded by books taller than she is, her brows furrowed in that focused way she gets when she's annotating a text.

I smirk slightly, already imagining her frustration over some overly complicated literary theory. "Why do they have to write like this? Just say what you mean, damn it."

I would be there, doing my PhD. Sitting across from her in the library, stealing kisses in between papers. Holding her hand in public without hesitation.

No one watching us. No one whispering. No one trying to tear us apart.

Just us.

The thought is so enticing, so real, that I almost forget where I am. I lean back slightly, fingers drumming against the table.

Maybe... maybe I should do this. But to apply, I'd need recommendations. Strong ones. My thoughts flicker immediately to her.

Professor Vanessa Evans.

She's already helped me so much—more than I ever expected. Not just academically, but personally. She protected me from Allison, helped me navigate the chaos of my relationship with Yoko, and stood by me when I had no one else in my corner.

If there's anyone whose word carries weight in academia, it's her.

But...

I exhale sharply, shaking my head.

No. She's done enough. More than enough. I can't ask her for more.

I click out of the webpage, leaning back against my chair, trying to shake off the feeling in my chest.

This is my decision. My future. And if I really want this—I have to take that step myself.

I snap my laptop shut, pushing aside thoughts of PhD applications and the future for now. Right now, I have a job to do—one that involves making sure none of these students try anything funny during their history paper.

I rise from my seat, stretching subtly before making my way down the aisles, my eyes flicking from desk to desk. 

Most students are hunched over their papers, furiously writing, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Others are staring at their booklets with that distant, oh-god-why-did-I-not-study-this kind of look.

I smirk slightly. Classic.

My steps are measured, slow, deliberate as I pace the hall. No whispering, no darting eyes, no suspicious hand movements under desks—good. At least they're all playing by the rules today.

And then—I reach her row.

Yoko.

She doesn't notice me—too lost in her own world, her pen moving swiftly, her expression locked in deep concentration.

God. I know she's smart, know how much effort she's put into this, but watching her like this—so serious, so determined—it hits differently.

She bites her lip slightly, pausing just for a second, then continues writing with renewed confidence, her brow relaxing as if she just figured something out.

That's my girl.

A quiet warmth spreads in my chest. I feel it every time I see her push herself, every time she proves to herself what I've known all along—that she's more than capable, more than brilliant.

I linger for a second too long, just watching her, feeling a quiet sense of pride settle into my bones.

Then, I snap myself out of it.

Come on, Faye. Keep it professional.

With a final glance at Yoko, I quickly move on, walking briskly to the other end of the hall before I really start looking suspicious.

The sharp ring of the bell echoes through the hall, signaling the end of the exam.

"Pens down. Stop writing immediately."

A collective sigh ripples through the students, followed by the rustling of papers and the clatter of pens being tossed onto desks. Some students stretch their arms dramatically, others slump back in their seats, looking like they've just survived a battlefield.

I smirk slightly, watching as they begin gathering their scripts, one by one bringing them forward to the proctor's table.

I step forward, joining the other proctor in organizing the stacks of papers, quickly flipping through to ensure that no pages are missing, that each answer booklet is accounted for.

"Is that all?" my fellow proctor asks, scanning the room.

I do a final headcount as the last few students shuffle out of the hall, and once I'm sure every script has been submitted, I nod. "Yeah, we're good."

The proctor seals the envelope with the official school sticker, making sure everything is secure before we gather our things.

Together, we walk down the hallway, making our way toward the office.

The building is quieter than usual—most students are either on break or frantically revising for their next paper. The office is no different, only a few admin staff inside, busy with their own work.

We head straight to the submissions desk, handing over the sealed envelopes. The administrator signs them in, stamps them, and stores them in the cabinet for grading.

"That's done," the other proctor exhales, stretching.

"Finally," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

With my job done for the morning, I step out of the office, heading straight for my car.

Time to go home.

I unlock the door, sliding into the driver's seat, but before starting the engine, I take a moment to exhale.

Afternoon updates with Engfa. She promised progress. More evidence, more leverage. And, hopefully, more ways to make sure Allison and Blair never get the chance to hurt Yoko again.

I grip the wheel, my expression hardening.

