The Touch - Rewrite

The middle school and high school were connected into one massive building, its clean brick exterior and wide glass windows making it look newer than anything I had ever stepped foot in before. It didn’t feel worn down or forgotten like my last school. Everything about it looked polished, deliberate—like people actually cared what it looked like.

That alone made my chest tighten.

Natalie walked beside me, her hand wrapped gently but firmly around mine as she guided me toward the front doors. The closer we got, the louder everything seemed to become—voices, footsteps, the distant echo of lockers slamming somewhere inside. My heart started pounding harder with each step, my breathing tightening as that familiar pressure built in my chest.

If she hadn’t been holding onto me, I probably would have turned around.

Not walked away.

Run.

Instead, I kept moving forward, my hand tightening slightly in hers without thinking about it.

The doors opened, and the noise hit all at once.

Students moved through the hallways in steady streams, conversations overlapping, laughter cutting through the air in sharp bursts. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as my last school, but it still felt like too much, too fast, too overwhelming all at once.

I glanced up at Natalie, confused, trying to make sense of it.

“It’s not as crowded,” I said quietly.

She looked down at me, already understanding the question behind it. “There aren’t as many students here,” she explained, her voice calm and steady against the noise around us. “It’s a private school.”

That made me stop.

“Those are expensive,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Natalie laughed softly, not at me, but like the reaction was expected. She gently pulled me closer to her side, her grip on my hand tightening just enough to guide me forward again.

“If you must know,” she said, her tone light but reassuring, “Greg’s firm covers tuition for the children of their associates. It’s one of the benefits.”

I blinked, trying to process that as we kept moving.

People just… paid for this?

For me?

I nodded faintly, even though it didn’t fully make sense yet, and let her guide me the rest of the way to the office.

The door opened into a quieter space, the noise of the hallway dulling almost immediately behind us. A long counter stretched across the room, and behind it sat a woman with curly brown hair and wire-framed glasses, sorting through stacks of paperwork.

She looked up as we entered, her expression shifting into a polite smile as she stood.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Hi, I’m Natalie Harris,” Natalie replied, her tone warm but professional. “We have a meeting with Principal Thompson. This is Zachary Brody.”

The woman glanced down at a calendar on the desk, scanning it briefly before nodding.

“Of course. Let me just make sure he’s ready for you. I’ll be right back, Mrs. Harris.”

“Thank you,” Natalie said.

We watched her disappear down the hallway, and for a second, the room felt too quiet.

Natalie turned slightly toward me, her hand shifting from mine to my shoulder, grounding but not restraining.

“Hey,” she said softly. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

I shook my head faintly, my eyes dropping to the floor.

“But what if they don’t accept me?” I whispered. “Because I’m… an orphan?”

The word felt wrong coming out, heavier than it should have been.

The woman came back before Natalie could answer.

She had clearly heard me.

Her expression flickered—just for a second—before the polite smile snapped back into place, thinner this time.

“Mr. Thompson will see you now,” she said, motioning toward the hallway.

Natalie thanked her again, but I glanced back as we passed.

The smile was gone.

Her brow was furrowed, her eyes narrowed just slightly, like she’d already decided something about me.

I turned forward quickly.

The hallway felt longer this time.

At the end of it, a man stood waiting beside an open door, a practiced smile already in place.

“Good morning, Mrs. Harris,” he said before turning to me, extending his hand. “And good morning to you, Mr. Brody. Welcome. Please, come in.”

I hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, my hand lifting automatically to shake his.

His grip was firm.

Normal.

The office felt smaller once the door closed behind us.

Not physically—but in the way the space seemed to settle around me, everything quieter, more contained. The noise from the hallway dulled into something distant, replaced by the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint rustle of paper as Mr. Thompson moved behind his desk. It felt like stepping into a place where everything mattered more, where every word carried weight whether you wanted it to or not.

I followed Natalie to the chairs across from him and lowered myself into one carefully. The leather creaked slightly under my weight as I settled, my hands resting in my lap, fingers curling into the fabric of my jeans without me realizing it. I kept my movements small, controlled, like drawing attention to myself would somehow make things worse.

It felt like I wasn’t supposed to move.

Mr. Thompson sat down, folding his hands neatly in front of him as he looked between us. “I’m Principal Thompson,” he said, his tone smooth and practiced. “And I understand you’re here to enroll Zachary.”

