The hallway buzzed with the chaotic energy that always came with the approach of winter break. Lockers slammed, voices rose in excited chatter, and the faint scent of peppermint and cinnamon from someone's holiday-flavored coffee lingered in the air. Somewhere overhead, the intercom played a soft, cheerful tune—faint sleigh bells jingling beneath the hum of conversation.

Despite the festive atmosphere, my legs felt like lead as I walked through the crowd, my body still weighed down by the lingering exhaustion from being sick. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed a little too bright, the noise of my classmates a little too loud, but I kept moving, determined not to let it show. I wasn't back to normal yet, but I refused to miss any more school.

As I neared my locker, something caught my attention. The walls were decked out in more decorations than I had ever seen before. Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, their edges lined with silver glitter. Red and green garlands twisted along the railings, interwoven with tiny twinkling lights. But what stood out the most wasn't the Christmas décor—it was the way the school had gone out of its way to include everyone this time.

Near the main office, a display table featured a shining menorah, its golden branches reaching upward, surrounded by dreidels and small mesh bags filled with gold-wrapped chocolate coins labeled gelt. A little sign explained the significance of Hanukkah, detailing the story behind the eight nights and the oil that miraculously burned far longer than expected.

Beside it, another section was decorated in the rich colors of Kwanzaa—red, black, and green candles stood proudly in a kinara, with a banner explaining the seven principles of the holiday. Beautifully woven baskets and traditional African patterns adorned the table, bringing a vibrant energy to the display.

Jasmine and Mia were already waiting for me by my locker, their faces practically glowing with excitement. Jasmine gestured toward the Kwanzaa setup, her usual confident smirk replaced with something softer, almost reverent.

"Did you see that?" she asked, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "I don't think they've ever put up something for Kwanzaa before."

I glanced back at the display, taking in all the details again. "It looks amazing," I said, setting my bag down to grab my books. "It's nice that they're including everything this year."

Jasmine nodded, her expression thoughtful. "My mom's gonna lose it when I tell her. She's always talking about how Kwanzaa gets overlooked. It's like it barely exists to most people."

Mia nudged her shoulder, pointing at the menorah. "And look at the Hanukkah section! They actually put out a real menorah this time, and dreidels! Usually, it's like Hanukkah is just some afterthought—like, 'Oh yeah, that other holiday exists, too.'"

I glanced at her, noting the way her fingers tapped anxiously against the edge of her textbook. "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" I asked softly.

She hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. I mean, it's not like I celebrate Hanukkah the traditional way or anything, but it's part of my family, you know? And usually, it feels like Christmas is the only holiday anyone talks about this time of year. Seeing this..." She gestured toward the display, then exhaled, like she had been holding something in. "It just feels nice—like they actually thought about people like me for once."

I looked back at the decorations, really seeing them this time. It was more than just some glitter and twinkling lights—it was a message, a way of saying you belong here too.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled. "Yeah. It really does make the school feel more welcoming."

Jasmine crossed her arms, a smirk creeping back onto her lips. "Now, if only they'd start acknowledging some of the other holidays people celebrate, then maybe we'd be getting somewhere."

Mia laughed. "One step at a time, Jas."

I chuckled, shutting my locker with a satisfying clank. The exhaustion from earlier still lingered, but somehow, it didn't feel quite as heavy anymore.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, the world was starting to feel just a little bit brighter.

The morning rushed by in a flurry of activity, with the school practically buzzing with holiday energy. The once plain hallways were now lined with tinsel and handmade paper snowflakes, some lopsided but endearing in their own way. Classrooms had little festive touches—mini Christmas trees perched on teachers' desks, strands of twinkling lights framing whiteboards, and even a few candy canes taped to the corners of posters that had nothing to do with the holidays. The air smelled faintly of peppermint from someone sneaking in candy, and for once, the teachers seemed less strict, their usual firm tones softened by the season.

Despite all the warmth around me, I felt like I was moving in slow motion. My body still ached in a dull, lingering way, and the energy surrounding me only made my sluggishness more noticeable. Students moved with a kind of excited, electric energy, chatting about their holiday plans, last-minute shopping, and whether or not it would snow enough for school to be canceled before break. But as the morning wore on, it became harder and harder to keep up.

Jasmine noticed before I even had to say anything. As we made our way from one class to the next, she nudged me gently, her expression shifting from her usual playful smirk to something closer to concern.

"You okay?" she asked, tilting her head as she studied my face.

I exhaled, adjusting the strap of my backpack. "Just tired," I admitted, my voice quieter than usual. "I think I'm still recovering."

