Chapter 22

Izzy found herself in an uncomfortable office chair, her fingers drumming against the armrest. The school office felt suffocating in its quiet, with only the distant hum of conversation and the occasional shuffle of papers to break the silence. Andreas was talking to the school administrator, calm as ever, working through the paperwork. Izzy’s thoughts drifted to the day before when Andreas had fed her vó the single best lie she’d ever heard, all charm and confidence. Then, before leaving, he had winked at Izzy, like it was all just some kind of game.

She could still hear Andreas’ smooth voice echoing in her head as he reassured her vó that everything was going to be fine, that Izzy was back on the right path. He had spun it so perfectly that even she herself had almost believed it. Her vó had smiled and nodded, content with the story, while Izzy had stood there, speechless. Now, sitting in the school office, reality felt a lot less smooth. Andreas continued speaking with the administrator, his tone clipped and professional, while she just tried to ignore the tightening knot in her stomach.

The administrator glanced at Izzy, her eyes scanning the paperwork before giving a polite nod. “You were doing well before you stopped coming, Izumi. We’re glad to see you back.” Izzy shifted uncomfortably, offering a half-hearted shrug in response. She didn’t feel like explaining that her return wasn’t exactly voluntary. Andreas, ever the professional, handed over another form and made some comment about making sure she stayed on track this time. Izzy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was clear this wasn’t up for

negotiation.

As the administrator tapped away on the computer, Andreas leaned back slightly, turning to Izzy with that same unreadable expression. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his voice just low enough that only she could hear. “Your grades show that. Now it’s time you start acting like it.” Izzy clenched her jaw, focusing on the floor instead of his words. She didn’t need the reminder. She knew she was smart—she just didn’t like being reminded that she’d messed things up.

The administrator handed Andreas the final set of papers, offering Izzy a reassuring smile that felt hollow. “We’ll get you back on track, Izumi,” she said, as though this was just another bump in the road. Andreas stood, signaling that the conversation was over. “You’ll be starting tomorrow,” he added, his voice firm but final. Izzy nodded, grabbing the stack of paperwork, her stomach churning. There was no escape now. This was happening whether she liked it or not.

As they stepped out of the office and into the bright morning light, Izzy blinked against the sun, her mind still trying to process everything. Andreas walked beside her, silent for once, letting her thoughts churn. The weight of the paperwork in her hands felt heavier than it should have, a constant reminder of the deal she’d made. She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking, but his face was as unreadable as ever. Finally, she broke the silence. “You didn’t have to lie to her like that,” she muttered, half hoping he wouldn’t respond.

Andreas chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Your vó reminds me of my mom,” he said, glancing over at her with a rare, amused smile. “I’ve covered for my brother the same way more times than I can count. Sometimes you have to tell a good lie to protect the people who can’t handle the truth.” He shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?” His grin widened, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.

Izzy couldn’t help but smirk, shaking her head as they walked. “Yeah, it worked,” she admitted, though there was a part of her that still didn’t sit right with it. “But she’s not stupid. She’ll figure it out eventually.” Andreas just shrugged again, his grin never faltering. “Maybe,” he said, “but by then, you’ll be so far ahead, it won’t matter.” He opened the car door for her, the grin softening just slightly. “Trust me, Izumi. I’ve done this before.”

Izzy slid into the car, leaning back in the seat as Andreas closed the door behind her. She watched him walk around to the driver’s side, her mind racing. His confidence was unnerving, like he knew exactly how everything would play out. As the engine started and they pulled away from the school, she glanced out the window, the city blurring by. Trust him? That was easier said than done, but for now, she didn’t have much of a choice.