This ends soon.

With that thought, I start the engine and drive home, ready to prepare for what's coming next.

...

I pull into my driveway, barely having the time to put the car in park before I spot her.

Engfa. Standing at my front door, arms crossed, grinning like she owns the damn place.

The moment I step out of my car, she smirks and dramatically spreads her arms.

"Ah, my favorite soon-to-be unemployed academic!" she calls out. "How was your thrilling morning of ensuring desperate students didn't cheat their way through history?"

I sigh, shaking my head as I shut the car door. "Engfa, I swear to god—"

"Oh, please, spare me the scolding, Ms Literature Teacher. I know you were probably zoning out half the time and sneaking glances at your little girlfriend in there."

I roll my eyes but say nothing, which—of course—makes her smirk even wider.

"Ha! I knew it!" she cackles, looking far too pleased with herself.

"Are we going inside, or do you want to stand out here performing stand-up for my neighbors?" I mutter, stepping past her to unlock the door.

"Tsk, tsk. No appreciation for my comedic brilliance," she sighs dramatically, following me in.

I don't bother responding as I kick off my shoes, heading straight for the kitchen. Engfa flops onto my couch, making herself at home as usual, while I grab two bottles of ice-cold water from the fridge.

"So," she calls out, lounging comfortably. "Are you excited to hear what I've got for you today? Or are you gonna glare at me like a grumpy old teacher first?"

I return to the living room, tossing a bottle of water at her, which she catches effortlessly. "I'm always glaring at you," I mutter, taking a seat next to her.

"True," she muses, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. "But today, I promise, you're gonna like what I have to say."

I raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch. "Alright, then. Impress me."

She grins widely. "Gladly."

Engfa leans forward, setting her water bottle down on the coffee table with a thunk, her grin widening like she's been dying to spill the latest updates.

"Alright, get comfortable," she smirks. "Because this is about to get very satisfying."

I arch an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of my own water, silently motioning for her to continue.

"So," she begins, tapping her fingers against her knee. "First things first, I did some extra digging after our last conversation. And guess what?"

"You found more dirt?" I guess dryly.

Her grin turns positively feral. "Oh, so much more."

I exhale sharply, my grip tightening around the bottle. "Alright, hit me."

Engfa stretches her arms lazily before diving in. "So, remember that very shady transaction I found under Allison's name? The one that was sent to an unregistered account?"

"Yeah?"

"Well," Engfa smirks, pulling her phone out, "I finally traced where the money went."

I straighten slightly, my full attention locked onto her.

"And?"

She flicks her screen toward me. A screenshot of a bank statement. A name. And the recipient?

Blair L. Thomson.

I stare. "You've got to be kidding me," I murmur.

"Oh, I wish I was," Engfa says, shaking her head. "But nope. Allison wired a nice little sum straight into Blair's account just a week before Blair got bold enough to start tailing Yoko and snapping pictures of you two."

I let out a sharp exhale, my jaw tightening. "So she was literally paying Blair to spy on us," I mutter.

"Bingo," Engfa hums, tossing her phone onto the table. "

And that? That's huge. Because now, it's not just about a student stalking another student. It's bribery, Faye. Allison used school funds to pay a student for dirt on you. That's gross misconduct. Fireable misconduct."

I blink, the weight of the information settling in. "You're telling me we can nail her and Blair with this?"

Engfa grins, throwing her arms behind her head. "Oh, baby, we can bury them."

I exhale slowly, my mind already working through the implications. "And Blair?" I ask, tilting my head. "What's her deal in all this? I mean, besides the obvious power-hungry desperation."

Engfa chuckles. "Oh, you're gonna love this," she says, pulling out another file from her bag. "Because Blair? She's already falling apart."

I raise an eyebrow. "Falling apart?"

"Mmhm," Engfa hums, flipping through the papers. "Turns out, little miss I'll-do-anything-to-be-valedictorian has more than just one skeleton in her closet."

She slides a document toward me.

I pick it up. My eyes scan the page. And then I pause.

"Wait—"

I look up at Engfa, who is already grinning like the devil herself.

"Yep," she says smugly. "She plagiarized two major research assignments. And I have proof."

