CHAPTER 5 : NEW SKIES AND STRANGER FACES

(GRADUATION DAY)

The sun burned bright over the football field, turning the green grass gold and making the red and white graduation gowns glow like fire. Three months had passed since that day by the river—three months of crossing the street to avoid hallways where Richard and Lianne walked, of studying late into the night, of writing pages and pages in my notebook until the ache in my chest felt more like a memory than a wound.

Maicah stood next to me, fanning herself with her program. "I still can’t believe we’re actually graduating," she said, grinning even though her eyes were shiny with tears. "Feels like just yesterday we were hiding under that oak tree eating peanut butter sandwiches."

I squeezed her hand, my eyes scanning the sea of caps and gowns until I spotted them—Richard and Lianne, sitting two rows ahead. He was staring straight ahead at the stage, his jaw tight. She was leaning her head on his shoulder, but he didn’t move to touch her back like he usually did. When his eyes drifted toward our row and met mine, he looked away so fast I almost thought I’d imagined it.

"Ready?" Maicah asked as the principal called our class to stand.

I nodded, straightening my cap. "Ready."

The ceremony flew by in a blur of speeches, cheers, and the triumphant sound of caps flying into the air. Afterward, families swarmed the field with cameras and balloons. I found my parents near the bleachers—Mom crying and waving a homemade sign that said "Our Brent Did It!" Dad clapped me on the back so hard I almost fell over.

"Going to miss you two," Dad said, his voice thick with emotion. "But that university in the city is perfect for you. English Education—helping kids learn to love words like you do. That’s exactly what you’re meant to do."

I hugged them tight, then looked around for Maicah. She was standing with her family a few feet away, holding up a small wrapped box. When she saw me looking, she walked over and handed it to me.

"For when you miss home," she said. "And when you miss me, obviously."

I tore off the paper to find a leather-bound notebook—deep blue with my initials stamped on the cover in gold. "Maicah," I whispered, running my fingers over the smooth cover. "It’s perfect."

"Promise you’ll write to me," she said, pulling me into a hug. "Every week. And call me when you get there. I don’t care what time it is."

"I promise," I said, holding her tight. Her university was on the other side of the country—too far for weekend visits, too far for spontaneous late-night talks. But I knew we’d make it work. Some friendships were bigger than distance.

As we pulled apart, I saw Richard walking toward the parking lot with his parents, Lianne a few steps behind with her own family. We were on opposite sides of the field, but our paths were about to cross near the concession stand. I tensed up, but Maicah squeezed my arm, walking a little closer to me.

Richard saw us coming and his steps slowed. Lianne followed his gaze, her face hardening when she spotted me. Without breaking stride, Richard turned slightly and steered his parents toward a different path—one that would keep him far away from where we were walking. Lianne didn’t look back.

I kept my eyes forward, my hands wrapped around Maicah’s notebook. We passed within twenty feet of them, but neither of us said a word, neither of us made eye contact. It was like we were strangers who had never shared anything at all—no childhood secrets, no late-night talks, no tangled feelings. Just three people who had once been in the same place, now going their separate ways.

Maicah didn’t say anything about it, just squeezed my hand tighter as we kept walking toward my parents’ car. The ache in my chest was quiet but sharp—like a scar being pulled taut. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. It was time to leave all of that behind

(TWO MONTHS AFTER)

The city hit me like a wave—tall buildings blocking out the sky, cars honking on every street, people rushing past like they had somewhere important to be. My dorm room was small but cozy, with a window that looked out over a busy avenue and a desk perfect for planning lesson plans and writing in my spare time. I’d unpacked half my things when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I called out, stacking a pile of textbooks on my desk.

The door swung open to reveal a girl with curly brown hair tied back in colorful scrunchies, wearing oversized glasses and a t-shirt with two handsome American actors on it. She was carrying a rolling suitcase covered in BL drama stickers, a tower of books balanced on top, and she had a wide, excited smile on her face.

"Hi there! I’m Faith—your new roommate. I hope you don’t mind that I already claimed the bed by the window," she said, setting her books down carefully. "I need the light for binge-watching my favorite shows and reading my manga. English Education program, right? I saw your name on the class list for Advanced Composition!"

I blinked in surprise, then grinned. "I’m Brent! Yeah, that’s me. I can’t believe we’re in the same program—let alone the same classes."

"Trust me, when I saw someone else had annotated copies of To Kill a Mockingbird and The Great Gatsby on their desk, I knew we’d get along," she said, gesturing to my own collection of marked-up books. "Plus, I noticed you have a notebook full of writing—you’re a writer too! Though I’ll warn you now, most of my creative energy goes into imagining scenarios for my favorite BL couples and crushing on hot western guys."

She pointed to her t-shirt. "See these two? They’re from my favorite American show—total boyfriend material. And don’t even get me started on how perfect they’d be together in real life!"

"You could say that," I laughed, running my hand over Maicah’s gift. "I use writing to work through things. Helps me figure out how to teach it better too."

