CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Amanda let the laughter taper off into a quieter grin, still rubbing her arm like she was milking it more than feeling it.

“Anyway,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to shift the moment, “you should come back.”

Riley frowned faintly. “Back where?”

“School,” Amanda said, like it was obvious. “We’ve got Lennox next.”

The name landed differently now.

Riley’s fingers stilled against the table, her eyes drifting slightly past Amanda without really focusing on anything. The classroom came back to her in pieces—the desks, the smell, the sound of chairs scraping tile. The last time she’d been there, she’d been standing at the front of the room.

Different.

Not that different.

She exhaled quietly.

“I don’t know,” she said after a second.

Amanda tilted her head, watching her.

“What?”

Riley shifted slightly in her seat, one leg pulling in just a little, a small, unconscious movement.

“They’ve got Service Stock there,” she said. “I’ve seen them.”

The words came out flat, not accusatory, not hesitant. Just something she already knew, something that didn’t need explaining between them.

Amanda shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said. “So?”

Riley glanced at her properly this time, her expression tightening just a fraction.

“They don’t get treated the same.”

Amanda snorted lightly at that, not dismissive, just… unconcerned.

“You’re not Service Stock,” she said. “You’re just visiting.”

The distinction came easily.

Clean.

Like it solved the problem.

Riley didn’t answer straight away.

Her fingers tapped once against the table, then stopped again, her thoughts catching somewhere between what she knew and what Amanda was saying.

“People still…” she started, then trailed off, not finishing the thought.

Amanda leaned back in her chair, stretching slightly, her blazer pulling tight across her shoulders.

“People always do,” she said. “They’re not gonna stop just because you’re in a classroom.”

She said it the same way she’d say it might rain.

Not important.

Just part of how things worked.

Then she leaned forward again, her grin slipping back into place.

“But it’s not like they’re gonna put you to work or anything,” she added. “You’ll just sit in.”

Riley let out a small breath through her nose.

“Sit,” she repeated.

Amanda’s smile widened slightly.

“Well. Not sit,” she corrected, like it didn’t really matter either way. “You know what I mean.”

Riley rolled her eyes at that, but there wasn’t much bite in it.

She glanced down at the empty mug again, then back up at Amanda, weighing it for another second before giving a small shrug.

“…Fine,” she said.

Not enthusiastic.

Not reluctant.

Just… agreeing.

Amanda’s grin sharpened immediately.

“Good,” she said, pushing herself up from the chair. “Come on, we’ve got like ten minutes.”

Riley stood a second later, adjusting the strap of her pouch out of habit as she moved.

The café didn’t feel as different as it had earlier.

Not as sharp.

Not as noticeable.

Just another place she’d been that day.

She followed Amanda toward the door.

The walk to school was shorter than Riley remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way.

Amanda talked most of the way there, filling the space with the usual things—teachers complaining about homework, someone getting caught cheating, a rumour about a fight that had already been exaggerated beyond recognition. Riley listened without really needing to respond, the rhythm of it familiar enough that it didn’t need effort.

By the time the school gates came into view, something in her chest tightened slightly.

Not nerves.

Just recognition.

The building hadn’t changed.

Same brick walls. Same tall windows. Same worn paths cut across the grass where people ignored the pavement. Even the sound was the same—voices echoing faintly, doors opening and closing somewhere inside.

It should have felt normal.

Instead it felt like looking at something she’d left behind.

Amanda didn’t slow down.

She pushed through the front doors like she always did, one hand briefly catching Riley’s wrist to pull her along without breaking stride. The warmth inside hit immediately, layered with the usual smells—cleaning products, old paper, something faintly chemical from the science labs down the hall.

Riley stepped inside.

And the space shifted around her.

Not physically.

Just… how it was.

Heads turned.

Not all at once, not dramatically, but enough. People noticed. Of course they did. Recognition came quickly, faster than she expected, her name probably already forming in the back of their minds even if they didn’t say it out loud.

A couple of voices dropped.

Whispers.

“Is that—?”

“Did she—?”

“Is she Service?”

The words didn’t carry fully, just fragments, but she didn’t need the rest to understand what they were asking.

