The Vice Principal picked up the landline on his desk and pressed a button.
"Could you send Miss Clara Collins in, please? And her classroom teacher."
He hung up, then turned his attention back to me.
He looked at me and said, "Miss Collins, before they come in, I need you to understand that we'll handle this fairly. But your sister must also understand that violence can't be the solution, no matter the provocation."
I nodded stiffly. "I understand, Vice Principal. But my sister _she's okay right?.
He sighed. She's okay. But she had a fight with one of the girls in her class ;And... ".
" A fight "... I broke in before he could finish.
"I know Clara. If she snapped, then something pushed her there."
A knock interrupted us. The door opened, and in walked Clara, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her uniform slightly untidy. Behind her, a slim woman in a floral blouse followed—her class teacher.
Clara's eyes darted to me first.
"Mary…" she murmured, her voice carrying both relief and defiance.
"Sit down, Clara," the Vice Principal instructed, gesturing to the chair beside me.
She dropped into it with a huff, staring at the floor.
The teacher cleared her throat gently.
"Sir, if I may… I was present when they brought Clara in after the incident."
"Yes, please."
The teacher sat forward, speaking carefully.
"Clara has been dealing with remarks from the same group of girls for weeks. I've spoken to them before, but apparently, it escalated today. One of the girls insulted her family, quite cruelly. Clara warned her to stop, but when the taunting continued… well…" She glanced at Clara. "She reacted."
"Reacted?" I turned to my sister. "Clara, is that true?"
Clara finally lifted her head, her jaw tight. "She called you names, Mary. She said things about Dad—about why he left—and she laughed about it in front of everyone."
My breath caught. My father. Even here, his shadow managed to creep in after many years ago.
"And you thought fighting her was the answer?" I asked softly, struggling to keep my tone calm.
Clara's eyes glistened.
"I told her to stop. She wouldn't. She pushed me first, so I… I pushed back harder."
The vice principal leaned forward, folding his hands.
"Miss Collins, we're not dismissing Clara's feelings. But we can't condone her response. There will need to be consequences." He said.
"What kind of consequences?" I asked sharply.
"Likely a one or two days suspension. And we'll be arranging a mediation session between the girls involved."
Clara gasped.
"Suspension? That's not fair! She started it!"
"Clara," I warned, giving her a look.
The vice principal's voice stayed calm but firm. "Fairness means both sides take responsibility. We will also be addressing the other student's behavior, I assure you."
Clara slumped in her chair, muttering under her breath.
I reached over, placing a hand on her arm. "Clara, look at me."
She did, reluctantly.
"I get it. I really do. But you can't let people's words control your actions. You're stronger than that. Do you hear me?"
Her lips trembled, but she nodded faintly.
The vice principal asked me..."Miss Collins, I'd like to hear your thoughts. Do you support this course of action?"
I drew in a breath, torn between anger, pride, and fear. I wanted to speak my mind, to defend my sister fully, but I forced myself to stay calm.
"I know my sister is sorry for what happened," I said quietly. "She doesn't usually get involved in other people's space, and I apologize for any trouble she may have caused."
He leaned forward again, his tone measured.
"Miss. Collins, I believe we've come to the best conclusion for now. Clara will serve two days suspension. I'll also be scheduling a mediation session between her and the other student."
I nodded slowly, even though my chest still felt tight. "Thank you, Vice principal, I'll take her home."
When I saw my sister's face, I knew she was hurt, and there was a flicker of betrayal in her eyes. It wasn't just the fight—something deeper had cut her, and I wished I could take it all away.
The vice principal turned to Clara.
"Go and collect your belongings. Your sister will be waiting for you outside."
Clara stood reluctantly.
I gave her a small look—part warning, part comfort—before stepping out of the office. The hallway felt quieter than before.
I leaned against the wall, my arms folded, watching the office door.
A few minutes later, it opened, and Clara stepped out with her bag. Her eyes weren't on me, though. She froze, staring straight down the hall.
I followed her gaze.
There, clustered by the lockers, were three girls. They leaned together, whispering. The one in the middle—sharp-eyed, smug—had a small plaster across her lip. When she noticed Clara, she smirked faintly and tilted her chin, as though daring her to react.
Clara's shoulders tensed.
"Don't," I said firmly, stepping closer.
Her fists clenched around the strap of her bag. "They're laughing at me."
"I know," I said quietly. "But you already proved your point. Walk away."
She bit her lip but nodded, finally pulling her gaze from them.
We had just reached the glass doors when a voice called, "Clara!"
We turned.
A boy jogged up the hallway, a neat stack of books in his arms. His hair was a little messy, his tie loosened, but there was a boyish charm about him that was hard to miss.