The next day had started with a familiar pang of worry. Izzy’s grandmother hadn’t taken her meds yet—she could tell by the distant look in her eyes and the absence of breakfast on the table. It wasn’t new, but it still tugged at Izzy’s heart. She walked over and gave her grandmother a tight hug, feeling the frailty in her arms but also the warmth she’d always relied on. “I’ll make sure you take them later, vó,” Izzy promised softly before heading out the door. There wasn’t time to stay, not if she wanted to catch the bus. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, her thoughts lingered on her grandmother, even as she tried to shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

The bus ride was uneventful, filled with the usual chatter and the low hum of morning traffic. Izzy sat by the window, headphones in, but the music barely registered. Her mind wandered, thinking about her vó and how things had changed so much in the past few years. She glanced at the passing streets, the familiar blur of graffiti-covered walls and cracked sidewalks that had become her everyday landscape. At some point, she felt the usual knot of anxiety twist tighter in her stomach. School was never her favorite place, and today, something about the day felt heavier than usual.

By the time the bus pulled up to school, the usual crowd had already gathered outside. Izzy stepped off and tugged her backpack over her shoulder, trying to blend into the sea of students heading inside. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone—she had gotten pretty good at slipping through unnoticed, or at least, she liked to think so. The school building loomed ahead, a worn structure that had seen better days, but it was the inside that made her stomach churn. As she passed through the entrance, the weight of the day settled onto her shoulders, heavier with every step she took toward her locker.

Izzy fumbled with the lock on her locker, her hands moving on autopilot. She grabbed her books and slammed the door shut with more force than she meant to, drawing a glance from a couple of nearby students. Ignoring them, she stuffed the books into her backpack. The day hadn’t even really started, and she already felt like she was dragging herself through it. It was the same feeling she had before something went wrong—like she was waiting for the shoe to drop. She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and then made her way down the hall toward first period, hoping to disappear into the background for as long as possible.

First period dragged on like a slow, torturous crawl. The teacher’s voice was little more than background noise to Izzy as she stared out the window, her mind drifting back to her grandmother. She wondered if vó had taken her meds yet or if she’d even remembered. The thought gnawed at her, pulling her attention further from the class. Her hand idly scribbled notes, but none of it stuck. It was always like this—distracted, disconnected, just going through the motions. The knot in her stomach hadn’t loosened, and she knew, deep down, that something was bound to go wrong today.

The first period felt endless. Mr. Decker, the history teacher, was droning on about feudal Japan, his monotone voice lulling half the class into a stupor. Izzy’s mind began to drift, the words barely registering as her thoughts wandered back to her childhood. Flashes of old ninja movies she used to watch with her dad played in her head. She could almost hear his voice, distorted and distant, speaking to her in Japanese, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. Scenes of ancient warriors and old scrolls flooded her mind, blurring the lines between memory and fantasy. The history Mr. Decker was teaching didn’t match what her dad had told her, and the disparity made her heart ache. Lost in the daydream, she barely noticed as the minutes ticked by, her mind far from the classroom.

As Mr. Decker droned on about samurai and the rigid class structures of feudal Japan, Izzy’s mind slipped deeper into her memories. The scenes in her head shifted from the grainy ninja movies she used to watch with her dad to something more vivid, more real. She could see herself, but not as she was now—as a small child, standing in a courtyard surrounded by towering trees and stone walls. She wasn’t watching the warriors train; she was one of them. The movements came back to her as if she’d practiced them a thousand times before, muscle memory taking over in a blur of kicks, blocks, and fluid strikes. It felt so real, so familiar, yet it was a memory she couldn’t quite place. The world in her mind was far more alive than the one in Mr. Decker’s lecture.

As Mr. Decker’s voice droned on about the role of the samurai in protecting their lords, Izzy’s daydream deepened. She saw herself moving swiftly through the shadows, her small frame darting between tall, ancient trees under the cover of night. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot was the only noise in the otherwise silent forest. Her hands, though small, gripped something familiar—a short blade, its surface gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, but there was something else—a feeling of purpose. She wasn’t just playing a part in some childish fantasy. She was on a mission, her body moving with the precision of someone who had been trained for this her entire life. Each step, each breath felt deliberate. She belonged here, in this place that felt like a forgotten part of her, hidden deep inside.