Jasmine frowned. "Maybe you should've stayed home a little longer," she said, her voice dropping so it wouldn't carry over the noisy hallway. "You don't have to push yourself so hard."

I hesitated, the idea tempting. Another day or two of rest would have been nice, but I hated feeling like I was falling behind. And besides, part of me just wanted to be here—to be around people again, to get back to normal.

"I'll be fine," I said, managing a small, reassuring smile. "But thanks."

Jasmine didn't look completely convinced, but she let it go, giving me one last look before linking arms with me and pulling me toward our next class. "Alright, but if you pass out in the middle of class, I'm totally dragging you to the nurse's office."

I let out a soft chuckle. "Deal."

As we weaved through the halls, the conversations and laughter around me felt a little less overwhelming, and I realized I was grateful—not just for the decorations or the holiday cheer, but for Jasmine. For Mia. For having friends who noticed when I wasn't quite myself and cared enough to say something.

Maybe I was still recovering, but at least I wasn't doing it alone.

The cafeteria was buzzing with excitement, the hum of conversation louder than usual as students laughed, talked, and swapped holiday plans over trays of food. It felt like the whole school had caught the festive spirit, and even the usual lunch chaos seemed lighter, filled more with energy than tension.

Jasmine, Mia, and I found our usual table by the windows, the cold outside making the glass fog up slightly from the warmth inside. As we sat down, Jasmine launched into an animated discussion about her family's Kwanzaa traditions, her enthusiasm infectious.

"We always start by lighting the Kinara," she said, miming the action of placing the seven candles with practiced ease. "Each night, we light one more, and we talk about one of the principles of Kwanzaa—like unity, creativity, faith—stuff that's important in our family."

Mia rested her chin in her hand, completely absorbed. "That sounds amazing," she said, eyes wide with genuine interest. "We don't do anything that big for Hanukkah, but my mom always makes latkes. The best latkes. I could eat a hundred of them."

Jasmine's eyes lit up. "I've always wanted to try latkes. You have to bring me some next time your mom makes them."

Mia grinned. "Deal. But only if you bring me some of that cornbread you were talking about."

Jasmine let out a laugh. "Oh, you want my grandma's cornbread? Now that's a trade. I'll see what I can do."

Their playful exchange brought a warm feeling to my chest, even as I absentmindedly poked at my lunch. The way they shared their traditions so openly, so proudly, was something I admired. It was like a reminder of how much richer the world felt when people got to celebrate their differences instead of hide them.

For the first time in a long time, I felt lucky to be surrounded by friends who wanted to share pieces of themselves—not just with each other, but with me. It made the school's efforts to be more inclusive feel like more than just decorations on the wall. It felt real.

Jasmine must have caught me smiling because she nudged my arm with hers. "What about you, Emily? What's Christmas like at your house?"

I hesitated for only a second before answering. "It's... different than what I grew up with," I admitted. "Mrs. Blake doesn't do a lot of decorations or gifts, but we make cookies together, play board games, and just spend time as a family. It's simple, but I kind of love it."

Jasmine nodded thoughtfully. "That actually sounds really nice. No stress, just being together."

Mia smiled. "Yeah, I like that."

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there—talks of past holidays, funny stories of family traditions gone wrong, and endless debates about the best holiday foods. The laughter between us was light and unforced, the kind that made my chest feel warm even though it was cold outside.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't just listening to other people talk about their families and traditions—I was a part of the conversation. And that meant everything.

By the time gym rolled around, I was already dragging. My head felt heavy, my legs ached from just walking between periods, and the bright lights of the gym made my vision blur slightly. The distant echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor mixed with the sharp blast of a whistle, and I had to resist the urge to groan.

The teacher barked instructions, breaking us up into teams for relay races—because of course, it had to be running today.

I barely made it through my first lap before my lungs felt like they were being squeezed. I wasn't gasping for air exactly, but each breath felt shallow, like I wasn't getting enough oxygen. My limbs felt heavier than usual, and by the time I finished my turn, I could already feel sweat clinging to the back of my neck.

"Emily, you okay?" Jasmine asked, jogging up beside me as I slowed to a stop.

"Yeah," I wheezed, leaning forward with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. The world tilted slightly, and I had to blink hard to steady myself. "Just... tired."

Jasmine frowned, eyeing me with suspicion. "You should sit out. You're still recovering, right?"

I shook my head, even though I wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bench. "I don't want to—"

"Sit out," she said firmly, grabbing my arm and steering me toward the edge of the gym. "I'll tell the coach."

I sank onto the bench with a relieved sigh, watching the rest of the class zip around the gym. My breathing slowly evened out, but my head was still pounding, and my legs felt like I'd run ten miles instead of just a few laps.

