The car door closed with a heavy thud, sealing them into a space that felt far too small for the energy vibrating between them. As Mauwa pulled the sedan out of the driveway, the silence was immediate and suffocating. Jim sat as far against the door as possible, his Bible resting on his lap like a literal barrier.
"You're very quiet," Mauwa said, his voice dropping into that low, melodic register he had used in the bedroom. "Still thinking about how I described your mouth? Or is it the eyes? They look especially 'consecrated' this morning."
Jim's jaw tightened. He refused to look at the driver's seat. "I am practicing the silence of the spirit, Mauwa. Something you wouldn't understand. I told you, I am not entertaining your games."
"It's not a game to appreciate beauty," Mauwa countered, shifting gears smoothly. The movement caused his shoulder to flex, a detail Jim noticed despite his best efforts. "You spend so much time looking at the dirt, afraid of sin, that you don't realize you're the most beautiful thing in that house. It's almost a tragedy. Like keeping a masterpiece locked in a dark basement."
Jim's resolve wavered for a second under the sheer weight of the flattery, but he forced himself to find his voice. He wouldn't let Mauwa's "angelic" talk win.
"Beauty is fleeting, Mauwa," Jim said, his voice taking on a sharp, lecturing tone. "The Bible says that favor is deceitful and beauty is vain. You speak of masterpieces and tragedies, but the real tragedy is your soul. You live for the flesh—for rugby, for fast cars, for the approval of girls like Hannah. You are a man built on sand."
Mauwa let out a soft, amused hum. "And you're built on stone? Stone is cold, Jim. Stone doesn't feel. It just sits there until it eventually cracks."
"I am built on the Word!" Jim snapped, finally turning to glare at him. "You think you're 'looser' and 'freer' because you give in to every impulse. But you're actually a slave. A slave to your desires. Bringing that girl home just to flaunt her in front of a priest? It's disrespectful and immature. You're trying to drag me down to your level because you can't handle someone who has actual standards."
Mauwa stopped at a red light and turned his head slowly. He didn't look angry; he looked fascinated. He leaned closer, invading Jim's space until Jim could see the gold flecks in his eyes.
"Is that what you think?" Mauwa whispered. "That I want to drag you down? Maybe I just want to wake you up. You're so busy lecturing me on morality, but your hands are shaking, Jim. Are they shaking because you're 'holy,' or because you're terrified that everything I said this morning is true?"
He reached out, his hand hovering near Jim's trembling fingers on the Bible. "You can lecture me on the soul all the way to the school gate, little cousin. But your body is telling a completely different story."
Jim pulled his hands away as if scorched, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "Drive," he choked out, looking back at the windshield. "Just drive and be silent. I have nothing left to say to you."
Mauwa smiled—a slow, victorious curve of his lips—and accelerated as the light turned green. For the rest of the ride, Jim didn't say another word.
Mauwa pulled up to the main high school gate, the car idling smoothly. Students were milling about, greeting friends, but Jim was acutely aware that the sleek, university-driven sedan attracted attention even before they were recognized.
Jim gripped the door handle, ready to bolt. "Stop here," he commanded, his voice tight. "I can walk from here."
Mauwa didn't move the car. He didn't even look at Jim. He simply reached out and hit a button on the dashboard. The automatic lock clicked into place, preventing Jim from opening the door.
Jim stared at the lock, his blood running cold. "Unlock the door, Mauwa. Now."
Mauwa turned his head, his expression shifting from teasing to utterly determined. "No. Your father entrusted your safety to me, Jim, and I deliver my cargo directly to the docks. I promised him efficiency, remember?"
Jim yanked at the handle, fear spiking through his anger. "This isn't funny! You can't keep me here!"
"It's a two-minute drive, Jim. Why are you so desperate to bail out right here?" Mauwa leaned closer, his eyes challenging. "Are you afraid someone might see you being delivered by me?"
"You are disrupting my routine!" Jim yelled, desperation overriding caution. He needed to escape before the entire school realized who was driving the car.
"Exactly," Mauwa murmured, and with a sudden, decisive movement, he accelerated.
"Mauwa, stop! This is the high school, you can't!"
Ignoring Jim's panicked protests, Mauwa smoothly drove past the main gate guards—who waved the professional-looking car through without question—and proceeded directly onto the school grounds, gliding past the athletic field toward the student drop-off loop.
Their arrival was a spectacle.
The sedan was immediately visible against the sea of school buses and parent minivans. Heads turned. Students who knew Jim, the always-punctual, always-proper Class Representative, watched as he was delivered not in his familiar bus, but in a luxury car driven by an undeniably handsome, casually dressed university student.
Mauwa brought the car to a deliberate, dramatic stop right in front of the main administration building. He unlocked the doors with a flourish.
"The dock has been reached," Mauwa announced, that victorious smirk firmly back in place. "Have a blessed day, Jim. And remember what the stone can't do."
Jim didn't waste time on a retort. He yanked the door open and scrambled out, grabbing his backpack and shoving the door shut with a violence that made the car shake. He could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on him.
As Mauwa drove away slowly, students immediately converged.
"Jim! Who was that?"
"Is that the university rugby guy?"
"Jim, did you get a new car?"
Jim ignored them all. But the whispers were immediate and sharp:
"Did you see how he looked at Jim? They must be friends."
