chapter 3

A/N

✄✄✄✄ means time skip btw, genius I know

Diana's pov

I can't sleep, my head is full of thoughts, confusing ones.

What does it mean to like someone? What does it feel like?  Liking someone. Is it a quiet kind of chaos. Noticing the way the person you like laughs, how it lights up a room and, somehow, you too. Does it mean catching yourself glancing at them when you think no one's watching, memorizing the curve of their smile like it's a secret written just for you.

Or is it the way their name suddenly feels heavier in your mouth, carrying a weight of things you want to say but can't. The nervous energy that buzzes in your chest when they're near, the sudden awareness of every word you speak, every move you make. You start noticing the smallest details-the way they tuck their hair behind their ear or how their voice softens when they're talking about something they love.

And then there's the longing-the kind that creeps in when the world is quiet. You wonder if they think about you the way you think about them, if they notice the moments when your hand almost brushes theirs, or the way your laughter always seems to come easier when they're around. Maybe its beautiful and maddening, a storm and a calm all at once.

Do I like someone? I don't know, but if I did, who would I like?

Abby.

We just met, it's probably just a moment of weakness because of that one moment before my detention. Im overthinking this, like always.

✄✄✄✄✄✄

I wake up, rubbing my eyes before groaning when I remember I have school today. I check my phone, 7am. After getting up, taking a fast shower and getting dressed, I brush my teeth and hair, doing my usual morning routine. I did the same routine in California too, so it's not new to me.

I take my bag and run downstairs, greeting my dad and telling him about my plans for today. Mostly just studying and trying to survive the whole week, hopefully making it to Friday alive.

I  eat some breakfast fastly, chocolate flavored cereals and milk. Basic but absolutely delicious. As I eat, I look around, taking it all in. The house looks like a cozy home now, but it sure doesn't feel like a home yet, though.

"Bye dad!!" I call out as I hurry outside, walking fastly towards the school. The walk feels slower than usually, probably because of the traffic being a little bit bigger than it usually is at 8am.

As I reach the school, I see Chole waiting for me with Nora And Abby. My heart doesn't start beating faster and I don't get butterflies. Maybe I was right last night, it was just a moment of attraction.

We start walking before even greeting each other because the class starts soon, Chemistry. "Hi guys" I give them a smile while navigating through the hallways.

"Hey!! We have Chemistry, I swear, we're not going to survive this."  Chole sighs, causing Abby to groan. "We never will."

"At least the teacher's hot, strict and annoying, but hot. Nice to look at" I shrug, making my friends laugh and agree.

We enter the class, taking seats from the first row because surprisingly, we still have a little bit of motivation left. it takes only 3 minutes for the door to open, revealing Mrs. Collins.

"Good morning class, keep your mouth shut and take your books." The teacher commands with a firm but bored voice, as if she hates it here.

Everybody quiets down and takes their books obiently, not daring to say a word.

I open my chemistry book, eyeing the page, already giving up with the subject.

"We already started this last lesson so continue reading page 27, remember to take notes and focus reading, no talking with friends" Mrs. Collins says, writing something on the whiteboard.

As I work, I look at her. The way she carries herself.  It was the kind of realization that hit like a punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were part of. She stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, eyes sharp as a blade, making sure everybody is working and not distracted. Annoying, strict, and insufferably perfect in her posture, she's everything I dreaded in a teacher.

And yet, somewhere between her sharp reprimands and the dramatic sighs she let out whenever someone dared to interrupt her lesson, I found myself laughing—not out loud, of course, but silently, in a way that almost betrayed me. It was the way her eyebrows furrowed so intensely it felt like they could write their own essay. Or the dry humor tucked beneath her exasperated tone, like she couldn’t help but be funny even when she was furious.

She was beautiful, too, in a way that annoyed me more than her rules. Not in the obvious, effortless way some people are, but in the kind of beauty you notice by accident. Obviously shes hot, everybody sees it, but there's something more under that, something you don't notice if you don't look at her, actually look at her. The sunlight caught in her hair when she turned just right, the faint curve of a smile she tried to hide when someone answered a question cleverly, the way her hands moved—precise and deliberate—as she wrote on the board.

It was maddening, really. How could someone so strict, so completely dedicated to driving me crazy with rules and expectations, also make my heart skip a beat with a single raised eyebrow? I couldn’t decide if I hated her or admired her.

Everybody hates her because she's strict, but I don't hate her. I think I.. dislike her while also admire her. A little both of both. Not my favorite teacher, never, but she's okay. She's not that bad, at least she knows how to teach...even if she's strict.

Im too deep in my own thoughts because I don't  even hear Mrs. Collins calling my name. "Diana? Diana!"

I snap back to reality, looking around until my eyes find Mrs. Collins standing just right in front of me with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry- What was the question again?" I stammer, trying to look neutral.

"I asked you are you listening to me??" She says, disapproving look on her face

"I- sorry, I was just-" I try to say but she interrupts me

"Finish that sentence in detention after school today" The teacher says, turning around and walking back to her desk

"Is she serious now?!" i mutter under my breath, seemingly too loud because Mrs. Collins turns around "Dead serious"

She leaves the class, not telling us where she is going. It takes only 5 minutes for her to come back and walk to my desk, handing me a paper.