Riley kept walking.

Amanda didn’t acknowledge it either.

That helped.

They moved down the hallway together, the space opening and closing around them as people shifted slightly to make room. Not dramatically. Not even consciously, in some cases. Just enough.

A group of boys near the lockers noticed her a second too late.

One of them straightened, his expression sharpening with interest, eyes moving over her in a quick, assessing sweep before he pushed himself off the wall.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into their path.

Riley slowed without meaning to.

Amanda didn’t.

The boy reached out, his hand catching lightly around Riley’s arm, fingers curling just enough to guide, not force.

“Come here a sec,” he added, already starting to turn, like he expected her to follow without question.

Riley’s body shifted with it instinctively, a half-step in the direction he pulled, the movement automatic before she even thought about it.

Amanda’s hand snapped out and caught Riley’s other arm, stopping her just as quickly.

“She’s not here for that,” Amanda said, her voice flat, not raised, but firm enough to cut through whatever assumption had already settled.

The boy paused, glancing between them.

“Yeah?” he said, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Amanda didn’t move.

“Yeah.”

No explanation.

No argument.

Just a correction.

The moment stretched for half a second, then broke.

He let go.

“Alright,” he muttered, already stepping back, interest fading as quickly as it had appeared. “Didn’t know.”

Amanda released Riley at the same time, like the whole thing had been a minor interruption rather than anything worth lingering on.

“Come on,” she said, already moving again.

Riley followed.

The hallway closed back in around them, the whispers softening, attention drifting elsewhere as quickly as it had gathered.

Just another moment.

Already passed.

The classroom door was already open when they reached it.

Amanda pushed it wider without knocking and stepped inside like she always did, slipping straight back into a space that still belonged to her. Riley followed a half-step behind, the shift immediate the moment she crossed the threshold.

The room felt smaller than she remembered.

Or maybe it just felt tighter.

Voices dropped.

Not all at once, but enough. Conversations cut short mid-sentence, chairs creaked as people shifted, and for a second the entire room seemed to tilt toward her without actually moving.

Every eye landed.

Riley stopped just inside the doorway, her body reacting before she could think about it. Her shoulders pulled in slightly, her arm twitching upward on instinct, a familiar urge rising fast and sharp—

Cover.

Press her arm across her chest. Turn. Make herself smaller.

The movement barely started before she caught it.

Her hand hovered for half a second, then dropped back to her side.

Animals don’t do that.

The thought came easily now. Not comforting. Just… correct.

She stayed where she was.

Then the room broke.

Chairs scraped back, the sound sudden and uneven as people stood, a few at first, then more, the hesitation lasting only a second before it turned into movement. Someone laughed softly. Someone said her name.

“Riley—”

“Oh my god, you came back—”

“I thought you’d—”

They closed the distance quickly.

Too quickly for her to step back even if she’d wanted to.

Arms wrapped around her, one after another, familiar shapes and voices pressing in close, overlapping in a way that felt chaotic but not overwhelming. Hugs came from different angles, some tight, some brief, some lingering a little longer than they used to, hands settling more freely than they might have before.

“I missed you,” someone said into her shoulder.

“You look—” another started, then stopped, not finishing it.

Riley let it happen.

Her body moved with it, arms coming up automatically in response, returning what she could, adjusting slightly as one person pulled away and another stepped in. The contact layered over itself, familiar and not, the rhythm of it something she knew even if the details had shifted.

It didn’t feel hostile.

It didn’t feel careful either.

Just… open.

Like there wasn’t anything left to navigate around.

Names came at her from all directions.

Voices she recognised.

Faces she should have recognised.

And that was when it hit.

She didn’t know half of them.

Not properly.

She knew where they sat. The sound of their voices. The shape of their hair, the way they laughed, the way they leaned back in their chairs or tapped their pens against the desk.

But names?

Those slipped.

Blended.

Faded somewhere between one class and the next.

Riley blinked slightly, her focus catching on that realization as another hug wrapped around her from behind, arms settling easily across her shoulders.

She didn’t pull away.

Didn’t question it.