The vivid memories blurred again, fading into the familiar feel of those old ninja movies, with their exaggerated jumps and stylized fights. Izzy watched herself as though she were the hero in some long-forgotten film, moving through rooftops and alleyways, her every move carefully choreographed. But something was off now—the dream started to feel less like a childhood fantasy and more unsettling. The shadows grew longer, and the faces of the figures around her became distorted, almost like masks. The world in her mind darkened, and the comforting nostalgia began to slip away, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. It felt like something was wrong, like the dream was trying to tell her something—something she had buried deep inside. A knot formed in her stomach, pulling her further into the darkening daydream, as Mr. Decker's voice droned on, oblivious to the shift happening inside her.

The scene twisted, warping into something far more sinister. The familiar backdrop of ancient forests and stone walls was gone, replaced by a suffocating darkness. Izzy found herself in a dimly lit room, cold and damp, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood. The distorted figures were no longer faceless—they wore grotesque masks, their eyes hollow and unseeing, yet they seemed to watch her. Her heart pounded in her chest as the figures moved mechanically, like puppets on strings, carrying out their deadly tasks with eerie precision. She wasn’t part of this anymore—she was an outsider, watching helplessly. The blade in her hand was no longer comforting; it was slick with something warm. She couldn’t remember how it got there. Panic welled up inside her as flashes of blood, fear, and loss flickered across her mind. This wasn’t a movie. This was something far worse, something she had tried to forget. The knot in her stomach tightened, and she felt like she was sinking deeper into a memory that wasn’t just a dream—it was real.

The sudden, butchered attempt at Japanese from Mr. Decker snapped Izzy out of the dark spiral of her daydream. He stood at the front of the class, trying to sound out a phrase she barely recognized through his terrible pronunciation. Something about "honor and duty." It was wrong—everything he said felt wrong, and the knot in her stomach twisted tighter. Without thinking, Izzy shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “That’s not how you say it!” The words spilled out before she could stop them. Her voice shook with anger, but it wasn’t just about the language—it was about everything. All the confusion, the memories she couldn’t place, the dark images swirling in her head. It came pouring out, unrestrained and raw. Her classmates stared in stunned silence as she launched into a tirade that would leave everyone speechless.

The words came out in fluent Japanese, sharp and precise, a stark contrast to Mr. Decker’s mangled attempt. “You think you can just butcher my language like that and call it ‘history’? Do you even understand what you’re talking about?” Her voice was steady now, filled with the fire of a long-buried anger. “You speak of honor, but you know nothing about it. Samurai weren’t just warriors—they were bound by a code. A code that meant everything to them. You talk about loyalty, about service, but have you ever felt the weight of a blade in your hand, knowing it could be your life on the line if you failed to protect those you served?” Her words cut through the air like a sword, her classmates staring in stunned silence. “You stand there, reading facts from a textbook, but this isn’t just history—it’s a legacy. A legacy you can’t understand with your butchered words.”

Without missing a beat, Izzy switched to Portuguese, her voice rising with the same intensity and fire. “You talk about history like it’s just a list of dates and names, but what about the people? What about the blood and sacrifice?” She didn’t pause, her words hitting harder as she went on. “Do you even know what it means to fight for your people? To know what the warriors of Brazil faced? Not just the ones from the past, but those fighting today, in the streets, in the favelas, against a system that wanted them dead. They didn’t fight for glory or land—they fought to survive, to defend their families and their lives.” The weight of her words pressed down on the room. “You know nothing about that, nothing about what it means to be a warrior. So don’t come at me with your distorted version of history.”