At least I'd be left alone for the rest of class.

Or so I thought.

It didn't take long for Trevor to notice me sitting there. He jogged over, his usual smug grin plastered across his face, and stopped just far enough away that the coach wouldn't hear. My stomach twisted at the sight of him.

"What's the matter, Emily?" he sneered, wiping nonexistent sweat from his forehead in an exaggerated motion. "Too fragile to keep up?"

I ignored him, staring straight ahead and willing him to lose interest.

But Trevor never lost interest. Not when there was a chance to dig his claws in.

"Oh, I get it," he said, feigning mock concern. "You're still weak from whatever weird disease you had. Or maybe you're just weak in general."

I clenched my fists in my lap, my nails pressing into my palms. Don't react. He's not worth it. Not today.

He crouched slightly, lowering his voice. "You know, it must be exhausting pretending all the time," he mused. "Pretending to be something you're not. No wonder you're always so tired."

My jaw tightened, but I still didn't look at him.

Trevor sighed dramatically. "I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? You can't even handle gym class. Maybe you should just stop trying so hard."

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to take a slow breath. He wants a reaction. Don't give him one.

A shadow crossed over us, and suddenly, Jasmine was standing right in front of him, her arms crossed. "You done?" she asked, her voice flat and unimpressed.

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Relax, I was just talking."

"Yeah?" Jasmine said, tilting her head. "Because from over there, it looked like you were harassing someone who's literally sitting out sick."

Trevor's smirk faltered slightly.

"Why don't you go back to your game before I call the coach over?" she added, her eyes narrowing.

Trevor glared at her for a second, but the moment passed, and he scoffed, stepping back. "Whatever. It's not my fault she can't handle the truth."

With that, he turned on his heel and jogged back toward the group, blending into the chaos of the game.

Jasmine let out a sharp breath before turning to me. "You okay?"

I nodded, still gripping my hands together. "Yeah. Thanks."

She gave me a look, clearly not buying it, but she didn't push. Instead, she plopped down next to me, even though class wasn't over yet. "Guess I'm sitting out too. Someone has to make sure you don't pass out."

I let out a weak laugh, tension slowly easing from my shoulders. "You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, well," she shrugged, "too bad. I already decided."

We sat in silence for a moment, watching the game continue in front of us. The whistle blew, signaling a switch in players, but I barely registered it. My mind was still racing, Trevor's words lingering even though I tried to shake them off.

But Jasmine's presence beside me helped.

Trevor's voice may have followed me, but at least I wasn't sitting there alone.

As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of gym class, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The game had wrapped up, the teams were dispersing, and the usual shuffle toward the locker rooms began. My legs still felt like lead, and exhaustion tugged at my body like an anchor, but I forced myself to stand.

Jasmine appeared at my side almost immediately, her expression still clouded with concern. "What did Trevor want?" she asked, cutting straight to the point.

I hesitated, not wanting to relive it, but also not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "Just... being Trevor," I said with a shrug, trying to brush it off.

Jasmine didn't look convinced. She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "Emily," she pressed, her voice firm. "What did he say?"

"Nothing important," I insisted, reaching for my bag. My fingers curled tightly around the strap as I forced myself to stand up straight. The floor still felt a little unsteady beneath me, but at least I wasn't dizzy anymore. "I'm fine."

Jasmine wasn't buying it. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she tilted her head, studying me the way she did when she knew I wasn't telling the full truth.

"Look," she said finally, her voice quieter but still determined, "if he bothers you again, tell me. Or the coach. Or the principal. You don't have to deal with him alone."

Something about the way she said it made my chest tighten—not in a bad way, but in the way that happens when you realize someone is really, truly in your corner.

I swallowed, managing a small smile. "Okay," I said. "Thanks."

Jasmine nodded, satisfied for now, and we fell into step beside each other as we left the gym.

The hallway was crowded as usual, students moving in every direction, voices overlapping in an endless hum of conversation. But even as we blended into the sea of people, I couldn't shake Trevor's words from my mind.

They clung to me, sharp and persistent, like burrs caught in fabric. No matter how much I tried to brush them away, they stayed, little reminders of all the ways I still felt uncertain about myself.

But then I glanced at Jasmine, walking beside me like she always did, ready to fight my battles even when I wasn't sure I had the energy to fight them myself.

And I remembered something important: I wasn't alone.

Even on the hardest days, when I felt too tired to keep going, there were people who cared—people who saw me, who stood up for me, and who reminded me that Trevor's words didn't define me.

For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it always would be.