"Same here!" she said, pulling out her own notebook—covered in stickers of BL characters and American heartthrobs. "I write fanfiction for fun, but I’m also working on a thesis idea about using popular media like BL dramas and western shows to teach storytelling and literary themes. What about you?"

We spent the rest of the day setting up our room—Faith putting up posters of her favorite actors and BL couples on one wall, me arranging my books and teaching materials on the other. She was hilarious and quick-witted, making me laugh until my sides hurt as she gushed about her latest obsessions and explained the intricacies of good BL storytelling. By the time we ordered pizza for dinner, we were already planning a marathon of her favorite shows.

"Tomorrow’s orientation," she said, taking a bite of pizza while flipping through our shared class schedule. "And we have Advanced Composition together at 9 AM sharp. Also, I heard there’s a welcome fair for the Education department—they’re giving out free lesson plan templates and there’s a panel with current teachers. Oh, and word on the street is someone famous is starting here too!"

"Famous?" I asked, scribbling notes in my planner.

"Lexter Reyes!" she said, wiggling her eyebrows playfully. "Freshman like us, but everyone knows who he is because his sister is Maya Reyes—the singer who just won three awards at the music gala. From what I’ve heard, he’s loaded—comes from old money, dresses like he stepped out of a fashion magazine. And get this—he’s tall, has straight half-black half-white hair, and wears glasses. Hot rich guy alert! Though I’ve also heard he’s kind of a know-it-all. Not that I’m not already imagining him with some cute western exchange student I haven’t met yet," she added with a giggle.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. "I’m not interested in rich famous guys. I’ve had enough drama with people from back home to last a lifetime."

"Fair enough," she said, raising her soda can in a toast. "To new beginnings, great BL stories, and hot western guys!"

"To new beginnings!" I clinked my can against hers.

The welcome fair was packed with students milling around booths covered in flyers and free teaching supplies. Faith and I moved from table to table together—her stopping every time she spotted someone who looked like they could be from the west, whispering excitedly about potential ships while we compared notes on different clubs and programs for future educators. We were standing at the Creative Teaching Methods booth when a commotion near the entrance made everyone turn their heads.

There he was—Lexter Reyes. Tall and striking, with straight hair that was half black and half white, styled perfectly. He wore thin, silver-rimmed glasses that framed his sharp features, and his outfit—tailored white shirt, dark slacks, leather loafers—looked incredibly expensive. He was surrounded by a small group of students who were laughing at something he’d said, but his expression was smug, like he knew he was the center of attention.

"Oh wow," Faith whispered, elbowing me. "He is definitely hot. I’m already thinking about which of my favorite American actors would look good standing next to him..."

"Let’s just keep doing our thing," I said, turning back to fill out a form for the literacy volunteer program.

We were halfway through writing our names when he appeared at our table out of nowhere, leaning against it with an annoying grin.

"Creative Teaching Methods? How quaint," he said, his voice smooth but condescending. "You know, real innovation in education comes from proper funding and resources—not just coming up with cute little activities. My family donates to the university’s education department, so I know what I’m talking about."

Faith straightened up, her smile still bright but her eyes sharp. "Actually, we’re focusing on how to use popular media to make learning more engaging for students. Have you ever considered that shows—both local and western—can be powerful tools for teaching storytelling, character development, and even social issues?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "That’s just entertainment. Education should be about classic literature and structured learning, not about whatever kids are watching on their phones these days."

I couldn’t help myself. "You don’t know anything about me or what modern students need. And judging people based on what they think is valuable isn’t exactly a good quality for someone who wants to be a teacher."

He looked at me then, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he noticed my shirt.

Mati National Comprehensive High School?" he said, his tone shifting from smug to cold. "I know that place. My cousin lives there—she told me all about the little drama you were part of last year. Something about a boy and his girlfriend? Interesting that someone with that kind of history wants to be a teacher."

I felt my face burn, but I stood my ground. "You don’t know anything about me or what happened. And rumors aren’t a good basis for judging anyone’s ability to teach."

"Rumors or not, reputation matters," he said, adjusting his glasses with an air of superiority. "Especially when you’re in a position of influence over children. But don’t worry—I’m sure you’ll do fine teaching basic English to kids who don’t know any better."

He turned and walked away, leaving Faith and I staring after him in disbelief.

"Well, he’s definitely rich and handsome," Faith said dryly. "And also the most annoying person I’ve ever met. Though I’m still not ruling out pairing him with a cute western guy—opposites attract, right?"

Over the next few weeks, Faith and I became inseparable—we studied together in the library, practiced teaching techniques on each other, and spent weekends binge-watching her favorite BL dramas and western shows while discussing how to incorporate their storytelling elements into lesson plans. Unfortunately, Lexter was in our Advanced Composition class, sitting in the front row and making sure everyone knew he was the smartest person in the room. He’d interrupt the professor to add his own "insights," correct other students’ work without being asked, and always had a condescending comment about everything we discussed.