"You forgot these in class," he said, holding the books out. His eyes lingered on her face in a way that was impossible not to notice.
Clara's cheeks warmed. She took the books quickly. "Thanks, Noah."
I arched a brow, watching the exchange. The look in his eyes was too soft, too certain.
"Boyfriend?" I asked casually.
Both of them froze. Clara whipped her head toward me, wide-eyed. "Mary!"
Noah's lips twitched into a grin he tried—and failed—to hide.
Clara shook her head furiously, clutching the books to her chest. "He's not my boyfriend!"
"Mhm." I gave her a knowing look but said nothing more.
Clara groaned.
"Can we just go now?"
Noah chuckled under his breath. "See you later, Clara."
As we stepped out into the sunlight, I didn't press further. But the way boy's eyes followed her all the way out? That said everything I needed to know.
The sun was blazing, reflecting off the cars lined in neat rows. Clara walked beside me, hugging the books Noah had given her to her chest, her bag slung carelessly on one shoulder.
For a moment, she was quiet, her eyes darting back toward the building. Then she sighed, a small laugh escaping her.
"You really didn't have to step in like that," she murmured.
I smirked, pressing the car remote so the lights blinked.
"Of course, I did. You're my sister. And honestly?" I nudged her shoulder playfully. "You did well in there."
Clara's brows shot up.
"Wait—you mean… you're not mad?"
I pulled open the car door.
"Mad? Sure, a little. But proud? Definitely. We Collins don't take crap from anyone."
She laughed then, a real laugh that bubbled up and made her eyes light up again. It eased some of the tension sitting heavy in my chest.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I turned to her.
"So… are you going to tell me about him?"
Her eyes widened.
"Who?"
"Come on, Clara, don't play dumb. You know who." I started the car, raising a brow at her.
She looked away quickly, staring out the window as though the palm trees outside had suddenly become fascinating.
"You mean Noah?" she said finally, her voice high-pitched with denial.
"Oh no, come on, Mary. He's just a friend."
I chuckled, pulling out of the space.
"Uh-huh. Sure. Just a friend who looks at you like you're the only person in the hallway."
She groaned, covering her face with her hands.
"You're impossible."
"And you're blushing," I teased, glancing at her before merging onto the main road. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. For now."
"Mary!" she whined, half laughing, half serious.
I grinned, letting the subject drop—for the moment.
Just then, my phone rang through the car's Bluetooth. Tyla's name flashed on the screen.
I pressed the button on the steering wheel.
"Hey, Tyla. How's everything holding up?"
"Busy as ever," her crisp voice came through. "I've rescheduled Mrs. Hanley's facial for tomorrow since you're out, she wasn't upset with it. Kyle finished with the other client and is moving on to your appointment with Harry. I've got the desk covered, no worries."
"Good," I said, easing the car carefully past a police cruiser parked at the corner. I made sure to keep right to the speed limit. The last thing I needed today was a ticket.
"Any issues so far?"
"Well," she hesitated, "Richard's name came up—one of the clients mentioned him while chatting with the team. I shut it down before it turned into gossip."
My grip tightened on the wheel, but I forced my voice to stay even. "Thanks, Tyla. I appreciate that."
"Of course. You just focus on what you are doing out there. I've got this."
I glanced at my sister, who was pretending not to listen but was obviously hanging on every word. "Alright. Call me if anything urgent comes up."
"Will do. Drive safe, Mary."
The call clicked off.
The rest of the drive was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and Clara flipping the corner of one of her books. Every now and then, I caught her sneaking glances at me, as if testing whether I'd push the Noah conversation again. I didn't. Not yet.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, mother was already standing outside, arms folded, waiting. Her face was unreadable, but the tight line of her mouth told me enough.
Clara barely waited for me to park before she hopped out, rushing straight to her. "Mom!" she cried, throwing her arms around her.
mother hugged her back automatically, but her eyes shot over Clara's shoulder to me. And in them, I saw the questions, the disappointment, the why is she home in the middle of the day and why does she look like that?
"Clara," Mom said, pulling back to study her messy uniform and flushed face. "What happened?"
Clara's eyes flickered nervously to me, then back to her. "It's… complicated."
Mom raised a brow. "Complicated?"
I walked over, slipping my bag off my shoulder. "We'll explain inside, Mom. Let's not do this on the porch."
But the way Mom's gaze lingered on me told me this wasn't going to be a simple conversation.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of fried beef but the air freshener somehow overpowered it. Mom's obsession with air fresheners—and the faint hum of the fridge filled the silence. I made a beeline for it, tugging the door open and grabbing a half-melted tub of chocolate ice cream. My nerves needed sugar.
I slid a spoon in and leaned against the counter. "Mom, before you start, I really need you to know—I don't have time for this now."