Then, almost seamlessly, Izzy switched to French, her words flowing like a sharp, practiced blade. “You think you understand struggle? What do you know about those who fought during the Resistance? Those who bled for their freedom, who sacrificed everything to stand against oppression? You reduce them to dates and figures in your lecture, but they were people who risked their lives, not for some grand sense of honor, but for survival.” Her voice was steady, cutting through the air like a knife. “Do you even know what it feels like to be hunted? To live every day knowing that death could come for you or your family at any moment? This is more than history. It’s survival.”

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Without hesitation, Izzy shifted to Korean, her voice unwavering and fierce. “You think you can reduce a people’s suffering to a page in a textbook? Do you even understand the pain of division, of a country torn apart by war and politics? Families separated, generations lost—these aren’t just numbers or stories. These are people who lived through unimaginable horrors, who carried the weight of their history on their backs.” Her words were sharp, full of the kind of knowledge that went beyond textbooks. “You speak of loyalty and service, but you can’t begin to grasp the kind of loyalty that comes from surviving together, from being willing to fight and die to protect the only family you have left. That’s not something you can lecture about.”

Izzy’s voice shifted back to Japanese, sharper than before. “You speak of honor, but you don’t even understand what you’re saying. You think you can lecture about duty and sacrifice, but all you know are words on a page. True honor isn’t something you can read about; it’s something you live and die by.” Her words grew heavier, laced with a deeper meaning, something ancient stirring in her voice. She took a step forward, her eyes locked on Mr. Decker. “You’ve insulted me, my heritage, and everything my people stand for.” She straightened, her voice clear and unshakable. “I am Izumi Kuzunoha, of the Inari no Kodomotachi.

As Izzy’s final words hung in the air, the classroom was swallowed by an uneasy silence. Mr. Decker stood frozen, his face flushed with confusion and rising anger. Behind him, the slide on the projector screen remained, displaying an image of a cloaked ninja with the bold title: The Truth Behind the Ninja Clans. Bullet points outlined espionage, covert operations, and loyalty to their lords. For a moment, no one moved or breathed, the weight of Izzy’s words pressing down on everyone. Just as Mr. Decker’s face began to redden, the bell rang loudly. Instinctively, the students rose, shuffling their books and backpacks, creating a barrier of bodies between Izzy and Decker. She slipped out with the crowd, her heart racing, leaving before he could even get her attention.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Her other classes went by fairly smoothly, even though Izzy spent most of them zoned out, her mind still replaying the tirade from earlier. Teachers droned on about subjects she barely registered, and she scribbled notes mechanically, just enough to keep up appearances. Nothing seemed to match the intensity of what had happened in history, and for that, she was grateful. But as the next period loomed, a familiar pit formed in her stomach. PE. There was no zoning out in that class—there was only the expectation to perform.

Izzy walked into the gym, the smell of sweat and rubber hitting her immediately. The rest of the class was already filing in, gathering around the equipment that had been set up for today’s activity. Dodgeball. Of course, it had to be dodgeball. She took her spot on the court, her body tense. PE had always been different—there was no drifting off in this class, no space for her mind to wander. Here, it was all about instinct, and for some reason, that always felt dangerous. Her muscles were already coiled, ready to move before the whistle even blew, and that uneasy feeling from earlier crept back into her chest.

The game started fast. The whistle blew, and before Izzy had even fully processed what was happening, her body reacted. The first ball came flying toward her face, and without thinking, she caught it. Hard. The impact jarred her, but her grip was solid. There was something familiar in the motion—something that went beyond basic reflex. Her muscles tightened, coiled with a strength that felt far beyond what she should have. The ball had hit her hands with a force that should’ve stung, but instead, her palms felt steady, controlled. It was as if every muscle in her body was working together, perfectly aligned, like it had been trained to do this for years.

The next ball came from the left, but this time she didn’t dodge. She lunged forward, arm whipping out with precision. The ball left her hand with a force that surprised even her. It slammed into her target with a satisfying thud, sending the other player stumbling backward, clutching their chest. She blinked, a part of her mind wondering how she’d thrown it so hard. But there was no time to dwell on it—her body was already moving again, reacting on instinct. Strength coursed through her limbs, like it had been lying dormant, waiting for this exact moment to wake up.