Detention again. For what this time? Breathing too loudly? Blinking out of turn? I stare at the slip in my hand, the bold, accusing letters making my blood boil. 'Not paying attention in class.',  Really? She could’ve just written, because I felt like it.

She had this uncanny ability to spot every minor infraction, like some kind of hyper-focused hawk. Dropped a pen? Detention. Whispered to a friend to borrow an eraser? Detention. Looked out the window for half a second? You guessed it—detention. It wasn’t just unfair; it was ridiculous. It was like she thrived on catching us slipping up, like every offense gave her a jolt of satisfaction.

And the worst part? She always had that maddeningly calm expression, like she was doing me a favor by sentencing me to sit in an empty classroom after school while the rest of the world moved on without me. She’d hand me the slip, tilt her head ever so slightly, and say in that measured, almost amused tone, “Perhaps this will help you pay attention.” Attention? To the fact that no human being could possibly meet her impossibly high standards?

My friends already went to the lockers because Mrs. Collins told them not to wait for me, obviously.

I walk out of the class, heading to my locker.

I take my books and slam my locker shut, the sound echoing down the hallway. She wasn’t teaching me anything except how to suppress the urge to scream into the void. If anything, the only lesson I was learning was how much I didn't  like her smug little smirk as she handed out another detention slip.

"40 minutes?" I mutter, a little bit surprised because usually  detentions are longer. My thoughts are interrupted by my friends walking to me

"Hey girl, detention again?" Nora chuckles, probably noticing the annoyed look on my face.

"Yeah, again." I sigh, rolling my eyes at the reminder.

"You are better than me, I would crash out" Abby says with a smirk, following me towards our next class with quick steps.

"I'm pretty close to crashing out, honestly" I manage to say with a slight smile before taking a deep breath and walking to class.

The day goes by fastly and soon it's time for detention again. I say bye to my friends and they wish me luck, that's what I need for sure.  Once again, Abby walks me to the detention room and I turn around to look at her.

"Wish me luck again, please, I need to stay alive." I smirk, causing Abby to laugh

"Good luck, it's luckily only 40 minutes" Abby winks, patting my shoulder.

"Luckily.  40 horrible minutes."

"Diana, hurry up" I hear Mrs. Collins say with a firm voice.

"Guess that's my clue, I'll see you tomorrow" I sigh, waving goodbye to Abby who smiles and does the same.

I walk to class, sitting down and already ready to fall asleep, that stays as a dream though because Mrs. Collins has other plans for me.

"Write an essay about paying attention in class."  She says, a small purposeful smirk on her lips as she hands me a paper.

I'm too tired to argue, so I just sigh and start working. Even Mrs. Collins looks surprised because I didn't talk back.

I try to think, using my last braincells, but my mind is blank again.

"Paying attention in class—the sacred duty bestowed upon students everywhere. There’s nothing quite like spending hours in a fluorescent-lit room, soaking up the riveting excitement of PowerPoint slides and monotone lectures. Why scroll TikTok when you could marvel at the nuanced beauty of algebraic equations or the thrilling history of crop rotation in the 18th century? Truly, the peak of human experience.

Let’s not forget the classic motivator: “This will be on the test.” Nothing stirs the soul quite like the threat of a red-inked grade haunting your future. Forget dreams of becoming an astronaut or an artist—if you don’t memorize every step of cellular respiration right now, your life is obviously over.

And the teachers! They’re like performance artists. Who needs Netflix when you’ve got Mr. Johnson’s three-hour monologue on the Treaty of Versailles, delivered with all the enthusiasm of a soggy sandwich? Don’t even think about looking out the window at the blue sky or wondering what freedom tastes like—no, your gaze must remain locked on the board, lest you miss out on the enthralling formula for finding the volume of a cone.

But the real fun? The guilt. Because when you zone out for half a second (thinking about something trivial like your existence or the meaning of life), you’re suddenly a failure. “Pay attention!” they snap, as if your brain isn’t already juggling deadlines, social drama, and the fact that you skipped breakfast. Of course, they’re right—how could you possibly miss the groundbreaking revelation that Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492?

So, next time you’re in class, remember: paying attention isn’t just about learning. It’s about survival. It’s about pretending to care deeply about things you’ll forget five minutes after the test. And if that doesn’t inspire you, don’t worry—there’s always detention."

That's it, perfect, I didn't argue back, but I can sure write the essay like this, making sure Mrs. Collins knows I hate this.

"Ready" I smirk, handing the essay back to Mrs. Collins.

She takes it, reading it quickly, her expression changing every other minute.

"Diana....well... you're free to go" is all she can say, still reading the essay.

I smirk, take my bag and walk home.

"Hey dad im home" I call out, throwing my bag away and sitting down to eat after washing my hands.

"Hey, how was school?" My dad asks, cleaning the table so I have more space to eat.

"It was okay, nothing interesting happened" I shrug, deciding to leave out the part where I got detention.

I talk with my dad for a while before thanking for the food and running upstairs with my school bag. After closing my door and collapsing to the bed, I decide to take a nap because I love sleeping and I can't sleep tonight anyway.