Her brows arched, arms folding over her chest.
"Time for what, exactly? For me? For common sense? Or for your health?"
"Mom," I groaned, spoon clinking against the tub, "it's not that. My salon is barely two months old. I don't need to be absent, not even for one day."
She tilted her head, that look mothers master—the one that slices right through every excuse.
"You've been running on fumes since you opened that salon. Tyla told me she sometimes has to drag you to eat."
I stiffened.
"Of course mom. Tyla would say that because her mouth never stops opening and closing."
"Because she cares," Mom said simply.
And then she didn't just stop, she continued.
"And she's capable. More capable Mary, she can handle the business."
I dropped the spoon into the tub with a louder clang than necessary.
"That's the problem mom. She's too capable. Clients are already looking up to her, and if one day she decides to quit, guess who they'll leave with? Not me, her. And I can't afford that."
Silence stretched between us. Mom studied me as though weighing whether to push further. I hated how raw my voice sounded, how my words carried more fear than strength.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Saved by the bell—or cursed by it.
Tyla's name flashed across the screen.
I snatched it up.
"Hey, Tyla, what's up?" I tried to sound casual, but my chest tightened.
Her voice came rushed.
"We've got a walk-in client from asking for balayage highlights, says Mes Hanley recommended us. I can handle it, but—"
"Handle it," I said quickly, grabbing my car keys. "I'll be there soon."
"Alright Mary ".
"Exactly why I need to come back," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
I ended the call, shoving the ice cream back into the fridge. Mom opened her mouth, but I cut her off.
"We'll talk when I'm back. I promise you mom."
Her sigh followed me down the hallway like a shadow.
By the time I slid behind the wheel of my car, my hands were trembling. Too much pressure. Too many expectations. I needed to keep control of my business, my image, my future—everything.
The city streets blurred past as I drove, one hand tight on the steering wheel, the other fumbling with my phone on speaker as I tried to call back Tyla for more details. My thoughts tangled in knots—appointments, bills, reviews, staff schedules.
That's when it happened.
A flash of motion—metal and rubber cutting across the road.
The sickening thud.
The screech of my brakes.
The world seemed to stop.
I froze, both hands locked on the steering wheel, heart hammering so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest.
Through the windshield, a motorcycle lay sprawled across the asphalt. Its rider, thrown several feet away, rolled once before lying still.
My throat closed up. "Oh God. Oh God, no."
I shoved the door open, stumbling onto the road. My legs felt like jelly.
"Someone call an ambulance!" I shouted, though my voice cracked like I hadn't spoken in years.
People were already gathering—pedestrians, shopkeepers, faces blurring into a crowd of judgment and curiosity.
Then, to my relief, the man stirred. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up on one elbow.
"Thank you, God," I whispered, tears prickling my eyes.
He wore a helmet—thank heaven—but it had loosened in the fall, the strap dangling uselessly. Blood streaked down the side of his face, dripping onto his jacket. One of his hands clutched the back of his head.
I crouched beside him, hands shaking.
"I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay."
His eyes narrowed at me, pained but sharp.
"What were you thinking? Do you even look at the road when you drive?"
The words hit me like stones. I flinched, my throat tightening.
"I—I was distracted, but I swear I didn't see you—"
"Distracted?" he barked, wincing as he sat up straighter. "You nearly killed me."
The crowd murmured, tension thick in the air. My face burned with guilt.
"I'm sorry. Please, let me help you to my car. I'll drive you to the hospital."
For a moment he just glared at me, his chest heaving, then he grimaced and nodded. "Fine. But my bike—"
"I'll take care of it," I said quickly.
Two men from the crowd helped lift the motorcycle to the side of the road. I rushed to a fruit shop by the curb, breathless. "Please, can you watch over it? I'll send a mechanic. Here's my number—" I scribbled it onto a receipt and shoved it into the shopkeeper's hand before she could protest.
Back at the scene, the motorcyclist leaned heavily on two bystanders. I slid an arm around him, guiding him to the passenger side of my car. My hands wouldn't stop trembling.
As he eased into the seat, pale but stubbornly upright, I whispered a prayer. "Please let him be okay."
My phone buzzed again—relentless—but I ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. Right now, my entire world was bleeding in my passenger seat.
I gripped the wheel, started the engine, and pulled into traffic. Every honk, every screech of tires, every red light felt like a punishment.
The man groaned beside me, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.
I darted him a glance.
"Don't close your eyes, okay? Talk to me. Just… tell me your name."
He let out a shaky breath. "Daniel."
"Daniel," I repeated, as if saying it could keep him tethered. "I'm Mary. And I promise I'll get you to the hospital in one piece and I'm so sorry for hurting you."