I blink. Then blink again. 

"You're joking."

"Nope," Engfa smirks, leaning back like she's personally enjoying this victory. "Apparently, she copy-pasted entire sections from old reports, thinking no one would check."

"And?" I ask, gripping the paper tighter.

"And I did check," Engfa hums. "And now, I have enough proof to bring this straight to the school board. If this gets out, Blair's entire academic credibility goes up in flames."

I stare at her. Then, very slowly, a smirk begins curling onto my lips. "Oh, this is good."

"I know," Engfa sighs dramatically, tossing a hand in the air. "And to think, all she had to do was not be a creepy little stalker. But nope, she had to go and ruin her own damn future."

I set the paper down, exhaling. This isn't just a small win anymore. This is a full checkmate.

"So," Engfa leans forward, tapping the file with a grin. "Are we ready to destroy them?"

I don't hesitate. "Oh, absolutely."

Engfa takes a long, satisfied sip of her water, setting it down with a thunk before leaning back against the couch like she's fully enjoying this moment.

"Alright," she sighs, stretching her legs out. "Now that we've established that our favorite high school villain and her corrupt principal are absolutely screwed, let me update you on what I've already done."

I tilt my head, crossing my arms. "You mean aside from digging up enough dirt to bury them both alive?"

"Oh, baby," she grins, "we're just getting started."

She grabs her bag again, pulling out another set of documents. I watch as she flips through them with practiced ease before sliding one toward me.

"So, first things first," she begins, tapping the paper, "I've officially filed the lawsuit against Blair under three major charges: defamation, coercion, and invasion of privacy."

I pick up the paper, scanning the details. It's all there—Blair's unauthorized pictures of Yoko and me, the way she stalked Yoko, her attempt to physically force herself on Yoko at school.

My jaw tightens at that last part.

"The defamation charge," Engfa continues, "comes from her actively trying to ruin your reputation through false allegations. The coercion charge? That's for how she tried to pressure Yoko into revealing your relationship while using fear tactics. And the invasion of privacy is self-explanatory—this little creep was following Yoko around like some obsessive maniac."

I exhale sharply, gripping the document a little tighter.

"She's a kid," I mutter, though my voice is edged with irritation. "I don't want to completely destroy her future."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Engfa waves a hand.

"Which is why I'm not looking to get her arrested or anything. But the goal here is to make sure she never pulls this kind of shit again. A serious legal case against her? That's going on her permanent record. That means no valedictorian, no golden academic future, and a very difficult time getting into any prestigious university after this."

I sigh, rubbing my temple. It's harsh—but fair.

"And Allison?" I ask, flipping the page to see the next set of charges.

Engfa's smirk sharpens. "Oh, Allison's situation is way worse."

She pulls out another document and places it on top of the first.

"I filed a separate case against her for bribery, abuse of power, and gross professional misconduct. Because, as much as she wants to pretend she's just a concerned principal, the fact remains—she used school funds to pay a student to spy on you. That's straight-up bribery. She manipulated academic rankings to suit her personal vendettas. That's abuse of power. And considering her personal relationship with Blair? Yeah, that's the kind of thing that gets a principal fired—and banned from working in education again."

I let out a low whistle, skimming the formal charges. "And how are the higher-ups responding to this?" I ask.

"Well," Engfa hums, tapping her fingers on the armrest, "let's just say I had a very interesting conversation with the school board this morning."

I blink. "You already went to them?"

"Of course I did," she smirks.

"What, you thought I was gonna wait for Allison to dig herself a deeper hole? No, no. I walked right into that boardroom with all the evidence in hand and presented it like I was serving a five-course meal."

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. "And?"

"Oh, they were pissed," she chuckles. "Some of them already suspected something shady was going on, but no one had solid proof until now. They're launching an internal investigation as we speak. If things go the way I expect them to, Allison will be out before she even has the chance to retaliate."

I lean back against the couch, processing all of this. "So, what now?" I ask, voice steady.

"Now?" Engfa grins, crossing her legs. "We wait for the official hearing date. In the meantime, I'd suggest you andYoko continue to lay low. The moment Allison realizes she's losing, she might get desperate. And desperate people?"She leans in slightly. "They do stupid things."

