Okay. I was definitely lost. The instructions were clear enough. And yet, still no toilet in sight. I repressed the urge to groan. I really needed that quiet and that was the only best place that offered it to me at the moment. Good news is that I found the location of the lockers. Bad news. I had passed them three times already. 

As I was determining which way to turn next, I heard the sound of distant footsteps mixed with the occasional laughter coming in my direction. Maybe I'd be able to ask one of them for the way.  

"So how was it?" 

"What do you mean?" One feigned ignorance. 

"Come on," the other replied. " It's not cool to hide details, Malcolm." 

At the mention of that name, my body locked together, frozen solid,  as if I'd been struck by icy water. The scar, now fully healed on my wrist, burned red. My ears honed in on their footsteps, the sound suddenly shattering my eardrums. I needed to get away. Quickly. My head rotated around the room for any source of an immediate escape. The only room in site other than the classrooms read Cleaning Supplies. 

The footsteps were getting faster. Dashing for the room, I tried the handle and the door opened straight away. Rushing into the room, I closed the door quickly, but not enough for the noise to draw them to the area of the sound. My heart leapt against my rib-cage and I remembered to breathe when I was losing breath. It took me a good minute to revert back to normal. it was then that I chose to turn away from the door. My gaze falls on two males mere metres away from me. A blonde male clutches the smaller one's hair as they appear to be focused on their make-out session. I feel my flames heat at the surprise. 

I appear to stare at the scene for a little too long because eventually, the blonde becomes aware of my presence. He breaks the kiss and the smaller male protests and attempts to initiate another kiss. He swerves his face out of his range. Then he shakes his head and jerks a finger in my direction. The male shifts his head until they are both staring at me. I lock eyes with the blonde. Mine filled with surprise and his of genuine curiosity. The tension is real amongst the silence and before anyone can speak, the closet door opens once again. 

A middle-aged man stands at the door with a broom in his hand. He halts when his eyes roam the room and realize it isn't empty. His gaze falls on the blonde in the room and his guarded expression fades.   "Well, isn't this a party?" 

"Hello to you too, Charlie." They both send each other a smile across the room.  My emotions are rising like a rollercoaster, first feeling shocked on the scene I walked in, to now being very confused about the interaction taking place.  

"If you want to enjoy yourself, haven't I told you to spare the closet. This is supposed to be my territory." 

The blonde nods in silent acknowledgement before his gaze falls to the shorter boy who has a hand on his chest up against a cupboard. The boy meets it with a pout, his annoyance clear at being disturbed. "As you can see" -he ruffles the boy's hair- "I was cornered against my will and was short for time." 

Charlie shakes his head without losing his smile. " No comment on that. Anyhow, I'm in need of this room and the supplies to do my job. So whether you're done or not, I'm kindly kicking you out now."   

"Of course." He gives him a salute. "No problem at all."  He taps the shoulder of the other boy and they break up the intimacy. At that moment, the janitor finally seems to notice me. Then they are all looking at me again and I feel like disappearing into the nearest darkness. Out of sight. Out of probing eyes.

"Who's this?" He points his thumb in my direction. I don't even allow the blonde to reply before I'm rushing to the door and attempting to scoot past him. When that doesn't work, I proceed to mumble, "excuse me, please." 

"Uhh... sure." He scoots over with his broom and bucket to allow me enough room to scurry past.

"Thanks," I reply in a hushed voice.  My manners still getting the best of me even in this situation. I don't exhale until I'm down the corridor and I'm sure I haven't been followed. What the hell was that?  I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything that just happened. It was giving me a painful headache that I purged my thoughts with the shake of my head. 

"Julian." The soft voice of my mother calls as she approaches. "There you are," she says. "I've been looking for you and was worried that something may have happened." 

"I'm fine," I tell her. "Just got lost on my way." Because there's no way I'm telling her what I just walked in on. It would only concern her. Plus, having her be concerned about the school was not something I wanted to add to her list of worries this past month. That didn't mean I  wasn't very concerned. It was beginning to feel like another Daymont High. I really need to draw-

"Okay, that's good to hear." I notice the sheet of paper in her hand and she follows my line of sight.  She offers the paper to me. I take it from her and open it to discover a map of the school.  It had all the basics of a map, but there was a little extra handwriting added to it. "The assistant did it. After that Quinton, whoever, didn't show. I just suggested the alternative, that we could explore the school ourselves with the guidance of a map."  

I nod in understanding. Mom then offers her hand for me to grab. I take it willingly, feeling nothing but warmth. We share identical smiles. "Shall we?" she asks, with a hint of excitement. Something I haven't seen from her for a while. 

"Mmm." 

A grown man walking around school holding his mom's hand could be seen as embarrassing for some. But not for me. I would hold her hand a hundred times If it meant I could feel comfort from it to battle the emptiness and sorrow I fought with most days. 

Yes. A Mom's hand truly was the best.