One afternoon, Faith and I were sitting at our usual coffee shop working on a paper about teaching storytelling through popular media when Lexter walked in, dressed in another expensive outfit and carrying a leather briefcase. He spotted us and, to our annoyance, came straight over.

"Working on that media and education paper?" he asked, pulling out a chair without being invited. "I already finished mine—got a draft back from the professor with a 98%. I focused on how classic literature is superior to modern media, which is why we should be prioritizing it in classrooms."

"Actually," I said, not looking up from my laptop, "we’re arguing that combining classic literature with modern media—like BL dramas and western shows—helps students make connections between the past and present. It makes learning relevant to their lives."

Faith chimed in excitedly. "And you know what? A lot of BL stories have amazing character development and tackle important issues like acceptance and identity—things that classic literature sometimes doesn’t address as well. Plus, the chemistry between the leads is chef’s kiss—total masterclass in how to show emotional connection through dialogue and body language!"

He scoffed. "Easy for you to say. Have you ever read a first edition of a classic novel? The craftsmanship alone is worth more than all the television shows ever made. You can’t replicate that kind of quality with something you watch on a screen."

Faith closed her laptop and looked him directly in the eye. "My cousin is a high school student who struggled with reading until she found a BL novel that sparked her interest. Now she reads everything she can get her hands on—including the classics we’re supposed to be teaching. Sometimes you need to meet students where they are, not where you think they should be."

Lexter was quiet for a moment, adjusting his glasses and looking at his hands. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from Maicah. I opened it to find a picture—Richard in his criminology program t-shirt, Lianne in her nursing scrubs, both smiling as they held up their class schedules. The message read: First week done! They’re doing well, but we still haven’t talked since graduation. Miss you more than words can say xx

I showed the picture to Faith, then looked back at Lexter. "You know what? You’re right about one thing—quality matters. But it’s not about whether something is old or new, expensive or cheap. It’s about how it touches people’s lives. Richard and Lianne are building good lives for themselves, even though they don’t have much. I’m here because I want to help kids realize they can do the same—whether that means reading Shakespeare or watching their favorite show."

Lexter nodded slowly, then pulled out a folder from his briefcase. "I... I actually did some research after our argument at the fair. About using media in education. And I have to admit, some of the programs I found were impressive. I even talked to my sister about it—she wants to fund a program that brings both classic books and diverse media into underfunded schools. But I don’t know much about what students actually like to watch or read..."

"Really?" Faith said, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, trust me—I have so many recommendations. And I can help you design lesson plans that connect what they love to what they need to learn. Plus, I already have a list of western actors who’d be perfect to come speak at the school if we get the funding!"

A week later, our class was hosting a presentation showcase where groups shared their ideas for innovative teaching methods. To everyone’s surprise, Lexter had asked to join Faith and I’s group. We’d worked together to create a presentation about integrating classic literature with modern media—including BL dramas and western shows—along with a proposal for grants that would fund both materials and teacher training.

I was standing backstage with them, going over our notes, when Lexter turned to me. "I talked to my cousin again," he said quietly. "She said she was wrong about what happened back home—said you and the other two just grew apart, and there were no hard feelings. She’s sorry she spread the wrong story. And... I’m sorry too. For judging you and being such a jerk about everything."

"It’s okay," I said, smiling. "I’m glad you took the time to find out the truth."

"They’re calling our group!" Faith said excitedly, pulling us toward the stage.

We walked out together, and I felt more confident than I had in months. Lexter started by talking about the grant proposal and the importance of proper funding, Faith shared her media recommendations and explained how they could be used to teach literary concepts, and I finished by reading an original story I’d written that blended classic themes with modern storytelling elements.

When we finished, the whole class erupted in applause. Our professor stood up and praised our work, saying it was exactly the kind of forward-thinking approach education needed.

After the showcase, Lexter walked over to us—still dressed in his expensive clothes, but with a warmer smile than we’d ever seen.

"That story you wrote was amazing," he said to me. "You’re really talented—both as a writer and as a teacher. And Faith, what you said about your cousin really opened my eyes. I want to do more than just write checks—I want to actually understand what students need and like."

"Thanks!" Faith said, grinning from ear to ear. "Maybe you’re not so bad after all, rich boy. And just so you know—I’ve already started brainstorming which western exchange student would be perfect for you. Trust me, the ship potential is huge."

He laughed—genuinely laughed—and adjusted his glasses. "Want to get some coffee? My treat this time. I know a place that has great pastries, and I could use your help refining that grant proposal. Plus, Faith—you can tell me all about these shows you keep talking about. I might even learn something."

I looked over at Faith, who was giving me a huge grin and making heart eyes at Lexter while whispering "ship material!" under her breath. Then I looked back at Lexter—at his sharp features, his half-black half-white hair, and his now-genuine smile—and knew that even if he was still a little annoying sometimes, he was trying to be better.

"Yeah," I said. "I’d like that a lot."

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