Just stood there in the middle of it, letting the contact pass through her, familiar in a way that didn’t quite line up anymore, while the room slowly, naturally, folded her back into it.

The movement in the room settled just enough for the doorway to come back into focus.

Miss Lennox stood there.

She hadn’t raised her voice. Hadn’t needed to. Her presence alone shifted things, the loose cluster of students peeling back toward their desks in a slow, practiced retreat.

Her eyes moved across the room once, quick and assessing, before landing on Riley.

A small, familiar smile.

“Good to see you, Riley,” she said, like nothing about the situation required adjustment. “Are you sitting in?”

Riley nodded automatically.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just here to see people before I go.”

Miss Lennox had already turned away.

The answer didn’t matter.

She stepped inside, setting her things down on the desk at the front, already slipping into the rhythm of the room as it reformed around her. Chairs scraped back into place. Bags shifted. Voices dropped to nothing.

Class resumed before it had properly paused.

Riley hesitated for a second, then moved.

Her body carried her toward her old desk without thinking about it, the path still familiar enough that she didn’t have to look. Amanda was already sliding back into her seat, glancing up at her with a small, expectant look as Riley approached.

For a moment, it felt simple.

She turned and sat.

The chair was where it had always been. The desk, the same worn surface under her hands, the edge pressing lightly against her thighs as she settled into it. The position fit without effort, her body remembering it before anything else could catch up.

It lasted all of a second.

Miss Lennox was beside her before she registered the movement.

A hand closed around her arm—not rough, just firm enough to pull—and she was lifted cleanly out of the seat, the motion quick and practiced. The shift was immediate, her weight taken and redirected before she could react.

The sharp smack landed across her butt a second later.

Not hard enough to hurt.

Hard enough to correct.

“Riley,” Miss Lennox said, her tone even, almost conversational. “Animals don’t sit on the furniture.”

The words settled into the room without resistance.

No one laughed.

No one reacted.

It was just… true.

Miss Lennox released her just as easily, her hand falling away as she gestured toward the floor beside Amanda’s desk.

“There,” she added.

Clear.

Final.

“Animals sit or kneel on the floor.”

Then she turned back toward the front of the class, already moving on, the moment closed as cleanly as it had started.

Riley stood for half a second longer, the echo of the contact still lingering, the correction settling into place as naturally as everything else had.

Then she moved.

Down.

Beside Amanda’s desk.

Riley lowered herself beside Amanda’s desk without hesitation.

Knees first.

The position came easily, settling into place like something she already understood, even if she hadn’t thought about it before doing it. Her hands rested lightly against her thighs, her back straightening a little on instinct as she adjusted her balance.

Then the thought caught up.

She could have sat.

There was space. The floor was wide enough, open enough that she wouldn’t have been in the way. Sitting would have been easier. Less strain. Less… deliberate.

Instead, she’d chosen to kneel.

Riley frowned faintly, her eyes dropping to the floor in front of her.

Maybe it was because sitting felt… off.

Too low.

Too loose.

Kneeling held her in place. Kept her posture controlled, her body aligned in a way that didn’t spread out or draw attention. Sitting might have made her feel smaller, more collapsed into herself.

Kneeling felt… correct.

The thought didn’t linger.

Miss Lennox’s voice cut cleanly across the room, steady and familiar as she began the lesson without preamble. The low hum of conversation died completely, replaced by the soft, consistent cadence of teaching, the occasional scratch of pen on paper, the shifting of pages.

The classroom settled.

Riley stayed still.

For a moment.

Then Amanda’s hand found her.

It came down lightly at first, fingers brushing through her hair in a slow, absent motion, not even breaking Amanda’s focus as she looked toward the front of the room. The touch was soft, almost thoughtless, the kind of movement that didn’t ask for attention.

Riley felt it immediately.

Her shoulders eased slightly without her meaning them to.

Amanda’s fingers moved again, drifting from her hair to the edge of her ear, tracing lightly along the curve before slipping away, only to return a second later. A quiet, repetitive motion, like something to do with her hands while she listened.

The contact shifted.

Down.