Izzy’s feet barely touched the ground as she moved, her body light and fast, weaving through the chaos of the game. The balls flew at her from every direction, but none of them seemed to get close. Her movements were fluid, quicker than even she expected, almost as if the world around her had slowed down. She could see the other players winding up, their arms telegraphing the throws before the balls even left their hands. Every dodge felt effortless, as if her body had memorized the rhythm of the game long before it started. She wasn’t thinking anymore—her body was doing all the work, reacting before her mind had time to catch up.

She sprinted to the back of the court, barely feeling the burn in her legs, the ground blurring beneath her feet. Another ball whipped toward her, and she dropped to a knee, sliding under the throw in one smooth motion. She was up again in an instant, faster than the other players could react. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it wasn’t from exhaustion. It was something else, something more primal. Every movement felt precise, quick, and perfectly timed. She was faster than she had ever been—faster than she had any right to be.

The next wave of balls came, but instead of dodging them directly, Izzy found herself slipping between the players, almost invisible in the chaos. It was as if she knew exactly where to be, where not to be, and how to disappear into the crowd. One moment she was in the center of the court, and the next, she was gone, her presence barely noticeable to anyone who tried to target her. She crouched low, moving like a shadow across the floor, unnoticed by the players who seemed focused on the louder, slower-moving targets. It was almost eerie how naturally she seemed to vanish in plain sight, her body instinctively finding the blind spots and hidden spaces where no one would think to look.

Izzy’s heart raced, but her breathing stayed calm and even, as though she were in complete control of the game’s rhythm. She crept along the edge of the court, staying low, her footsteps impossibly silent. Every step was calculated, her movements precise, disappearing behind other players just in time for a ball to miss her by inches. It wasn’t just quick reflexes—it felt deeper, as though every muscle, every twitch in her body was perfectly attuned to the art of not being seen. She wasn’t just playing dodgeball; she was evading, avoiding detection, moving like she belonged to the shadows.

As the game stretched on, most of the other players were starting to slow, their energy draining with each sprint, each dodge. But not Izzy. She wasn’t even breathing hard, her movements still sharp, her body barely feeling the toll of the game. Sweat dripped down her face, but it wasn’t from exhaustion—it was from sheer motion. Her legs were still strong, her arms steady, and her heart beat in a calm, steady rhythm, as if this was all routine for her. Each time she dashed across the court or hurled another ball, she felt the same surge of energy, like a reservoir she hadn’t even tapped into yet.

Other players around her began to falter, gasping for breath or stumbling, but Izzy pressed on, her body refusing to tire. She leaped, twisted, and slid with a grace that didn’t match the length of the game. The clock on the wall showed how much time had passed, but it didn’t matter. It could’ve been minutes or hours—her body felt the same. Every muscle stayed ready, unyielding, like she had been built for endurance. It wasn’t normal, and a part of her knew it, but the rest of her didn’t care. There was no pain, no fatigue—just motion, endless and relentless.

The final stretch of the game seemed to stretch out endlessly, but Izzy’s mind was clear, her body still responding with precision. She saw the last ball flying toward her, aimed fast and low. Without thinking, she dropped into a low crouch, springing up with a burst of energy that sent her soaring above the heads of the other players. Time seemed to slow as she hung in the air for what felt like seconds, the court beneath her distant. In that moment, it was like something ancient stirred inside her, something instinctual. Her hands reached out, catching the ball with effortless grace as her body twisted midair, landing softly without so much as a stumble.