Natalie nodded. “Yes. My husband’s firm is covering tuition and all associated expenses.”

She passed him the paperwork, and he reviewed it briefly before setting it aside with a small nod. “Excellent. We’ve already received preliminary records from your case worker. I’ll make sure everything is processed so Zachary can be placed into classes as soon as possible.”

Placed.

The word lingered in my head longer than it should have, settling in a way I couldn’t quite explain. It didn’t sound like something I had any control over. It sounded like something that just… happened to me.

“Do you happen to know his most recent grade level?” he asked.

“He was in sixth grade,” Natalie replied.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll keep him aligned with his age group.”

I nodded faintly, even though no one was really looking at me anymore. That part felt familiar—being present without being part of it. The conversation continued around me, shifting through forms, schedules, placement details—things that sounded important but didn’t feel like they belonged to me yet. I sat still, listening, trying not to think too much about what came next.

About walking those halls.

About being seen.

Mr. Thompson reached for a pen, flipping open a folder on his desk. “We’ll just finalize a few details, and then—”

A sharp knock hit the doorframe.

The sound cracked through the room without warning, loud enough that my body reacted before I could stop it. My shoulders jerked, my breath catching sharply as my hands tightened in my lap. The reaction came fast, automatic, something I couldn’t control even when I tried.

Natalie’s hand came down on my arm immediately, steady and grounding. “It’s okay,” she murmured quietly, her voice low enough that it didn’t carry across the room.

I nodded quickly, even though my chest hadn’t caught up yet.

“Come in,” Mr. Thompson said.

The door opened, and a woman stepped inside holding a manila folder. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked forward, her posture straight, her expression already set into a polite smile—but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something about the way she carried herself, something tight underneath it, that made my stomach twist before she even spoke.

“I’ve got the file you requested,” she said, extending it toward the desk.

Mr. Thompson took it. “Thank you, Ms. Pratt.”

That was when she looked at me.

Not a passing glance.

A look.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

It made something in my chest tighten immediately, my shoulders pulling in slightly as my gaze dropped to the floor without thinking.

“I didn’t realize this was that student,” she said, her tone shifting just enough to make the words feel pointed.

Mr. Thompson’s attention snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Ms. Pratt didn’t look away from me. “The intake file,” she clarified. “There’s quite a bit there.”

My stomach dropped.

She read it.

“Ms. Pratt,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice sharpening, “that’s not appropriate.”

She finally looked at him, though her expression didn’t change much. “I’m just saying it’s something we should be aware of,” she replied. “We don’t usually bring in… situations like this without a conversation.”

Situations.

Not students.

The word sat heavy in the air.

Natalie straightened beside me, her posture shifting in a way that made the entire room feel tighter. “Zachary is not a situation,” she said evenly. “He’s here to enroll in school.”

Ms. Pratt gave a small, thin smile that didn’t feel like a real one. “Of course. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

It didn’t sound like that was true.

Her eyes flicked back to me again, and I felt my shoulders draw in a little more, my gaze fixed on the floor like that would make me less visible.

“I just think it’s important to be realistic,” she continued. “Students with… complicated backgrounds don’t always adjust well. It can affect the environment.”

Every word landed harder than the last, pressing into something I couldn’t push back against.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat there while it settled in my chest.

Natalie’s hand tightened slightly on my arm, grounding but firm. “I think what’s important,” she said, her voice still controlled but no longer soft, “is that you are discussing a child as if he isn’t sitting right in front of you.”

Ms. Pratt crossed her arms, her expression tightening. “I’m speaking professionally.”

“No,” Natalie replied. “You’re making assumptions.”

The tension in the room thickened, pressing in from all sides until it felt like there wasn’t enough air to breathe properly.

Mr. Thompson exhaled slowly, then turned his attention to me, his tone shifting.

“Zachary,” he said more gently, “would you be willing to wait out in the main office for a few minutes while we finish this conversation?”

My chest tightened again.

That familiar feeling settled in, quiet but immediate.

This was where things changed.

I swallowed hard and nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

Natalie’s hand moved from my arm to my shoulder, squeezing gently as I stood. “Go ahead and sit in the waiting area where we came in,” she said softly. “We’ll be done in just a few minutes.”