I exhale slowly, nodding. "Got it."

Engfa watches me for a moment, her expression softening just slightly. "You sure you're okay?"

I glance down at the documents in my lap, feeling the weight of everything pressing against me.

Am I okay?

...I don't know. But I do know one thing.

"It'll be over soon," I murmur.

Engfa nods, leaning back again. "Damn right it will."

I exhale slowly, letting everything settle in my mind—the lawsuits, the official hearing, the fact that Allison's downfall is now inevitable. It's happening. The mess she created, the schemes she pulled—it's all coming back to bite her.

And yet... there's still something gnawing at me.

I glance at Engfa, who's casually sipping her water like she didn't just lay out the most satisfying legal takedown of the century.

"Engfa."

She looks up, raising an eyebrow.

"My relationship with Yoko," I say carefully, "was it mentioned to the school board? Did they say anything about it?"

Her smirk fades slightly as she studies me, then she sets her bottle down. "Not officially," she says.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, shifting slightly. "Look, the focus of this case is on Allison's abuse of power and Blair's harassment. That's what I presented. Your relationship with Yoko isn't directly involved in any of the charges, so technically, it wasn't part of the formal discussion."

"But?" I press.

Engfa tilts her head. "But... people talk, Faye. Some of the board members definitely suspect something. And let's be real—once Allison realizes she's losing, she will try to drag you down with her."

I clench my jaw, already anticipating it. Of course she would.

"So what are we looking at here?" I ask, voice low.

Engfa crosses her arms. "Worst case? Someone tries to bring it up in the hearing as a last-ditch effort to shift the focus. But honestly?"

She leans back. "Even if they do, we have control over the narrative. You're leaving after Yoko's finals anyway. By the time anyone tries to make a big deal out of it, you'll already be gone."

I exhale, pressing my fingers against my temple. "So, you're saying... it's not safe, but it's not the main issue either."

"Exactly," she nods. "Right now, Allison is their priority. And trust me, she has way bigger problems than trying to take a swing at you."

I nod slowly, processing her words.

It's not over yet. But it's close.

"Alright," I murmur. "That's enough for now."

Engfa watches me for a beat, then her usual smirk returns. "Damn right it is," she says, standing up and stretching.

"Now, can we please take a break from all this legal talk and eat? I did not come all the way here just to watch you stress over things I already have under control."

I let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. "Yeah, yeah," I mutter, pushing myself up from the couch. "You and your priorities."

"Hey," she grins, "winning lawsuits and getting a free meal? That's balance, my friend."

I roll my eyes but lead the way to the kitchen anyway.

For now, the war can wait.

I move through the kitchen with ease, pulling out ingredients and setting up for a quick lunch. Nothing fancy—just something simple before Engfa starts whining about how I never feed her despite her literally inviting herself over every time.

Garlic sizzles in the pan, the aroma filling the kitchen as I stir-fry the noodles. Engfa, of course, has made zero effort to help, sprawled out on my couch like she pays rent here, scrolling through her phone without a care in the world.

"You know," she calls out lazily, "for someone who says she's not a housewife, you sure act like one."

I roll my eyes, flipping the noodles. "And yet, you still expect me to feed you every time you come over."

"Of course," she grins. "It's what best friends are for."

I just shake my head, finishing up the dish and plating it before bringing everything to the table. Engfa finally gets up, plopping into the chair with a dramatic sigh like she's been suffering all morning.

"You're impossible," I mutter, sliding a bottle of water toward her.

"And you love it," she sings, before immediately digging into her food.

I let out a sigh, but there's no real annoyance behind it. This is just how we are.

We eat in relative silence, the weight of our earlier conversation lingering, but not uncomfortably so. Engfa chews thoughtfully, then suddenly looks up.

"So," she starts, way too casually. "You're really quitting?"

I wipe my mouth, nodding. "Yeah. After the finals."

She tilts her head. "You know, with the way things are going, you actually might not have to. Allison's on her way out, Blair's case is solid. The odds are really in your favor now."

"I know." I swirl the water bottle between my fingers.

"Then why leave?" she presses.

