The next day, the atmosphere in the detention room felt... different. For one, the girls weren't there. Their usual seats in the back corner were empty, and the silence in the room was unnerving, like something vital was missing. The faint hum of the overhead lights seemed louder than usual, amplifying the stillness.

As I walked in and glanced around, my eyes landed on someone unexpected: Trevor.

He was sitting near the window, hunched over, his shoulders drawn tight like he was trying to shrink into himself. His head was bowed, his fingers fiddling with the edge of a crumpled sheet of paper. When he saw me step through the door, his face paled, and he quickly averted his eyes.

I bit back a smirk, the memory of him avoiding me ever since that day flashing in my mind. It was satisfying, in a way, to see someone so obviously uncomfortable in my presence after all the chaos I'd endured.

Choosing my usual seat at the front, I set my bag on the desk and unpacked my notebook and pen. The scratch of the zipper and the rustle of paper sounded unusually loud in the nearly empty room. Trevor didn't move, barely even breathing as far as I could tell.

Mr. Harris, as stoic as ever, was perched at his desk. He didn't so much as glance at either of us, his focus entirely on a notepad he was scribbling on with quick, deliberate strokes. If he noticed the change in the roster or the tension hanging in the air, he didn't let on.

From the corner of my eye, I could feel Trevor glancing at me. His nervous energy radiated across the room, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Every shift of his chair, every tiny movement of his hand, felt magnified in the otherwise still room.

When Mr. Harris suddenly stood and stepped out to take a phone call, the air seemed to thicken. The sound of the door clicking shut left me alone with Trevor, his discomfort practically tangible.

His chair squeaked against the floor as he shifted awkwardly. He muttered something under his breath, too low for me to catch.

I turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

He looked up for the briefest moment before his gaze darted back to his hands, which were twisting together like he was trying to wring water from them. "I just... I didn't think you'd be here."

I tilted my head slightly, letting the edge of my curiosity show. "Well, I didn't think you'd be here," I shot back, leaning casually against my desk. "What'd you do?"

He hesitated, his face reddening as he mumbled something I couldn't quite catch.

"What?" I pressed, leaning forward.

He sighed, his voice barely audible as he muttered, "Food fight."

That caught me off guard. "Food fight?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"It wasn't even my fault," he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rushed defense. "Someone threw mashed potatoes, and I—"

"Threw something back?" I finished for him, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

He nodded, his face still flushed. "Yeah."

For a moment, I almost felt bad for him. Almost. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and his embarrassment was written all over his face. Still, it was hard to muster much sympathy considering the week I'd had.

Trevor glanced at me again, his expression shifting slightly. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice quiet but curious.

I paused, considering how much to say. "Long story," I replied finally, not offering any more than that.

He nodded, sensing it was a topic I wasn't willing to dive into. The silence between us stretched, but this time, it wasn't quite as tense.

When Mr. Harris returned, Trevor straightened in his chair, quickly facing the window again. I turned back to my notebook, letting the moment pass. Detention felt a little less suffocating, even if it was only a small reprieve.

When the bell finally rang, I stood to gather my things. Trevor stayed frozen in his seat, watching me out of the corner of his eye like I might explode at any moment.

"Relax, Trevor," I said as I passed him. "I'm not going to do anything."

He nodded quickly, his face still pale. "Yeah. Okay."

I couldn't help but grin as I walked out. At least someone in detention was more nervous than I was.

When the bell finally rang, its shrill sound echoed through the quiet detention room, signaling the end of another long day. I stood to gather my things, sliding my notebook and pen back into my bag. Trevor stayed frozen in his seat, his posture rigid and his eyes darting toward me like I might suddenly unleash some sort of fury on him.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, glancing at him as I walked past. "Relax, Trevor," I said, my tone light. "I'm not going to do anything."

His head jerked up, and he nodded quickly, his face still pale. "Yeah. Okay."

I couldn't help the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth as I walked out of the room. At least someone in detention was more nervous than I was. It was a small victory, but after the week I'd had, I'd take what I could get.

The hallways were mostly empty, the faint echoes of distant conversations bouncing off the lockers as I made my way toward Mr. Peterson's office. The weight of the day felt a little lighter with each step, though my thoughts lingered on the book, the teasing, and the strange sense of relief I felt knowing Tasha and her friends weren't in detention today.

When I reached Mr. Peterson's office, the door was already open, and he was waiting for me. His warm smile greeted me as I stepped inside. The room felt calm and inviting, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

"How was detention today?" he asked, leaning back slightly in his chair.

"Better," I admitted honestly, dropping into the chair across from his desk. "Tasha and her friends weren't there."

His expression shifted, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. "Good," he said, nodding. "I'm glad to hear it. And the book? Don't worry about it. We'll make sure the library gets a replacement."

"Thanks," I said softly, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little. His steady reassurance was comforting, like a reminder that not everything had to feel so heavy all the time.