I nodded again, even though something in my chest didn’t fully believe that part. I stepped toward the door, careful, controlled, like I needed to move the right way to avoid making anything worse.

Ms. Pratt shifted at the same time.

“I’ll make sure he gets settled,” she said, already stepping forward.

“No,” Mr. Thompson said immediately, his voice firm enough to stop her mid-step. “You’ll stay here.”

Her expression tightened, irritation flashing across her face. “I just want to make sure my things are secure,” she said, her tone sharper now. “We don’t exactly know what he might—”

“That’s enough,” Natalie cut in, her voice colder than before.

The room went completely still.

I froze near the door, my hand hovering near the handle.

Natalie didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“Zachary,” she said, her tone softening just slightly as she looked at me, “go ahead and sit out in the waiting area. I’ll come get you soon.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yes, ma’am.”

I didn’t look at Ms. Pratt again.

I just opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, pulling it closed behind me as quietly as I could.

The second it clicked shut, the air felt different.

But not better.

The door clicked shut behind me, and the sound felt louder than it should have, echoing just enough to make me hesitate before moving any further.

For a second, I just stood there in the hallway, unsure what to do with myself. Students moved past in small groups, their voices blending together into a low hum that didn’t quite register as words anymore. It wasn’t as overwhelming as when we first walked in, but it still felt like too much—too many people, too many eyes, too many chances to be noticed.

I turned back toward the main office slowly and pushed the door open.

It was quieter inside.

Empty, too.

The front desk sat unattended, the chair pushed slightly back like whoever had been sitting there had left in a hurry. The computer screen was still on, a faint glow in the otherwise still room, and for a second, it felt like I wasn’t supposed to be there without someone watching.

I moved anyway.

The chairs along the wall were exactly where I remembered them, and I made my way over, lowering myself into one carefully. The cushion dipped under my weight, and I leaned back slightly, my hands settling into my lap as my fingers curled into the fabric of my jeans again.

I kept my eyes down.

Tried to make myself smaller.

The words from inside the office hadn’t gone away.

Situations.

Complicated.

Environment.

They repeated in my head, quieter than before but heavier somehow, like they had more room to settle now that everything else had gone still. My grip tightened slightly, the fabric bunching under my fingers as I stared at the floor.

She read it.

She knew.

Which meant—

A voice carried through the wall.

Clear enough this time that I didn’t have to guess.

“That’s completely inappropriate—”

I flinched.

The sound wasn’t loud like shouting, not yet, but it was sharp enough to cut through everything else. Another voice followed, lower, controlled, and then another—quicker, tighter, overlapping just enough that I couldn’t catch every word.

I didn’t need to.

I knew what it was about.

My stomach twisted hard, my shoulders pulling in as I shifted slightly in the chair. My eyes stayed fixed on the floor, but my attention was locked on the voices bleeding through the wall, each one making my chest feel tighter.

This was it.

This was where they decided.

If I stayed.

If I didn’t.

If I messed it up before I even started.

The voices rose again, louder this time.

“I will not have—”

“You’re making assumptions—”

“Given his background—”

The words blurred together, but the tone didn’t.

Anger.

Frustration.

Something breaking through the calm.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I pressed my hands harder against my legs, trying to keep them still.

“Hey.”

The voice came from my right, softer than everything else, but it still made me flinch.

My head turned too quickly, my chest tightening again as I looked over.

A girl sat a few chairs down from me, one leg tucked up slightly in her seat, a notebook balanced against her knee. She hadn’t been there before—or maybe she had and I just hadn’t noticed—but she was there now, watching me with a neutral expression that didn’t match anything else I’d seen since walking into the building.

Not curious.

Not judgmental.

Just… there.

“You okay?” she asked.

The question caught me off guard, my mouth opening slightly before I figured out what to say.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m fine.”

It came out too fast.

Too automatic.

She tilted her head just a little, like she didn’t quite believe that, but she didn’t push it. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the office door as another raised voice carried through the wall—louder this time, unmistakably angry—before she looked back at me.

“First day?” she asked.

I blinked, thrown off by the shift.

“…kind of,” I said.