The gym was dead silent. The other players were scattered across the floor, groaning or clutching their sides, out of breath. But Izzy stood tall, the ball still in her hands, barely aware of the stares from her classmates. Her chest rose and fell steadily, no hint of the fatigue that gripped everyone else. She looked around, realizing she hadn’t just survived the game—she had dominated it. But instead of pride, a strange unease crept into her thoughts. This wasn’t normal, wasn’t just a game. It felt like something more, something she couldn’t quite understand.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Izzy gathered her things, ready to slip out the door unnoticed. Her body still hummed with the strange energy from PE, the lingering tension making her eager to head home. Just as she reached the exit, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. “Izzy, could you come to my office for a moment, please?” Mrs. Franklin’s kind, calm tone cut through the noise of the crowded hallway.

Izzy turned, her stomach sinking a little as she saw the principal standing there, a gentle but knowing smile on her face. There was no escaping Mrs. Franklin's keen eye. With a sigh, Izzy nodded and followed her toward the office, her mind already racing with what this conversation could be about. The dodgeball game, her outburst in history—there were plenty of reasons to be called in today. She didn’t know which one Mrs. Franklin wanted to address, but she had a feeling this wouldn’t just be a routine chat.

Mrs. Franklin’s office was just as Izzy remembered it—warm, welcoming, and full of the comforting clutter that somehow made the space feel lived-in. Old photos of past students lined the walls, and a small collection of plants thrived on the windowsill. Mrs. Franklin took her usual seat behind the desk and gestured for Izzy to sit. “Don’t worry,” she said with a soft chuckle, “you’re not in trouble.” The gentle reassurance did little to ease the tightness in Izzy’s chest, though. She sat down, her mind still racing, trying to anticipate what was coming next.

Mrs. Franklin folded her hands on the desk, her expression calm but thoughtful. “You had quite the day, didn’t you?” she began, her eyes studying Izzy with that same gentle but perceptive gaze she was known for. Izzy shifted uncomfortably in her chair, unsure how to respond. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Decker,” Mrs. Franklin continued, her tone as soft as ever. “I’m not here to lecture you about what happened in class.” She paused, letting the words settle before adding, “But I do think we need to talk about what’s going on, don’t you?”

Izzy swallowed, her mind racing. Mrs. Franklin’s gentle demeanor only made her more nervous. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” she managed to say, though the words sounded hollow even to her. Mrs. Franklin gave her a knowing smile, one that didn’t feel accusatory but understanding. “Izzy, I’ve been around long enough to know when something’s troubling one of my students,” she said softly. “You’re different, and that’s not a bad thing. But today… it seemed like something more than just a rough day. I can help, if you let me.”

Mrs. Franklin’s smile widened just a bit as she glanced down at a note on her desk. “Mr. Barnes had quite a bit to say about your performance in PE today,” she said, a hint of humor in her voice. “In fact, he told me it wouldn’t be fair to the other students if you joined any of the sports teams.” She chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so speechless about a game of dodgeball.” Izzy couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that, though the unease still lingered beneath the surface.

Izzy shifted in her seat, still unsure how to respond. Mrs. Franklin’s warmth was disarming, but the tension coiled inside her hadn’t disappeared. “I wasn’t trying to stand out,” Izzy muttered, glancing down at her hands. “It just… happened.” She could feel Mrs. Franklin’s gaze on her, that same gentle patience that made it impossible to hide. “I know,” Mrs. Franklin said kindly, her voice soft but steady. “And I don’t think you’re trying to. But that’s exactly why we need to talk about it. Sometimes, we don’t realize just how different we are—until something forces us to.”

Izzy swallowed hard, her mind swirling with everything that had happened throughout the day. The history class, the dodgeball game—it all felt like too much to explain. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like… my body just knows things. I wasn’t thinking, I was just... moving.” She didn’t meet Mrs. Franklin’s eyes, unsure of how to put the strange sensations into words. “It’s like I’m remembering something, but I don’t know what it is.”

