The alarm clock glowed 4:15 a.m.
I stared at it with half-open eyes and the deep hatred only a tired person could understand.
Waking up early was cruel enough.
Waking up early after sleeping late should have been illegal.
Still, I had responsibilities.
In our house, I had somehow become the official human alarm clock.
There were five of us children, and every school morning I was expected to wake the rest of the crew. I called them crew members because we all left home daily on the same mission—to survive education.
My light-sleeping habit had earned me the position after a long argument with Sammy, who naturally believed leadership belonged to him.
He liked being in charge of everything.
This time, I had won.
Which meant four siblings depended on me not to fail.
If I did, Mother would intervene.
She always woke twenty-eight minutes before disaster.
That woman had the instincts of a soldier.
I considered pretending to sleep for five more minutes when the bedroom door creaked open.
There she was.
Mother stood in the darkness, peering in to confirm I hadn't abandoned my sacred duty.
Even without seeing her face clearly, I could feel the disappointment she was prepared to deliver.
I sat up immediately.
She left without a word.
I sighed.
Sometimes I was convinced parents gained secret happiness from sending their children out of the house. They would wake early, cook, iron, shout, spend money—whatever sacrifice school demanded.
Anything for several hours of peace.
I swore often that when I had children someday, I would be different.
Then again, adulthood probably came with mysteries I didn't yet understand.
So I let the thought go.
I grabbed my toothbrush, then marched into the next room where my brothers slept like men who had no respect for sunrise.
For a moment, I stood over them and wondered:
What if I simply didn't wake them?
The power thrilled me.
I grinned to myself.
Then I kicked each of them lightly in the backside.
Chaos followed.
Groans.
Blankets clutched like treasure.
Pillows defended with dying strength.
No one wanted to get up.
And honestly, I understood.
We had all stayed awake too late the night before trying to catch up on episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants.
After the long vacation, everyone at school compared progress in cartoons and shows like it was academic achievement. The kids ahead in the storyline were considered informed, respected, somehow superior.
Sammy loved that kind of attention.
I watched for different reasons.
Curiosity had always ruled me more than popularity ever could.
"Why aren't they up yet?" Mother whispered sharply from the hallway.
She kept her voice low so she wouldn't wake Father—the unquestioned ruler of the house.
"They're up," I muttered.
Eventually, everyone stumbled to their feet, confused and resentful.
My mission was complete.
But mine was only beginning.
Because unlike them, I still had to face Hilltop Secondary School.
And more specifically—
I had to face a classroom full of strangers.
And one boy in the back row whose smile had followed me into sleep.
By the time I finished bathing, the sky had softened into pale morning light.
Water always made me hopeful.
It washed away fear for a few minutes.
Unfortunately, fear dried quickly.
7:58 a.m.
Students rushed through the school gates as if lateness were a disease.
I walked slowly.
A small part of me hoped someone would stop me and send me home.
No such miracle occurred.
Because I wasn't wearing the official school uniform yet, the security guards barely glanced at me. New students were given temporary freedom.
I enjoyed that more than I should have.
The idea of being forced into matching clothes offended something in me.
I entered the assembly hall with my usual panic.
The building was enormous, unfinished, and strangely impressive. Fresh plaster coated the walls, leaving the place half-beautiful and half-abandoned. Large glass panels framed the front like the school dreamed of becoming something grander than it already was.
Hundreds of students filled the hall.
Voices echoed.
Shoes scraped.
Hands clapped in rhythm to the opening hymn.
I hated every second of it.
Our country's schools often began the day with prayers, announcements, and songs. It was normal, especially in Christian communities.
My family was deeply religious.
I kept an open mind about most things.
Including faith.
Including people.
Including boys whose names I shouldn't still be thinking about.
I frowned at myself.
Then looked around for Sammy.
He stood several rows ahead, talking animatedly to a cluster of students.
Of course he was.
This term was election season.
New prefects would be chosen, and Sammy had already entered the race. His popularity alone made him a leading candidate.
For three days, contestants had moved around campus offering sweets, snacks, and dramatic promises.
Vote for me.
I'll improve discipline.
I'll fight for students.
I'll make break time longer.
It sounded suspiciously like national politics.
The same smiles.
The same performance.
The same bribery wrapped in kindness.
Today was Manifesto Day.
Each candidate would address the school and explain why they deserved power.
I found it amusing how early people learned to campaign.
Even in uniforms, everyone wanted influence.
Maybe adults were just older children with better lies.
I was lost in thought when someone brushed past me.
My shoulder stiffened instantly.
Then I heard a familiar voice close to my ear.
"Still sweating before sunrise?"
I turned sharply.
Ryan stood beside me.
He wasn't in line.
He wasn't where he was supposed to be.
He was simply there—hands in pockets, tie loose again, expression calm as if rules had been invented for other people.
My chest betrayed me with one violent beat.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Talking to you."
"You're supposed to be in your line."
"So are you."
I hated that he was right.
I hated more that he smelled annoyingly good again.
He looked me over slowly.
"No uniform?"
"New students get time."
"Lucky you."
His eyes lingered on my shirt collar, then returned to my face.
"You look better nervous than most people look confident."
I blinked.
"What does that even mean?"
He smiled.
"It means good morning, Josh."
There it was again.
The way he said my name like it belonged in his mouth.
Before I could reply, a teacher shouted from the front.
"Ryan! Back to your line!"
He sighed dramatically.
"Duty calls."
Then he leaned slightly closer.
"Sit beside me again today."
It wasn't a question.
He walked away before I could answer.
And for the rest of assembly, while speeches were made and prayers spoken,
I heard nothing.