Take My Hand

The teacher entered before anyone had the chance to answer.

*“Everyone in your seats, please.”*

Chairs scraped against the floor as the class hurried to obey. Just like that, my little declaration of war came to an end.

For now.

I hopped down from the teacher’s desk and returned to my seat. Nobody said anything as I passed, although a few of them continued glaring at me. The rest suddenly found their books, pencils and empty desks incredibly interesting.

The morning dragged on until the bell finally rang for break. The classroom came alive almost immediately. Some children rushed towards the cafeteria while others pulled their chairs together and gathered in small groups, their conversations rising into a familiar wall of noise.

Nobody came near me, but that didn’t mean they had stopped watching.

I was gathering my things when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up and found Rachel standing over me, with two girls positioned behind her like poorly trained bodyguards.

Ah.

The lackeys had arrived.

*“Follow me,”* Rachel ordered.

She turned away without waiting for an answer.

I stared at her back, mildly offended. I had stood in front of an entire classroom and declared war on them. Did she have any idea how much courage something like that required?

The least she could do was show me a little respect.

The moment she turned her back completely, I swung.

My fist connected with the side of her face. Rachel stumbled, too stunned to understand what had happened, and before she could recover, I struck her again.

Then again.

And again.

Years of anger rushed through my arms all at once—every insult, every humiliation and every morning I had woken up wishing I didn’t have to come to this place. Everything I had swallowed because I’d been too frightened to fight back finally found somewhere to go.

So I let it out.

Rachel raised her arms and tried to shield her face, but I didn’t stop. My fists struck whatever she placed in front of me—her hands, her arms, the side of her head.

*“Ugh!”*

Another hit landed.

*“Ngh…!”*

Again.

The classroom had gone completely silent. The only sounds were my unsteady breathing, the dull impact of my fists and the small noises Rachel made whenever one of them found her.

Someone ran out of the classroom.

I noticed.

I just didn’t particularly care.

He returned less than a minute later with Mrs Wilson following close behind him.

***“MIRA!”***

A hand seized my arm and dragged me backwards. I twisted around to find Mrs Wilson standing behind me, staring between Rachel and me in horror.

Rachel had curled into herself on the floor, crying with both arms raised over her face. I stood several feet away, breathing heavily, my hands still clenched into fists.

For some reason, everyone else had suddenly remembered how to behave.

*“What on earth is wrong with you?”* Mrs Wilson demanded. *“Do you have any idea how serious this is? Look at her! This behaviour is completely unaccepta—”*

*“Can we speak privately?”*

She stopped. *“What?”*

*“I’d like to speak to you privately.”*

*“Mira, now is hardly the time to start making demands.”*

*“I don’t think it’s fair to punish me without giving me the chance to explain what happened.”*

Her mouth opened, but before she could answer, I sniffed.

My bottom lip began to tremble.

Then came the tears.

Lots of them.

I rubbed at my eyes, which only made them redder. By the time my nose started running as well, even I had to admit that the performance was impressive.

Mrs Wilson stared at me.

I sniffed again.

Her eyes moved towards Rachel, still crying on the floor, then returned to me. The irritation settling across her face was almost beautiful.

*“Fine.”*

She turned to one of the other pupils and instructed her to take Rachel to the infirmary. Then she motioned for me to follow.

＊

We moved into an empty classroom where Mrs Wilson pulled out a chair and sat opposite me. I continued sniffling occasionally, just for good measure.

*“Now,”* she said, folding her hands on the table, *“would you like to explain what that was?”*

I opened my mouth, then coughed quietly.

*“My throat is dry.”*

She stared at me. *“Excuse me?”*

*“Could I have something to drink?”*

*“There’s water outside.”*

*“Something warm would be better.”*

Her eye twitched.

I sniffed again. *“Please?”*

Mrs Wilson stared at me for several long seconds before pushing herself to her feet. A few minutes later, a cup of hot chocolate from the vending machine landed on the table in front of me with considerably more force than necessary.

I wrapped both hands around it. *“Thank you.”*

She sat down again, looking noticeably less patient than before.

*“What happened?”*

I blew gently across the surface of my drink.

*“Why would you bully a girl like Rachel?”* Mrs Wilson asked. *“She’s bright, polite and one of the best students in the class. She has never caused me any trouble.”*

The cup stopped halfway to my lips.

*“…Bully?”*

I lowered it slowly and tilted my head. The tears vanished from my face as though they had never been there, leaving my expression completely empty.

*“Who’s bullying who, Mrs Wilson?”*

She stared at me for a moment before answering. *“Look at what you’ve done to her. She’s a frail little girl. How could someone like her possibly bully you?”*

I placed my drink down, stood and turned my back towards her, showing her my skirt. The glue had already hardened across the fabric, leaving a pale, ruined patch behind.

Mrs Wilson’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

*“What’s that?”*

*“Glue.”*

She leaned forward to look more closely.

*“This is the work of your frail little girl.”* I turned back towards her. *“Frail doesn’t mean innocent.”*

Mrs Wilson frowned but held my gaze. *“What exactly are you trying to say?”*

*“I’m saying that actions have reactions.”* I sat down again and reached for my drink. *“And reactions have consequences.”*

She released a weary sigh. *“Mira, perhaps Rachel was trying to joke with you. Children sometimes take jokes too far. I’m sure she didn’t intend to ruin your skirt.”*

I nodded thoughtfully. *“You’re probably right.”*

Some of the tension left her shoulders.

