"Oh my god, I can't believe summer is over!" I groaned to Emmeline as we walked through the school gates.
"I'm sorry, but I'm way more excited for the new hot P.E. teacher coming from Morocco this year, and you my friend have a chance. I heard you guys stick for each other." Emmeline smirked, bumping my shoulder playfully.
"You must be kidding me. All I wanted was to lie on those golden beaches and not think about anything-especially men. They're useless." I said, rolling my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck.
Emmeline laughed. "Oh come on, Tafukt Don't tell me you're changing colors now"
"Ah, shut up. And I told you not to call me that," I muttered
Yup. My name is Tafukt. It means the sun in Amazigh. Cool, right? Except I never felt like it fit. I don't even look like a "Tafukt." Dark brown hair, brown eyes, and skin so pale it practically glows. I'm more moonlight than sunshine.
I hated that name growing up. Still kinda do. It made me stand out when all I wanted was to fade in. Every time they said it out loud in class, it was like setting off a flare. Teachers couldn't even spell it right.
My parents are Moroccan. Amazigh-and proud. My mom never gets tired of telling me stories about her childhood, Amazigh old tales and especially about her father who died when she was only ten. Every summer she brings out the same tales, like family heirlooms wrapped in her voice: rich, rhythmic, ancient.
But my favorite?
Dihiya.
The warrior queen. The legend.
She wasn't just brave-she was fierce. A real badass. She led her people against Arab expansion in North Africa during the 7th century.
They say she was sharp as a blade and beautiful like the desert sun. While others surrendered, she fought. Not just with swords, but with strategy. She united tribes, stood up to invaders, and was feared by empires.
They called her the Kahina, a name whispered in awe and fear.
She wasn't just a woman.
She was a force.
I want to be like her.
We spent the summer in Morocco-Agadir, to be exact. It's where my dad's side of the family lives.
Their love is... intense. So intense they can't wait for us to leave. Honestly? I don't like them either. They treat us like guests, not like blood. Even though we have just as much right to that estate as they do. But whatever, I didn't go for them.
What I did love was the beach. That beach was everything. Calm. Golden. Blue so deep it looked like it could swallow the sky. It felt like home in a way California never has. As never my name.
My P.E. teacher made fun of my name once. " Tafuuukeet. You're not living up to that name-not even in your own country,"he snapped, laughing right after I failed to serve the ball during a handball game.
Everyone was there.
Everyone.
Even Dreck.
And when he laughed, they all joined in-like one big, disgusting explosion of noise. The kind that makes your ears ring and your chest cave in.
I threw up in the middle of it. Right there. On the court. That was... embarrassing. The kind of memory that doesn't just fade. It stains.
And of course I faked sickness for a whole week to skip school. But here's the thing-my Moroccan blood?It doesn't do "blend in". It does" fight Back"
We all heard a rumor that Mr. Müller is gay. But here's the twist: He has a wife And kids.
So just picture that poor woman, sitting at home, cooking dinner, thinking her husband is out coaching or whatever-while he's actually banging guys in restaurant bathrooms.
And let's be real... I doubt he can even afford a room. The man wore the same T-shirt since... ever, and it reeked. As he also likes the excitement..disgusting.
So no, I didn't lock myself in my room to cry the humiliation out. I didn't fall apart. My ancestors would be ashamed. Dihiya would be furious. So I made a plan. A messy, calculated, revenge-level plan.
I paid someone to match with him on Tinder. Yup-I found his account. On every dating app you can imagine. Different names, same picture. Uncreative, stupid asshole.
They talked and Flirted, And they met At a hotel room I paid for.
Where did I get the money? I was saving for a Dyson, but this situation is an emergency!
And guess what?I sent his wife the location.
LOL.
She caught him in the most unpleasant situation you could imagine.
And guess what? She filmed it. Who would've thought? She recorded the whole thing and posted it on social media right after asking for a divorce.
Hell Yeah Mrs. Müller!.
Legend.
Of course, when the video blew up, the school had no choice but to act. No parent wanted that man anywhere near their kids anymore. So he got called in to meet with the principal.
And me?I was there-waiting. Locked, loaded, and ready with my gunshot line.
I stood up in the hallway, right as he passed, and said loud enough for the whole damn school to hear:
"Seems like Mr. Müller couldn't live up to his wife's expectations...
Neither could his dick in his pants."
Boom. Silence. Then whispers. Then laughter. And then... something else...Respect-they knew it was me.
That day-everything changed. People looked at me differently. Not with pity. Not with judgment. But with this weird kind of... awe. Like my words suddenly had weight. Like my presence finally had form.
Was it the truth that gave me power? Or was it just the fact that I didn't back down? But why do I still feel that something is missing?
It's not the first time I stood up to myself against bullies., I scratched a girl's face in sixth grade. Got into a full-on brawl in eighth and Ended up suspended expelled in the middle of the year.
My parents never knew why I kept getting in trouble. Why I was always angry. Always on edge.
Truth is...I didn't really know either. All I knew was that fire lived in me.
Sometimes, it didn't care who it burned