When did you regret “judging a book by its cover”?
The Class Clown and the Closed Practice
When did you regret judging a book by its cover? I was a sophomore when Malik, the class clown, returned after missing the first half of the year.
The entire class went dead quiet when he walked in. Someone whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “That’s the psycho who put a teacher in the hospital.”
The whole room shifted away from him like he was contagious. That day, he sat alone in the cafeteria with empty seats forming a circle around him.
I tried to walk over and sit nearby, but my friend grabbed my shoulder. “Don’t.” “He’ll beat you up, too.” “Kids got serious anger issues.”
I watched Malik for the next few weeks and saw how everyone treated him like a ticking bomb. Teachers kept him after class to check in, but really to intimidate him. During PE, coach made him sit out contact sports. Security guards followed him between classes.
But I noticed things others missed. He’d walk behind girls heading to the parking lot after dark, keeping distance but making sure they got to their cars safe.
He always had extra pens and never said no when someone needed one. But no one ever thanked him. They just took what they needed while avoiding eye contact.
Everything changed the day I stayed late for drama club. I was vaping in the corner of the room where there’s no security camera when Mr. Akaka appeared in the doorway. He asked, stepping into the room. “Working hard?”
“I could give you private coaching, one-on-one sessions.” “I’ve helped other girls.” “Excel.”
The way he said Excel made my skin crawl. His hand slid lower. “Please, I need to.” “Shh.”
He pulled me against him. “This is how you command the stage.” “How you get directors to notice you.”
His breath hit my neck. “I’ve been watching you, Luna.” “You’re special, but you need guidance.”
I tried to push him away, but he was stronger. “Stop.” “Please let her go.”
Malik stood in the doorway, his entire body tense. His voice was controlled, but I could see his fists clenched at his sides.
Kaka didn’t release me. If anything, his grip tightened. “We’re rehearsing.” “This is a closed practice.”
“I said, ‘Let her go.'” Malik took a step forward now. Kaka finally released me, but kept himself between me and the door. “Careful, Malik.” “We all know what happens when you lose your temper.” “Wouldn’t want another incident.”
Malik took my hand and guided me towards the principal’s office. But Principal Walker barely looked up from his computer. “Mr. Akaka has directed our plays for 12 years.” “Are you sure you didn’t misinterpret?”
“He had her trapped.” “He was touching her.” Malik said.
Walker turned to me. “Drama can be emotional.” “Sometimes teachers use physical guidance.”
Then he looked at Malik. “Given your history, I understand why you might see aggression where none exists.” “Maybe you should take another break from school.”
Malik’s face flushed. “This isn’t about that.” “This is about—” “That’s enough.” Walker cut him off.
“Unless you have proof, I suggest you both stop making accusations that could ruin a good man’s career.” He leaned back in his chair. “Luna, you were vaping on school property.” “That’s a three-day suspension.” “Malik, consider this your only warning.”.
I didn’t see Malik for 2 days after that. When he finally came back, something had changed. I was walking to lunch when I heard laughter echoing through the hallway.
A crowd had gathered around someone’s phone. “Yo, Psycho’s famous,” someone shouted.
On the screen was a meme of Malik on the secret school meme page. Someone had edited together security footage of Malik walking through hallways, adding horror movie music.