*“And I didn’t mean to punch her,”* I continued.

Mrs Wilson stared at me.

*“My fist just happened to meet her face.”*

***“Mira!”***

There it was.

Her voice rose as she launched into a speech about appropriate behaviour, disciplinary action and the seriousness of violence. My parents were mentioned several times, along with how disappointed they would be when they learned what I had done.

I listened patiently while she explained morality to me. Once she had exhausted herself, the room fell quiet again.

I took another sip of hot chocolate.

*“I sometimes wonder how people react to shock.”*

Mrs Wilson frowned. *“What?”*

*“Shock.”* I looked down at the cup and slowly turned it between my hands. *“Some people faint. Some freeze. Others can’t remember what happened afterwards.”*

Her expression began to change.

I raised my eyes to hers. *“Sometimes, the heart itself stops working properly. Extreme stress can weaken it so badly that it resembles a heart attack.”*

Mrs Wilson watched me carefully.

*“They call it broken heart syndrome.”*

*“What does this have to do with anything?”*

*“I’ve always wondered what something like that feels like.”* I paused, allowing the silence to settle between us. *“Unfortunately, I’ve never had anyone to ask.”*

She shifted in her chair.

*“But now that I think about it…”* I placed my cup on the table. *“Mr Wilson might be the perfect person.”*

She froze.

I smiled.

*“Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs Wilson?”*

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. *“Wha—what do you mean?”*

*“You could have been more discreet.”*

The colour drained from her face.

I picked up my hot chocolate again. *“The whole world might just happen to find out about you and Mr Evans.”*

Silence.

***“What?”***

For a moment, Mrs Wilson looked genuinely frightened. Then she seemed to remember who she was.

An adult.

A teacher.

And I was only nine.

Her back straightened, and a faint, condescending smirk appeared on her face. *“And what exactly could a child like you possibly do?”*

I took another sip. *“Ruin your career.”*

The smirk disappeared.

*“Your marriage,”* I continued. *“Your reputation with the parents, your colleagues and your neighbours.”*

I lowered the cup and watched her carefully.

*“You’d be surprised how quickly people will believe a child over an adult—especially when that child knows things she shouldn’t.”*

Mrs Wilson’s face hardened. *“Are you threatening me?”*

*“I wouldn’t word it that way.”*

*“Then what would you call this?”*

*“A deal.”*

Her lips pressed together. *“What do you want?”*

*“Something simple.”* I rested both hands around the warm cup. *“Take my side.”*

Her eyebrows lifted. *“What?”*

*“Whenever something happens involving me, you defend me. It doesn’t matter who else is involved.”* I paused. *“Without making it obvious, obviously.”*

Mrs Wilson said nothing, but her hands had begun trembling beneath the table. I could almost hear the questions circling inside her head.

Who could she tell? Would anyone believe her? And, most importantly, how much did I know?

I decided to answer the last one.

*“Imagine a nine-year-old girl goes home crying,”* I said.

Her eyes returned to me.

*“She tells her parents that she saw a married woman with another man.”*

Mrs Wilson went still.

*“She tells them where she saw them, what they were doing and what they said—things a nine-year-old couldn’t possibly know unless she had been there.”*

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

I lifted my cup and took another unhurried sip.

*“So tell me, Mrs Wilson. Who do you think they’ll believe?”*

Fear had spread across her face, and she had every reason to be afraid.

The affair was real.

I already knew how it ended.

Three years from now, the truth would come out. By then, I had moved to another school, but the scandal still reached me. Everyone heard about it, mostly because Mrs Wilson’s husband wasn’t an ordinary man.

Robert Wilson was a doctor at the local hospital. A few years from now, he would come across a major motorway collision before the emergency services arrived. Several vehicles had been involved, leaving people injured and trapped inside the wreckage. He treated everyone he could reach and managed to keep one critically wounded man alive until the paramedics arrived.

Someone photographed him afterwards, kneeling beside the wreckage with rain running down his face and blood covering his clothes.

The newspapers called him a hero.

His face appeared everywhere for weeks, and suddenly people throughout the country knew the name Robert Wilson.

Then they discovered that his wife was having an affair.

And just like that, everyone knew her name too.

Robert divorced her. Photographs of Mrs Wilson standing outside their home with her belongings spread across the newspapers. Then intimate photographs of Mr Evans were leaked, with his face clearly visible.

He couldn’t endure what followed.

Mr Evans took his own life, and Mrs Wilson’s world collapsed shortly afterwards. She lost her job, her family refused to see her and no other school was willing to employ her. Eventually, she ended up homeless.

Years later, I heard that she had died from an overdose.

That was how her first life ended.

Now she was sitting across from me, her hands trembling beneath the table as she tried to understand how a nine-year-old could know something nobody else was supposed to know.

I couldn’t exactly tell her that I had already watched her life collapse once.

So I picked up my hot chocolate, took another sip and waited.

*What will you do, Mrs Wilson?*

*Will you take my hand?*

A slow smile pulled at my lips.

*Or will you fall even further this time?*

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