Glass Hearts [BL] Chapter 101: I’m Not a Problem That Needs Fixing

I pushed open the heavy teachers’ lounge door. My eyes scanned the room....no Mr. Blake. I lingered at the doorway for a second, like maybe if I stared long enough, he’d just... appear.

"Looking for soone?" a teacher asked without looking up from her thermos.

"Uh, yeah. Mr. Blake."

She took a slow sip, shook her head. "Called in sick. Didn’t co in today."

"Great," I muttered, dragging my voice low enough so she couldn’t hear. My stomach sank. Of course. The one day I co ready to corner him about that damn tattoo, he’s conveniently sick.

I stepped back into the hallway.

That’s when I saw her.

Nari Han....walking through the front doors like she was stepping onto a runway instead of into Blackwell High.

Suddenly, everything went just a little quieter.

Everyone’s heads turned like they were watching so goddess descend. She waved like a pageant queen, people nudged each other.

A group of freshn by the vending machines literally stopped mid-conversation to watch her.

She strolled in like she owned the place... technically, her dad does.

Two girls trailed behind her, carrying their iced coffees like accessories.

Blackwell had missed their queen bee.

She spotted almost instantly. Her eyes narrowed in that oh, it’s you kind of way before her lips curved into a smile.

"Ashyyy," she walked over to , drawing out the "y" like we were old best friends eting after years.

"Hey... Nari," I said.

What the hell is she doing here? And why is she pretending she knows personally?

She tilted her head, scanning from head to toe. "Oh my gosh, is that the shirt from... last year’s fall collection?" she asked sweetly. "It’s, um... cute. In a vintage thrift-store kind of way."

I glanced down at my button-up... My shirt was slightly wrinkled from shoving it into my bag yesterday, and forced a smile. "Thanks, I think."

She leaned in, to whisper. "Next ti, maybe just... a quick steam in the morning? It really makes a difference. Also thanks for taking care of Dommybear the other day."

"Anyway," she continued, flipping her hair, "you should totally sit with us soti. I’m all about supporting... poor scholarship students this sester." That fake-sweet smile never faltered, but her eyes were already moving past , like I was an obstacle in her runway.

Then, she shifted her cup from one hand to the other.....and as she brushed past, the lid miraculously popped off just enough for a warm splash of latte to slosh across the front of my shirt.

Cold liquid spread across my shirt and dripped onto my pants.

"Oh my God, Ashy! I’m so sorry," she gasped, covering her mouth in horror. "I can’t believe I did that. Ugh, I’m so clumsy sotis."

Her voice was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, making it sound like I was the helpless victim of her innocent mistake.

The crowd murmured, and she reached out like she might dab at the stain, but then pulled back with a sympathetic tilt of her head.

"Totally an accident," she smiled. "Besides, it’s just coffee. You’re not mad, right?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "Of course not."

Her smile widened. "Perfect. See you around, Ashy." And with that, she catwalked down the hall, her entourage giggling behind her.

"Why did she do that?"

I turned and saw Jae frowning, wearing the fresh Blackwell-issued hoodie. She walked up to , glanced from my shirt to Nari’s retreating figure.

"It’s just a little spill. It’s nothing," I lied, brushing at my hoodie like it was nothing.

Jae squinted. "That wasn’t an accident. That was a bitch move."

"It’s fine, Jae. Welco to Blackwell," I said, managing a smile. "I’m glad you decided to take the scholarship."

She grinned. "Yeah, too. But hey... why haven’t you been back to the diner? Everyone’s been asking."

"My mom has surgery today," I said quietly. "So... it’s been a lot."

Jae’s face softened instantly. "Aww, man. Sorry about that. She’s gonna be fine, okay? I know she will."

I nodded, even though my stomach was twisting itself into knots.

Before I could answer, the loudspeaker crackled overhead.

"Ash Rivera. Ash Rivera. Report to the principal’s office imdiately."

I sighed. I hope it’s not bad this ti.

When I reached the door with the gold "Mr. Han –Principal" plaque, I hesitated for a second before knocking.

"Hello, Mr. Han," I said, stepping into the office.

Behind his desk, Mr. Han was flipping through a folder. He looked up, and nodded.

There was a woman standing beside his chair. She was tall, maybe mid-thirties, blonde hair pulled back in a bun.

Her hands were folded in front of her, and her smile was the kind that looked... practiced.

"Welco back, Ash Rivera," Mr. Han said, leaning back in his chair. "Now that your scholarship is reinstated, I hope you understand how important it is to keep your record clean. Avoid getting into fights or anything that would stain your records. Because If anything goes wrong....anything at all, you won’t be keeping that scholarship."

His tone was calm, but it had that edge. The this is your only warning kind of edge.

"Yes, sir," I said quietly, even tho my palms were starting to get damp.

He nodded, then slid the folder aside. "Also... after reading your last essay, I realized you might need a little help."

"Little help? I don’t understand, sir."

Principal Han’s gaze was calm, but there was sothing in it that made my stomach twist.

"Ash," he said slowly, "you’re a smart boy. Talented. But after everything that’s happened, I think we both know..." He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the desk. "Sothing in you needs to be fixed."

My throat tightened. "Fixed? Like I was broken?" I repeated.

"I don’t an exactly that. It’s just that.....whatever made people see you the way they did, you can’t afford to leave it that way. Not if you want a future."

My stomach twisted. "What do you an by that, sir?"

He gestured toward the blonde woman. "This is Mrs. Gerald, our new school therapist. If you ever need anything...soone to talk to, she’s here. I think it would be good for you to see her."

First, he said I need to be fixed; Now, I need a therapist? Seriously? The word landed like an insult.

I’d written one essay. Just one fucking essay. I’d put a little of myself into it, actually said how I felt for once, and suddenly I was a project, a problem to be "fixed."

Why do people always jump to that?

Why is it that the second you stop pretending to be fine, people act like you’re broken? Like you’re defective until you fit into whatever mold they approve of?

Why can’t people the way they are without everyone trying to file down their edges?

"I appreciate the concern," I said slowly, "but I’m fine. I don’t think..."

Mrs. Gerald tilted her head, cutting off. "I’d like you to know you personally, Ash Rivera. I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m not here to judge you. My door’s always open. If you ever need soone to talk to, confidentially, I’m here."

Judge ? Okay, what the hell is she talking about?

What did I do wrong again that she gets to judge !

I nodded and tightened my jaw.

"Thanks," I said, even though I didn’t an it.

Mr. Han gave that dismissive smile adults use when they’re already moving on in their heads. "Good. You can go now. And rember what I said about your record."

I stepped out into the hall and let out a slow breath.

My heart was still thudding, not because I was scared of losing the scholarship once again, but because it felt like they’d just put a label on .

Not Ash Rivera, student.

Ash Rivera, problem that needs solving.

And the worst part? They didn’t even ask if I was okay. They just assud I wasn’t.