“Registration?” she guessed.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She adjusted her notebook slightly, resting it more securely against her knee before glancing toward the door again. Another voice cut through, sharper than before, followed by something lower that sounded like it was trying to keep things contained and failing.

“They’re not usually that loud,” she said, almost to herself.

I didn’t respond.

Didn’t know how to.

My attention kept pulling back to the voices, to the way they rose and fell, to the pieces I could catch without trying.

“—not appropriate to discuss—”

“—you read the file—”

“—that doesn’t justify—”

My chest tightened further with each fragment, my thoughts filling in the gaps whether I wanted them to or not.

She read it.

They all read it.

The girl glanced at me again, more directly this time. “I’m Deedra,” she said.

I hesitated for a second before answering. “Zachary.”

She nodded once, like that was enough, and didn’t ask anything else. No follow-up questions, no curiosity about why I was there or what was happening behind the door. She just accepted it and looked back down at her notebook, flipping a page and tapping her pen lightly against it.

The voices spiked again.

“—he’s a child—”

“And I’m telling you—”

“Enough.”

That last one cut clean through the rest.

Silence followed.

Not complete.

But close enough that it felt heavier than the noise.

I realized I’d been holding my breath and let it out slowly, my shoulders dropping just slightly as the tension shifted but didn’t disappear.

Deedra’s pen stilled for a second before she spoke again, her tone easy, like none of it was unusual.

“They do that sometimes,” she said. “Not always like… that. But adults arguing like they think nobody can hear them.”

I glanced at her, unsure what to do with that.

She shrugged lightly, still not looking up. “It’s worse when they try to keep it quiet,” she added. “Then you just catch pieces and your brain fills in the rest.”

I swallowed.

Mine already had.

“Are you starting next week?” she asked after a moment.

“I think so,” I said. “If… everything’s okay.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She looked up at that, her expression unchanged but more focused now, like she was actually paying attention instead of just passing time.

“It’ll be fine,” she said.

Not overly reassuring.

Not forced.

Just… simple.

Like it wasn’t something that needed to be questioned.

Like I wasn’t something that needed to be figured out.

I looked down again, my grip on my jeans loosening slightly without me realizing it.

“…okay,” I said.

The silence that settled after that felt different.

Not heavy.

Not waiting for something to go wrong.

Just quiet.

And even with the voices still lingering in the back of my mind, even with everything that had just happened—

it didn’t feel like I had to disappear to stay there.

The office door closed behind me with a quiet click, and the shift in sound was immediate. The hallway noise faded just enough to make everything else feel sharper, more contained. The waiting area sat just beyond the front desk, a row of chairs along the wall that looked like they were meant for people who didn’t stay long. I moved toward them without thinking, lowering myself into one carefully, my hands settling into my lap as my fingers curled into my jeans again. I kept my eyes down, trying not to think about what was still happening behind that door, but it didn’t work.

The voices carried more clearly out here than they had inside. Not every word—but enough to make my chest tighten.

“That’s completely inappropriate—”

I flinched, my shoulders tightening as the sound cut through the quiet. Another voice followed immediately, lower but just as firm, pushing back without hesitation.

“You’re making assumptions—”

Then sharper.

“Given his background—”

My stomach twisted as the words settled into place. I didn’t need to hear the rest. I already knew. The fragments from earlier looped in my head, filling in the spaces between what I could and couldn’t hear, turning it into something heavier than it probably was. My grip tightened slightly against the fabric of my jeans as I stared at the floor, my chest tightening with each raised voice. This was where they decided things like this. This was where people figured out if you were worth keeping around or not, and it never really mattered what you said.

A chair shifted a couple seats down from me, the sound small but enough to pull my attention sideways before I could stop myself. A girl sat there, angled slightly toward the hallway, a notebook resting loosely against her knee. She tapped her pen against it once, then again, like she wasn’t really paying attention to anything in particular. She didn’t look at me right away, didn’t react to the voices bleeding through the wall, just stayed where she was like none of it had anything to do with her.

The voices inside rose again, louder this time, sharper and harder to ignore.

“I will not have—”

“That’s not your decision—”

“Enough.”

That last word cut clean through everything else, firm and final, and the silence that followed felt heavier than the argument itself. I swallowed hard, my shoulders pulling in slightly as I shifted in my seat, the quiet pressing in where the noise had been.