I exhale, leaning back slightly.

"Because it's better this way. Even without the scandal, I don't think teaching high schoolers is for me. I'd rather handle university students—ones who actually care about literature and don't groan every time I assign an essay."

Engfa snorts. "So basically, you want students who don't whine about homework?"

"Exactly."

She smirks. "You just want to be like Vanessa Evans, huh? Sitting in a fancy university, assigning impossible reading lists, and scaring the hell out of undergraduates."

I chuckle. "I wouldn't be that bad."

"Mmm," she hums, unconvinced.

We eat for a few more minutes before she suddenly grins again, and I recognize that look immediately.

Oh no.

"Alright, alright, serious question now," she says, voice dripping with mischief.

I glance at her warily. "What."

She leans forward, eyebrows wiggling. "So, when are you proposing?"

I almost choke on my water.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on," she groans, rolling her eyes. "Don't play dumb. We both know you're going to marry that girl. So when's the big moment, huh? You got a plan?"

I exhale sharply, setting my water down. "Not yet."

"Liar," she smirks.

I shake my head, but a small, knowing smile tugs at my lips. "I mean it," I say. "Not yet. Not while she's still a student."

Engfa watches me for a moment, then nods in understanding. "You're waiting until she graduates."

"Yeah."

"So, what? The moment she throws her cap in the air, you're getting down on one knee?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Something like that."

She grins. "Damn. My girl is really all in, huh?"

I glance down at my plate, exhaling softly. "Yeah," I murmur. "I am."

Engfa leans back, shaking her head with a smirk. "I better get a front-row seat."

"Obviously."

"Good. Now hurry up and propose already so I can start planning my speech."

I groan, picking up a piece of chicken and shoving it toward her face. "Eat your damn food."

She cackles, but does as she's told.

After lunch, Engfa stretches dramatically, patting her stomach like she just had the best meal of her life.

"Well," she sighs, standing up, "as much as I'd love to stay and keep bullying you, I actually have real work to do."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? You mean destroying lives for a living isn't enough? You've got more?"

She grins. "You know I thrive on chaos, babe. Some of us have lawsuits to handle. Not all of us get to sit around writing love letters to our students—oh, wait, sorry, resignation letters."

I groan, shaking my head as I follow her to the door. "You're the worst."

"And you love it," she sings, slipping on her shoes.

I cross my arms, leaning against the doorway. "I really don't."

"Mmm, sure." She wiggles her fingers in a mock wave before stepping outside. "Alright, Professor Almost-Peraya, don't be a stranger. And don't forget—front-row seat to the proposal. I will fight for it."

I roll my eyes. "Get out, Engfa."

She cackles, heading toward her car. "Love you, babe!"

I shake my head as she drives off, letting out a slow breath before closing the door behind me.

Finally, some quiet.

I walk back into the living room, sinking onto the couch with a sigh. The weight of everything—the lawsuits, the impending fallout, my own future—settles in my chest.

And then, without overthinking it, I reach for my laptop. I open a blank document, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before I finally type.

Subject: Official Notice of Resignation

The words stare back at me, solid and final. I inhale deeply. Then, I start writing.

I finish typing the last line of my resignation letter, my fingers lingering over the keyboard as I read it over again.

It's done. But I don't hit send. Because I don't know who to send it to.

Normally, it would go straight to the principal's office, but with Allison now under investigation, everything is in limbo. Sending this now would only alert her—warn her that I'm making moves, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that Allison thrives on control.

I exhale sharply, leaning back against the couch. No. I'll hold onto it for now. There's no rush.

Instead, my thoughts drift to something else. Someone else.

Yoko.

Tomorrow.

The final day of exams.

After weeks of endless studying, sleepless nights, and stress, she'll finally be free. And I know exactly how much this means to her—how hard she's worked, how much she's pushed herself for this moment.

She deserves to celebrate and I want to be the one to do it with her.

I close my laptop, tapping my fingers against the cover. How should I surprise her? Dinner? Something simple? Or should I go all out—something special, something that really shows her how proud I am?

I smirk slightly, shaking my head.

No matter what, I know one thing for sure—Tomorrow night?

Yoko won't be sleeping early.