Fingers brushing across Riley’s shoulder, light enough that it barely pressed, then along the top of her arm, the movement slow and unhurried. Amanda didn’t look at her. Didn’t acknowledge it. Her attention stayed on the lesson, her pen moving across the page between touches.

Riley stayed where she was.

Still.

Present.

The next touch came at her neck, fingertips grazing lightly along the side, trailing down just enough to be felt before lifting again. Not lingering. Not searching.

Just… passing.

Each contact brief.

Consistent.

Gentle.

The kind that didn’t interrupt anything.

Didn’t need to.

Amanda’s hand drifted once more, brushing lightly across Riley’s collarbone, then down just enough to be noticed before lifting again, returning to her notes as if nothing had happened at all.

The pattern continued.

Touch.

Lift.

Return.

Riley’s breathing slowed to match it without her realizing, her body settling into the rhythm of it, the quiet repetition grounding in a way that didn’t require thought.

Around them, the classroom remained unchanged.

Miss Lennox spoke.

Pens moved.

Pages turned.

And beside the desk, Riley stayed exactly where she was, held in place not by instruction, but by something softer, something that didn’t need to be said out loud.

Amanda’s hand drifted again, this time slower.

Her fingers brushed up along Riley’s jaw, light enough that it barely moved her skin, then settled briefly against her cheek. The contact was warmer there, more present, less fleeting than the others had been.

Riley didn’t think about it.

She leaned into it.

Just a fraction.

A small shift, barely noticeable from the outside, but enough that the pressure changed, her cheek pressing slightly into Amanda’s palm as if meeting it halfway.

Amanda stilled.

The movement stopped completely, her fingers resting where they were for half a second longer before she pulled her hand back.

Not abruptly.

Just… gone.

Riley felt it immediately.

The absence sat where the touch had been, sharp in a way the contact never was, like something had been lifted away that she hadn’t realised she was holding onto.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t turn.

Didn’t reach for it.

Her body stayed where it was, hands still resting on her thighs, posture unchanged, even as that quiet lack settled in under her skin.

Miss Lennox’s voice continued at the front of the room.

Nothing else shifted.

Riley kept her gaze forward, unfocused, listening without really taking anything in. The space beside her felt colder now, even though nothing about the room had actually changed.

She missed it.

The thought came and stayed.

Simple.

Uncomplicated.

She didn’t act on it.

Just… felt it.

A movement caught at the edge of her vision.

Riley’s eyes shifted slightly, just enough to follow it without turning her head.

Down the row.

A boy.

He wasn’t looking at the front anymore.

He was looking at her.

His hand hung loosely at his side, fingers relaxed, open, resting just off the edge of his desk. Not raised. Not reaching.

Just… there.

Waiting.

Riley watched it for a second.

The shape of it.

The space it occupied.

The quiet, unspoken offer.

No words.

No gesture.

Just a place for her to go.

She held there for a moment longer, the absence of Amanda’s touch still lingering, then her weight shifted forward slightly, the decision forming without needing to be named.

Riley shifted her weight forward slightly, her hands pressing into the floor as she prepared to move.

For a second, she almost stood.

The instinct came fast—familiar, automatic, the way she’d always moved through this room before. It would have been easier. Quicker.

But it would have been wrong.

The correction came just as quickly.

Service Stock didn’t walk through classrooms.

Not during lessons.

Too disruptive.

Too visible.

She wasn’t Service Stock.

But she was here.

And that meant—

Be polite.

Riley lowered herself fully onto her hands, the movement quiet, controlled, her knees already in place as she began to move forward. Each shift of her weight was deliberate, measured to keep the noise down, to avoid drawing attention.

The floor was cool under her palms.

Her breathing stayed steady.

Eyes forward.

She moved between desks without interrupting anything, keeping low, keeping small, slipping through the space in a way that didn’t demand notice.

Her cheeks warmed as she went.

Not from the movement.

From the awareness of it.

A few glances flicked down toward her, brief, curious, then gone again as attention returned to the front of the room. No one said anything. No one needed to.

This was understood.

As she passed one desk, a hand drifted out slightly, fingers brushing lightly across her back. The contact was brief, almost absent-minded, gone as quickly as it came.