"I heard that's the rugby star, Mauwa Gene. Why is he driving Jim to school?"
The gossips spread like wildfire.
The murmurs followed Jim into the hallways, sticking to him like a film of grease. He kept his head down, his gait stiff and mechanical, as he made his way to his next period: Information Technology.
Usually, the computer lab was a place of sanctuary for Jim. He appreciated the logic of code, the binary certainty of true and false, and the way every problem had a definitive, structured solution. It was the polar opposite of the chaotic, emotional storm Mauwa Gene had brought into his life.
He took his seat at his terminal, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting for the bell. Jared sat at the computer next to him, leaning in immediately.
"Jim, man, the whole school is vibrating," Jared whispered, eyes darting to the teacher's desk. "That guy who dropped you off... that was him, wasn't it? The Gene guy? My sister said she saw him wink at you before he drove away. What's the deal?"
"He is a distant relative staying at our house," Jim said, his voice flat and rehearsed. "My father insisted on the ride for efficiency. There is nothing more to it."
"A relative? Lucky you," Jared muttered, looking unconvinced. "He looks like he could snap a tree trunk with his bare hands."
Before Jim could respond, Mr. Halloway, the IT instructor, clapped his hands to get the class's attention.
"Listen up, class," Mr. Halloway announced, gesturing to the projector screen. "For your upcoming term project, you'll be conducting high-level research into network security and database management. To assist you, the University's Computer Science department has agreed to a peer-mentoring program. This afternoon, a group of their Senior IT students will be coming over to guide you through your research topics."
Jim felt a sudden, icy chill settle in his chest. His breath hitched.
"They'll be paired with you to provide technical insights and help you navigate the university's digital library," the teacher continued.
Jim's mind raced. Mauwa was a senior. Mauwa was studying IT. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The University was right next door, and Mauwa had mentioned he was heading to his own classes after the drop-off.
No, Jim thought, his eyes fluttering shut as he gripped the edge of the computer desk. Please, no. Not here too.
He lowered his head, ostensibly to look at his notes, but he was actually retreating into a silent, desperate prayer. Heavenly Father, grant me this one reprieve. Let him be busy. Let him be at rugby practice. Let anyone else walk through that door—anyone but him.
He tried to focus on the technical requirements of the project, but the image of Mauwa's smirk kept flashing in his mind. The thought of Mauwa standing in this lab, leaning over his shoulder to "guide" him, was more than Jim's fragile composure could handle.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the lab. The class turned their heads toward the door. Jim's heart hammered against his ribs—a frantic, rhythmic beat that drowned out the quiet clicking of keyboards.
Please, Jim prayed one last time, his knuckles white as he squeezed his pen. Anyone but him.
The door opened, and a group of university students filed in, looking older and more confident than the high schoolers. Jim kept his head bowed, his heart racing as he listened to Mr. Halloway begin the assignments.
"Alright, listen for your names," the teacher called out. "Jared, you'll be working with Mike. Sarah, you're with Elena..."
One by one, Jim's classmates were paired off. He watched from the corner of his eye as mentors pulled up chairs next to his peers. The room filled with the low hum of introductions and technical talk. Finally, only Jim was left without a partner.
"And for our Class Representative, Jim," Mr. Halloway said, looking up from his clipboard. "Your mentor had a slight scheduling conflict with the athletic department, so he'll be arriving a few minutes late. Just start on your preliminary outline, and he'll join you shortly."
Jim let out a long, shaky breath. A reprieve. Perhaps the "athletic conflict" meant Mauwa was stuck at the stadium and someone else would be sent in his place. He tried to focus on his screen, typing out a title for his research paper, but his hands were still trembling.
Ten minutes passed. The lab was a hive of activity when the door swung open again.
The silence that followed was instantaneous. It started at the front of the room and rippled back until every student was staring. Mauwa stood in the doorway, still wearing his university training jacket, looking effortlessly cool and entirely too large for the high school setting.
"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Halloway," Mauwa said, his voice smooth and projecting easily across the room. "The coach had a few final words for the team."
"No problem at all, Mauwa," Mr. Halloway smiled, gesturing toward the back of the room. "We were just getting started. I've assigned you to Jim. Since I heard you two are cousins and living under the same roof, I figured it would be the perfect fit. You can even continue the mentoring sessions at home."
A collective gasp went up from the class. The whispers that had started at the gate ignited into a full-blown fire.
"Cousins?" Sarah whispered loudly. "That's Jim's cousin?" "No way," another boy muttered.
Jim felt like he was shrinking into his seat. Jim felt dull and tarnished as Mauwa walked down the aisle toward him. Every eye followed Mauwa's movement, watching the way he navigated the cramped lab with a predator's grace.
Mauwa reached Jim's terminal and pulled up a chair, sitting so close that their shoulders nearly touched. He leaned in, the scent of his soap and the outdoors hitting Jim like a wave.
"Hello again, Jim," Mauwa whispered, his voice too low for the teacher to hear. He reached out and tapped the computer screen right next to Jim's cursor. "It seems the universe—and Mr. Halloway—really wants us to spend time together. Ready to be guided?"
Jim stared at the screen, his vision blurring. He felt the heat of Mauwa's presence beside him and the weight of the entire class's curiosity pressing in. His prayer had been ignored, and now he was trapped in his own sanctuary with the very man who was turning his world upside down.