BRIANNA

5. WHAT DID I DO?

JC'S POV

We still had two classes left after lunch and even though I hated to attend, I know my father wouldn't like it. I'm the son of the school owner and I have to always attend every single damn class.

The weight of that responsibility pressed down on me like an invisible chain, a constant reminder of the expectations I carried on my shoulders.

It wasn't just about following the rules or maintaining appearances; it was about embodying the ideals that my father held dear.

He believed that our family's reputation was paramount, and as his son, I was a reflection of his values and standards. There was no room for deviation, no space for rebellion, even in the smallest of ways.

Every time I thought about skipping class, I could almost hear his voice, stern and unyielding, reminding me of the consequences. It was like a mental tape on loop, playing over and over in my head, keeping me tethered to my obligations.

Whenever I think about bunking classes, I just remember his words and sit the f**k down and wait until school was over. I have to consider our family's reputation like he always says. It's not like I had a choice in the matter.

The scrutiny was relentless, not just from my father but from the entire school. Being the son of the owner meant living under a magnifying glass, with every action dissected and judged.

It was exhausting, constantly being aware of the image I projected, the unspoken pressure to excel in everything I did. My father often reminded me that our family's standing was built on more than just wealth; it was built on respect and responsibility.

And so, I endured, gritting my teeth through classes that felt pointless, surrounded by classmates who could afford to be carefree.

I actually envy my best friends; they can always bunk school if they want but not me. I don't have that luxury. I may have so much luxury in my life but not that kind, the one I want right now.

It's ironic, really. I have access to almost everything a teenager could dream of—money, cars, vacations—but the one thing I crave is freedom. Freedom from the watchful eyes, the whispered gossip, the constant pressure to be perfect.

My friends could skip class without a second thought, their absence barely noticed. They could make mistakes, live in the moment, and no one would care.

But not me. Every misstep I made was amplified, a potential scandal waiting to happen. The envy gnawed at me, a bitter taste in my mouth as I watched them live with a carefree abandon that I could never fully experience.

I wish I had attended another school like my sister. I know she is not like me, but still, I wish I was her at this moment. She doesn't have anyone keeping an eye on her all day long.

My sister had the luxury of anonymity, attending a school where our family's name didn't carry the same weight. She could blend in, be just another student, free from the suffocating expectations that defined my daily life.

I often wondered what it would be like to live without the constant surveillance, to make choices without considering the potential fallout on our family's reputation.

My sister had that freedom, and while she might not appreciate it, I envied her more than she would ever know.

If I were to leave right now, the headmistress would call my father and tell him about it and then he would remind me every day that I need to think about what others will say if I keep defying him.

The fear of disappointing him, of tarnishing our family's image, was a constant specter that loomed over every decision I made. The headmistress would not hesitate to report any infraction directly to my father.

It was a tightrope walk, balancing my desire for autonomy with the oppressive weight of expectation. The thought of his disapproval, his cold, dispassionate reminders of the consequences of my actions, kept me in line.

It wasn't just about fear; it was about the crushing inevitability of living up to a standard that felt impossible to maintain. And so, I sat through each class, my mind elsewhere, dreaming of a life where I could make my own choices, free from the ever-present shadow of my father's authority.

"Hi, guys." The sound of her voice made me tense, a knee-jerk reaction I couldn't quite control. I should've known she would come to us.

Lydia had a way of showing up at the most inconvenient times, always inserting herself into conversations where she wasn't necessarily welcome.

I don't know why she always does because I have never given her the impression that I was somehow interested in her.

Yet, there she was, standing with that self-assured smile that never quite reached her eyes. Lydia is just like that, always ignorant. I know she wants to be my girlfriend and there's nothing wrong with that; she is beautiful, but that's about it.

Her beauty was undeniable, the kind that turned heads and drew attention, but it was a surface-level appeal that didn't extend beyond her looks.

She is trouble and I hate trouble. Apart from the fact that she's clingy, she would never want to break up with me. She believes she is entitled to everything she wants, and that unfortunately includes me.

Lydia had this aura of entitlement that grated on my nerves. She walked through life as if everything and everyone were hers for the taking, a mindset that clashed violently with my own desire for independence.

The idea of being tied down to someone like her was suffocating. She was the type who would hold on tightly, refusing to let go even when things weren't working out.

The thought of being stuck in a relationship with her, with no way out, was more than enough to keep me distant.

The only reason I tolerate her is that she is friends with Lyla, Kyle's twin sister. Otherwise, I would've told her long ago that I am not interested in her or her company. Lyla's presence was Lydia's saving grace.