“They’re louder than usual today,” the girl said, her voice calm enough that it didn’t match anything else that had just happened.

I turned my head a little too quickly, my chest tightening again as I looked at her. She glanced at me briefly, then back toward the office like it wasn’t a big deal.

“They try to keep it quiet most of the time,” she added. “Doesn’t really work.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to answer something like that, especially when my attention kept pulling back to the door, to the silence behind it, to everything I couldn’t hear anymore. After a second, she spoke again without looking at me.

“I’m Deedra.”

I hesitated before answering, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “Zachary.”

She nodded once like that was enough and didn’t ask anything else. No follow-up questions, no curiosity, no pressure to explain anything. She just left it there and went back to tapping her pen lightly against the notebook, like the conversation had already done everything it needed to do.

The office door opened before anything else could settle. I stood up immediately, the movement automatic, my hands dropping to my sides as Mr. Thompson stepped out into the waiting area. His eyes found me right away, his expression steadier than it had been before, like whatever had just happened inside had already been decided.

“Zachary,” he said, walking toward me. “I want to apologize for what happened in there. That should not have occurred the way it did, especially not with you present.”

I nodded faintly, my throat tight, not trusting myself to say anything out loud. He held my gaze for a second before continuing, his tone firm in a way that felt intentional.

“I want you to understand something,” he said. “Nothing like that is going to happen to you here again. That’s my responsibility.”

The words didn’t settle the way they probably should have. They didn’t push anything away or make anything feel better. They just sat there, unfamiliar and hard to place, but I nodded again anyway because that felt like the right thing to do.

Behind him, the office door stayed mostly closed, leaving just enough space that I couldn’t see what was happening inside. That made it worse somehow, not knowing, not seeing, leaving too much room for my thoughts to fill in the blanks.

This is because of me.

The thought came quickly, automatic and heavy.

Someone will make this my fault.

They always do.

Mr. Thompson shifted his attention then, glancing toward the chairs. “Deedra,” he said, like he already knew exactly why she was there.

I followed his gaze. She hadn’t moved, still sitting the same way, her posture relaxed as she looked up at him.

“Mr. Thompson,” she said.

He studied her for half a second, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Let me guess,” he said, his tone dry. “Talking in class again?”

“Maybe.”

A quiet breath left him, more like confirmation than frustration. “I’m going to have to start charging you rent for that chair,” he said.

Deedra shrugged like that didn’t bother her at all.

He shook his head slightly before glancing back toward the office door, then back to both of us, something shifting in his expression as his tone lightened just a little.

“Well, since you’re already here,” he said, gesturing lightly between us, “Zachary’s enrollment is just about finished. I just need a few more minutes with his—” he paused briefly, “—with his mom to wrap up the paperwork.”

The word landed quietly but didn’t pass through. It stayed, settling somewhere deeper than everything else.

Mom.

I didn’t react. Didn’t move. But it didn’t go away.

Mr. Thompson continued like nothing had changed. “So how about this,” he said, looking at Deedra. “You give him a quick tour of the building, and I forget that you’ve been sent down here… what, three times this month?”

“Twice.”

He gave her a look.

“…this week.”

That almost pulled something out of him, just the faintest shift before it disappeared again.

“Then we’ll call this a get out of jail free card,” he said.

She nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” he replied, then motioned slightly. “Come here a second.”

Deedra stood and walked over without hesitation. He stepped just outside into the hallway with her, leaning in slightly so his voice didn’t carry. I stayed where I was, my attention drifting toward them without meaning to. He spoke quietly, something low and deliberate that I couldn’t make out, and she listened without interrupting. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled—something small but real—and nodded once like she understood.

They stepped back inside a moment later. Mr. Thompson gave me a brief glance. “I’ll come find you when we’re finished,” he said before heading back into the office. The door closed behind him again, leaving the space quiet in a way that didn’t feel settled.

I stayed where I was for a second, the weight in my chest not easing the way I wanted it to. The thought was still there, sitting heavy and unmoving.

This is going to come back on me.

It always does.

“Ready?” Deedra asked.

I looked at her. She wasn’t watching the door, wasn’t watching me like there was something to figure out. She just stood there, waiting like this was normal, like nothing about any of this needed to be explained.

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah.”

And then I followed her out into the hallway.