Another touch followed a moment later.

Light.

Passing.

Unremarkable.

Riley didn’t react.

Didn’t pause.

Just kept moving.

By the time she reached the boy, her pace hadn’t changed.

His hand was still there, resting where she’d first seen it, fingers loose, open.

Waiting.

Riley stopped beside him and settled back into place, knees tucked neatly beneath her, posture straightening again as she returned to stillness.

The space beside his desk felt… occupied now.

Complete.

He didn’t say anything.

Just let his hand rest where it was, close enough to her shoulder to brush against it now and then as he shifted, the contact light and unintentional in the way everything else had been.

At the front of the room, Miss Lennox continued speaking.

Nothing had changed.

Not really.

Riley didn’t stay in one place for long.

It happened naturally.

A hand would rest a little longer, then lift. Someone else would glance her way, a quiet shift of attention, a space opening without being announced. She moved when it felt right, keeping low, keeping quiet, slipping between desks with the same careful rhythm she’d found before.

No one called her over.

Not properly.

A small ball of paper tapped lightly against her arm instead, bouncing once before settling on the floor beside her. She glanced up, catching the faint tilt of someone’s head, the smallest gesture.

Invitation.

She moved.

Whispers followed her as she passed, low enough not to carry beyond a desk or two.

“Hey—”

“Come here—”

“Did it hurt when—”

The questions never finished fully. They didn’t need to. Tone carried more than words.

Riley didn’t answer most of them.

She didn’t need to.

Just being there seemed to be enough.

A hand brushed through her hair as she paused beside one desk, fingers idly separating strands before letting them fall back into place. Another rested briefly against her shoulder, thumb moving once, absent-minded, before returning to a pen.

None of it lingered.

None of it demanded.

It was just… continuous.

Riley moved again.

The space opened, then closed behind her each time, the class shifting around her without losing its shape. Miss Lennox’s voice carried on at the front, steady, uninterrupted, threading through everything like it wasn’t connected.

Like it didn’t need to be.

Riley felt it building slowly.

Not tension.

Something lighter.

She was being noticed.

Passed between them.

Welcomed without being asked anything in return.

It settled into her easily.

There wasn’t anything to figure out.

No right answer to give.

No expectation beyond staying quiet, staying present, letting the small moments of contact come and go without holding onto them.

It was… simple.

Easy.

Riley paused beside another desk, a hand resting briefly at her shoulder again, then lifting, then returning without thought.

She realised, somewhere in the middle of it, that she felt—

wanted.

Not in a way that asked anything from her.

Just… included.

Used.

Present.

The thought didn’t sting.

If anything, it fit.

She didn’t think about what she was doing or how it looked. She just moved when it felt right, settled when it didn’t, letting the quiet rhythm of it carry her from one place to the next.

A novelty.

A presence.

Something soft moving through the edges of the room.

When the bell rang, it cut cleanly through everything.

Sharp.

Final.

Riley stilled.

The movement around her shifted immediately—chairs scraping back, voices rising, the structure breaking apart as quickly as it had formed. Hands withdrew. Attention snapped elsewhere.

Just like that.

It was over.

Riley stayed where she was for a second longer than she needed to, the sudden absence settling in, heavier than she expected.

She hadn’t realised she’d been enjoying it.

Not until it stopped.

Amanda found her halfway across the room, weaving through the shifting bodies until she was standing over her again.

“You enjoyed that attention, didn’t you?” she said, one brow lifting slightly.

Riley looked up at her.

Then smiled.

“Yeah,” she said. “It was fun.”

Simple.

True.

Miss Lennox’s voice cut in from the front again, already moving the class along.

“Amanda, next lesson.”

No emphasis.

No delay.

Amanda rolled her eyes slightly but grabbed her things, slinging her bag over her shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Coming,” she muttered.

As she passed Riley, Miss Lennox didn’t stop.

Didn’t address her.

Her hand brushed lightly over Riley’s shoulder in passing, a brief, absent touch, no different from any of the others Riley had felt that lesson.

Then she was gone.

And the room emptied around her.