Mrs. Franklin nodded thoughtfully, her eyes soft with understanding, but after a moment, she shifted gears. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” she said, her voice warm and sincere. “If I had been, I would’ve made sure Andreas knew about the online schooling option right away. It seems like it might be a better fit for you.” She smiled gently, her tone lightening the conversation. “I’ve known Andreas and his family for years, and they’re good people. I’m sure he’s told you more than a few stories about this school.”

Mrs. Franklin smiled warmly and pointed to a framed photo on the wall behind her desk. “That’s Andreas, back when he was the state fencing champion.” Izzy’s eyes followed her gesture, landing on a picture of a much younger Andreas, holding a foil in one hand, his other hand resting casually on his hip. Something about the way he held the blade struck Izzy—there was a strange familiarity to it, as if she’d seen that exact stance recently, but she couldn’t quite place where. The feeling tugged at her, unsettling her for a moment before she quickly shook it off. “He was one of the best students I ever had,” Mrs. Franklin continued, the pride clear in her voice. “And his brother Roberto… well, he was something else entirely.”

Izzy stared at the photo a moment longer before turning back to Mrs. Franklin, catching the shift in her tone. “Roberto was valedictorian,” Mrs. Franklin continued, her voice softening. “Brilliant, kind, and with a future brighter than anyone could imagine. What happened to him… well, it’s something this school hasn’t quite forgotten.” Izzy felt a flicker of curiosity and guilt—she’d never paid much attention to the stories about Roberto. There was something in Mrs. Franklin’s eyes that made it clear this wasn’t just another piece of history, but a personal loss.

Mrs. Franklin let the silence settle for a moment, her gaze distant as if recalling something painful but important. Then, with a soft sigh, she shifted her focus back to Izzy. “But enough about the past,” she said gently, her voice steady once more. “Let’s focus on you, Izzy. I really think online schooling might be a better fit for you. It would give you the space to figure things out without the distractions of everything going on here.” She offered a warm smile, her kindness evident in every word. “And don’t worry, I’ll be talking with Andreas later today to make sure it’s all arranged properly.”

Izzy nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and hesitation. The idea of online schooling sounded good—being away from the chaos, the distractions—but something about the day still lingered in her mind. “Yeah, maybe,” she said, her voice quieter than before. “I guess it could help.” But as she sat there, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to everything that had happened today. The strange instincts in gym class, the way Andreas held that foil in the photo… it all tugged at her, pieces of a puzzle she didn’t even know she was trying to solve.

Mrs. Franklin watched her closely, seeming to sense the unease still clinging to Izzy’s thoughts. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” she said softly, her voice full of reassurance. “Sometimes, figuring out who you are takes time. And it’s okay to feel lost, especially when things are changing so quickly.” She gave Izzy a small, encouraging smile. “Just know that whatever path you choose, we’re here to support you.” The words, as gentle as they were, felt like a lifeline, though Izzy still felt that nagging pull of something deeper beneath the surface.

Izzy nodded, grateful for Mrs. Franklin’s words, but the sense of restlessness remained. “Thanks,” she mumbled, standing up as the meeting came to a close. Mrs. Franklin rose as well, walking her to the door with that same gentle smile. “Take your time, Izzy. I’ll be in touch with Andreas later today, and we’ll sort out everything you need.” As Izzy stepped out into the hallway, the quietness of the school felt heavy around her, as if the building itself was waiting for something to happen. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling, but the questions kept swirling. Whatever was going on with her, it wasn’t just going to fade away.

As she walked down the hallway, the sounds of other students fading into the background, Izzy felt the weight of the day bearing down on her. The usual after-school chatter seemed distant, drowned out by the swirl of thoughts racing through her mind. She couldn’t shake what Mrs. Franklin had said—or maybe more importantly, what she hadn’t said. That feeling from PE, the way her body had moved on instinct, and the strange familiarity she’d felt looking at Andreas' photo—it all gnawed at her. There was something connecting all of it, but it remained out of reach, like a puzzle she wasn’t ready to solve yet.