When I left his office, the fading sunlight poured through the windows, painting the hallways in warm, golden light. It felt like the world outside had softened just a bit, like maybe things were starting to turn around.

I spotted Mrs. Blake's car waiting in the pickup line, the familiar sight bringing a sense of comfort I didn't fully understand until I climbed inside. She glanced over at me as I shut the door, her sharp eyes immediately catching the faint smirk on my face.

"What's that look for?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her tone teasing.

"Oh, nothing," I said, giggling as I buckled my seatbelt.

Mrs. Blake gave me a knowing look, but she didn't press further. As the car pulled away from the school, I leaned back in my seat, letting the steady hum of the engine fill the silence. For the first time all week, I felt a little lighter, like the weight of everything wasn't quite as unbearable as before.

After my long walk home from school, the chill from the icy wind still clung to me as I hung up my coat and scarf by the door. The faint smell of spices and something savory greeted me as I wandered into the kitchen, the warmth instantly seeping into my skin.

Mrs. Blake stood at the counter, her movements quick and practiced as she pulled ingredients out of the fridge. Carrots, onions, and a hefty bag of potatoes were set on the counter next to a steaming pot on the stove. The faint sound of a wooden spoon scraping against the pot mixed with the hum of the oven, creating a comforting symphony of home.

"Need any help?" I asked, leaning against the doorway.

She looked up, a soft smile spreading across her face. "Always. How do you feel about chopping vegetables?"

"On it," I said, rolling up my sleeves.

I grabbed the cutting board and a knife, falling into an easy rhythm beside her. The sound of chopping filled the kitchen, a steady, rhythmic beat that felt oddly soothing. The faint scent of onions made my eyes sting slightly, but I didn't mind. There was something grounding about the simple act of helping, the quiet warmth of the kitchen, and Mrs. Blake's steady presence beside me.

As I reached for another carrot, my gaze drifted to the window above the sink. The gray sky had deepened, and thick flakes of snow swirled past the glass, falling fast and heavy, covering the street in a pristine white blanket.

"Mrs. Blake," I said, pausing mid-chop. "Look."

She followed my gaze, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her eyes lit up as she took in the scene outside. "Oh, wow," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "It's really coming down."

"Do you think there'll be a snow day tomorrow?" I asked, a flicker of hope creeping into my voice.

"Could be," she said thoughtfully. "Depends on how much we get."

Before she could say anything more, Lily came skidding into the kitchen, her socks sliding across the wooden floor. She grabbed the counter to steady herself, her eyes wide with excitement. "Snow day?" she exclaimed, practically bouncing in place. "Really?"

"Maybe," Mrs. Blake said, laughing as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Let's finish dinner before we start making plans."

Dinner was simple but perfect for a night like this—beef stew with warm, golden rolls fresh from the oven. The rich, savory aroma filled the dining room as we sat around the table, the soft glow of the overhead light making the space feel cozy despite the howling wind outside.

Lily, however, could barely sit still. Her hands fluttered as she gestured wildly. "It's snowing so much!" she said, bouncing in her seat. "Do you think it's enough to build a snow fort? What if we get, like, three feet of snow? What if we're trapped inside forever and have to use snowshoes to get anywhere?"

Sam rolled his eyes, his tone flat. "It's not going to snow that much."

"But what if it does?" Lily pressed, her excitement bubbling over. "We could make a giant snowman, taller than the house! Or have the best snowball fight ever. Right, Emily?"

I chuckled, amused by her enthusiasm. "Sure. As long as I don't get hit in the face again."

Mrs. Blake chuckled softly, shaking her head as she passed the breadbasket around. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We don't even know if school's canceled yet."

"But it has to be," Lily insisted, her voice rising with urgency. "It's snowing so much!"

"You'll find out in the morning," Mrs. Blake said patiently. "Now eat your stew before it gets cold."

After dinner, Lily and Sam helped clear the table, their usual sibling banter filling the room with laughter and teasing. The clatter of dishes and silverware mixed with Lily's endless chatter about snow forts and Sam's dry, sarcastic responses.

I stayed behind to help Mrs. Blake wash the dishes, the two of us working in comfortable silence. The warm water flowed over my hands as I scrubbed a plate, the faint scent of dish soap mingling with the lingering aroma of dinner. Outside, the snow continued to fall, the flakes swirling in the yellow glow of the porch light.

"You did a great job helping with dinner tonight," Mrs. Blake said, handing me a dish to dry. Her voice was soft, but the warmth in her tone was unmistakable.

"Thanks," I said, my chest warming at her praise. "It was fun."

She smiled, her expression softening even more. "I'm glad. Let's just hope the snow doesn't get too crazy overnight."

As we finished tidying up, I glanced out the window again. The snow was still falling steadily, and for a moment, everything felt quiet, calm, and safe.