Why I Won't Forget You

Brutal?

Clarke's POV

Test week had arrived like a freight train, and I knew there was no excuse I could use. No matter how much I hated it, I had to be there. As I stood in the crowded hallway just before third period—biology, of all classes—the atmosphere was thick with anxiety and the shuffling of students trying to get to class on time. My heart pounded in a rhythm that matched my footsteps as I made my way down the hall.

I had been dreading this particular class all week. Biology wasn't just another subject; it was the class where everyone gathered, where teachers and students traded sarcastic comments and desperate glances during pop quizzes. I wasn't exactly thrilled about being part of that spectacle today.

Before I could even reach the classroom door, I heard someone call my name. I turned to see Raven practically sprinting toward me, her eyes alight with concern and a familiar mischievous glint.

"Clarke! Finally, you're here! And not dead." she exclaimed, nearly colliding with me as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here," I muttered, keeping my response brief. I wasn't in the mood for a long chat—test week wasn't the time for chit-chat.

We stepped into the classroom together, and as I scanned the room, my eyes immediately locked with Lexa's. She was leaning casually against one of the walls, her expression unmistakably thrilled to see me. For a fleeting moment, I almost forgot why I was here; Lexa's smile was like a beacon in the sea of test anxiety. But the moment was quickly shattered.

Mr. Greene, our biology teacher, took the stage at the front of the room. His voice cut through the murmurs as he prepared to start the class. With a sardonic smile, he shot me a look that was both mocking and disappointed.

"Ah, Clarke Griffin, gracing us with your presence at last," he said in a tone dripping with sarcasm, barely concealing his annoyance. "I suppose we can all be thankful that you didn't choose to skip class this morning."

I felt a fire ignite inside me. Normally, I was the one to slip away quietly, to let things go, but something snapped this morning. My eyes narrowed, and before I knew it, I launched into a verbal riposte that even surprised me.

"Oh, Mr. Greene, if my absence meant the world would stop turning, I'd have skipped every day!" I said, my voice low and cutting. I watched as his smile faltered, his eyes glistening for a split second with unshed tears of humiliation. The class fell silent, every student staring in stunned disbelief.

He hated a student who spoke back to him and this I knew so did everyone.

For a heartbeat, I regretted what I'd said—but then a surge of adrenaline flooded in, and I brushed it off. I wasn't typically this out of control; usually, I could keep my cool. But today, something in me just wouldn't let it go.

I turned on my heel and walked past my normal seat, ignoring the hushed whispers that trailed in my wake. Instead of joining the row of desks where I usually sat in the front, I found a solitary seat at the back of the room—a lone island amid a sea of judgmental eyes. I sat there, crossing my arms and staring at the ceiling, a mix of defiance and vulnerability in my gaze.

Mr. Greene, recovering from my outburst, resumed explaining the day's lesson—details of genetic mutations and the complexities of DNA replication. I barely listened, my mind still reeling from the confrontation and the sting of that teacher's nearly tearful eyes. Part of me felt exhilarated, as if defying authority was a small rebellion that somehow made me more alive. But another part of me was tired—tired of the expectations, of having to constantly prove that I wasn't just a rebellious troublemaker.

A few minutes into the lecture, he announced a surprise pop quiz. "I trust you all have been paying attention," he said, scanning the room with that same sardonic tone. I rolled my eyes. Naturally, I aced it—99% once again. The test barely interrupted the flow of his lecture. It was as if my mind, even when I tried to rebel, couldn't help but prove I was brilliant. I scribbled down answers with a speed that left some students wide-eyed, and when Mr. Greene collected the papers, I knew I'd received my usual score.