Fault Line

Six Hours and Twenty-Five Minutes Until Juna Dies

Another click from Mr. Gim’s mouth and Theo would drive a pen through his throat. Theo’s homeroom teacher spoke with such a patronizing tone that a click accessorized each of his drawn out sentences. Mr. Gim unbuttoned his tan checkered vest and dabbed underneath his curly chestnut hair with a sweat soaked handkerchief.

“Too-mar-row.” Mr. Gim sounded out. “You have until tomorrow to resubmit the form.” He snagged his tie loose. “And properly this time.”

Theo didn’t argue the issue further. Scornful remarks or not, Mr. Gim was right.

“This isn’t a hard task, Theo. Put in a bit of effort and we can both wrap things up nicely.” Mr. Gim held up a career plan form with Theo’s name written at the top. The rest was blank. He flapped the form. “You wouldn't believe all the eccentric papers I’ve read today. A blank form is the least of my worries, though still unsubmittable. Re-do it."

Click. Theo shifted in his seat.

“Could you do that for me?” Mr. Gim asked.

How that simple task daunted Theo. Planning for his high school exit—having a goal past it. Theo found himself lost when his grandparents asked similar questions. He never could utter a proper answer, let alone articulate it onto a submittable form. Slapping a convenient label down and scribbling drivel seemed like his only option, though that led the way for guilt.

“Yeah, I'll figure something out,” Theo conceded.

Mr. Gim nodded, and Theo returned a half-hearted one before exiting Mr. Gim’s office. He shut the door behind him and stepped into the hallway. Daunting was the empty form in his hands. He scanned over the questions as his stomach turned. Then crumpled the form to a fold and stuffed it inside his pocket.

Did they think Theo was a psychic? Planning for the upcoming day was one thing, but to know his future once high school ended? His mind shot blanks. Bold, was the word teachers used when describing his attendance, and never in a good way. Graduating wasn’t guaranteed to Theo. So long as that was the case, he’d rather focus on fixing it, than meddle with vague plans for the future.

The sun’s warmth drifted through glass panes lining the hallway’s side. Theo’s ash-gray collared shirt didn't help but absorb the heat seeping through. A uniform swap should have been issued by now, but the teachers scheduled it two weeks away. Until then, Theo’s only saving grace was a stout water fountain in the hall’s center. He stopped and hunched over the fountain, sipping from the stream.

The water cooled his tongue and cleansed any bad taste from the prior conversation. Theo gulped, paused, then lifted his head. Reflecting off the metallic back panel of the fountain was his own face, warped and skewed. A fitting depiction of his mental state. Physically speaking, no warped or stretched reflection could ever rectify the shape of his eyes. Sharp, thin divots sprawled from the outsides of his eyelids, and murky black pupils submerged themselves behind angled eyebrows straight as rebar. Frozen in a permanent scowl were his eyes and brow, while the lower half of his face remained free to move as it pleased. Muscle memory and stress locked his narrowed eyes and angled eyebrows in place, and no combination of a smile nor grin could ever compliment them.

Theo stared too long. Droplets splashed onto his charcoal-black checkered vest. Immediately, snickering soared from behind him. Though fortunate for Theo, another look at the fountain's reflection told him the snickering wasn’t directed his way.

Giggles spilled from girls huddled against the glass pane. Three girls all wearing the same strict uniform as Theo. The shortest one of the bunch, had the same matte dark hair as him. She bit down on her thumb’s knuckle, keeping herself from laughing. Another girl’s skirt draped to her ankles and swayed as she bounced on her heels and fiddled with her crimson bangs. The last girl was the only one Theo knew by name, Reyna, a meticulous attention seeker with fluff hair the shade of a donut's glaze. She crossed her arms, lips puckered as she read a sheet of paper in hand.

“You wrote ‘Go to another world' on your career form. How hilarious is that?” Snicker swarmed in like fleas from the girls.

Theo slipped a hand in his pocket and touched his own form. Thought about it, then stepped away from the fountain. Glancing at the huddle of girls he found something missing from the warped reflection of them before. One other girl stood in the middle, a fragile girl named Juna. She hung her head, allowing mercury-like strands of hair to fold onto her shoulders and curtain her face. Not once did she lift her head enough for Theo to catch her eyes.

Giggles and snickers sprung again from the huddle while Juna remained silent, only gently cupping her hands in front of her thighs and rubbing them together. Her lip sank inwards.

Reyna brushed a loose strand of hair behind her left ear before tiptoeing to Juna’s side. Reyna smirked, mashed her shoulder against Juna’s, and pinched her waist. Then, held the form to her face.

“You didn't even write your top three career choices, you just put ‘Go to another world’ three times.” Snickers, again. Louder, in sync.

Reyna plopped a hand onto the poor girl's head, snaked her fingernails through the mercury strands, and secured a clump, then gradually pulled after each hissed word.

“Come on Juna, you really think the teachers would let this slide? No wonder they called you in to change it. You're just causing them trouble. That makes me sad, you know you can always come to us to proofread your work. We’re friends, aren't we?” Reyna finally released her, a couple strands of hair remaining clasped between her fingers.

Juna didn’t so much as make a peep.

Reyna stepped away, spinning on a half heel before handing the form to the shorter girl. She took her sweet time to gawk at the answers, then looked at Juna and stifled a laugh as if she were being polite.

Though the girl with crimson hair didn't suppress her laugh when the form fell to her hands.

“Who puts ‘Not here’ as an answer to ‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’ This is gold, Juna. Let us proofread your work from now on, kay?”

Snickering. Laughter. Again, a harmonized ear bleeding cackle from the huddle. Then a shove met Juna’s shoulder. Then another pinch to her side. Then a slap on the butt. All while Juna remained still, and her eyes never peeked from the mercury curtain that stationed as her last defense.

The form fell to Juna’s shoes, crumpled and torn.

“Tell me if they have good benefits when you get hired.” Reyna smirked, inches away from Juna’s face. “Maybe our economics class can teach us about that job before the semester ends.” She gave one last Cheshire cat smile that lacked any charm and strode off along with the other girls. All three whispering and crackling down the hall from the encounter.

Juna remained. The crumpled form lingered on the tile floor. Her body was stuck in a coma. Breathing even seemed to trouble her. Though her pale hand eventually flicked open, and she knelt down to retrieve the form.

Theo released a small sigh of relief. Wondered if he should have stepped in, calmed the situation and mediated between the wolves and sheep. Though, as self-centered as it sounded, that action held no benefit to him. A helping action could have come back as a boomerang of high school foolishness, knocking him upside the head. Then he’d be in hotter water than the geyser he stood in now. Something could have gone wrong. Something could affect Theo’s chance of graduating, or worse, skew all the labor he’s done outside of school. The hospital payments were due again, and assignment of the Medical Charity Care program was still a week away. His sister needed the program's funds. One wrong move, and Theo could cost their chances of eligibility.

For all those reasons, Theo had to stay diligent.