She was the buffer that kept Lydia's advances from becoming a full-on nuisance. Kyle's sister was different; she was kind and genuinely pleasant to be around, which made Lydia's presence somewhat tolerable.

But if it weren't for that tenuous connection, I would've made it clear that Lydia's company was not something I desired. The thought of having to navigate her persistent advances made me shudder internally.

"Hi, Lydia. Where are your friends?" Noah's casual question broke the awkward silence that had settled over us. I found myself laughing at that.

I know Noah wanted to ask where Lyla was; he has always had a crush on her and we would tease him when we were kids. It was a running joke among us, Noah's quiet infatuation with Lyla.

He'd been smitten with her since we were little, a fact that we never let him forget. It was harmless teasing, a way to keep things light and fun. Even now, years later, the mention of Lyla's name could bring a flush to Noah's cheeks, and it never failed to amuse us.

"I think Noah wanted to ask you where is Lyla. Everybody knows the only person he is interested in in your group of friends is no one but Lyla." Callum chimed in with a grin, echoing my thoughts.

I guess I'm not the only one thinking that. Callum had a knack for stating the obvious with a bluntness that was both endearing and exasperating.

It was his way of cutting through the bullshit, making sure we all knew where we stood. In this case, it was a playful jab at Noah, who was now looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Shut up, Callum. I told you guys before that I'm not interested in her. I agree that I once had a crush on her but that was years ago and it doesn't count anymore. I was five, for crying out loud, and I stopped." Noah's protest was vehement, his voice rising slightly in defense.

I don't know if that is really true, but he stopped paying attention to her when he was eight, at least until now. That doesn't mean we stopped teasing him though; we still do.

The truth was, Noah's feelings for Lyla had always been a bit of a mystery. He claimed they were long gone, a relic of childhood, but we all knew how hard it was to shake off a first crush.

Regardless of his protests, the teasing was a staple of our friendship, a way to remind each other of the bonds we'd formed over the years. It was a tradition, a constant in our ever-changing lives.

"That's what you keep saying, but who knows if it's really true? My sister is off-limits, dipshit." Kyle's protectiveness over Lyla was well-known, but his words carried a hint of exasperation this time, as if he too had noticed that Noah's gaze lingered a little too long on his twin sister.

It was a delicate balance, the way Kyle handled the situation. On one hand, he was fiercely protective of Lyla, not wanting her to become a point of contention within our group.

On the other hand, he had to navigate the unspoken understanding that Noah's attention, while possibly harmless, was becoming more evident.

I think even Kyle has noticed that Noah pays a little too much attention to Lyla lately. It was subtle, the way Noah's eyes would find her in a crowd or the way his tone softened when he spoke to her.

It was an undercurrent, a quiet tension that could either lead to something sweet or something awkward, depending on how things unfolded.

I don't blame him, though; that girl is so damn beautiful and I know if she wasn't my best friend's twin sister, I would have reconsidered my decision of not having a girlfriend. Lyla was the kind of girl who naturally drew attention, not just because of her looks, which were undeniably striking, but because of the way she carried herself.

There was an air of kindness and authenticity about her that was rare in our social circles. She was genuine, unpretentious, and that made her all the more attractive.

In another world, one where she wasn't Kyle's sister and where I didn't have my own reservations about relationships, I might have found myself drawn to her.

But as things stood, she was firmly in the 'off-limits' category, a boundary I respected out of loyalty to Kyle and an understanding of the complications that could raise.

"What did I do? You guys are the ones who keep making things up. I was just- Hi, Lyla." Noah's protest was cut off mid-sentence, his voice dropping as Lyla approached. The transformation was almost comical; his usual confident demeanor melted away, replaced by a shy, almost awkward presence.

That's what happens every time he sees her. I think he even forgets how to breathe sometimes. It was endearing in a way, watching Noah, who was usually so composed, stumble over his words.

It was a side of him that few people saw, a vulnerability that came to the forefront whenever Lyla was around. It was as if she had a power over him that even he didn't fully understand, and it was both amusing and heartwarming to witness.

I exchanged a knowing glance with Callum, who raised an eyebrow and mouthed 'wow' behind Noah's back. We'd seen our friend around Lyla before, but this was different.

But then, this was Lyla, the one person who could turn Noah's confident smirk into a goofy grin. I remember the first time he'd seen her, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. He was a kid but you know what I mean.

Now, watching him stumble over his words and gaze at her like she was the only person in the room, I knew he was a goner.