Signed Up Without Consent

The coffee shop smelled like roasted dreams and charred realities—a fitting backdrop for my developing sense of gloom. Sitting at a small table across from Mr. Wright and my excessively exuberant brother Ethan, I grabbed my cup like it was the only thing tying me to this world. It was ceramic, warm, and not judging me—unlike my current company.

Ethan, in his usual cheerful and oblivious manner, was talking a mile a minute. His enthusiasm was practically bouncing off the walls. “Man, it’s so good to see you again, Chris! Can I still call you that, or are you all formal ‘Mr. Wright’ now?”

Mr. Wright—sorry, Chris, as Ethan insisted—leaned back in his chair, laughing. It was an easy, friendly laugh that made me wonder if he ever laughed that way during class. I wouldn’t know. The most I’d gotten from him was a polite “good job” when I accidentally solved a problem on the board.

“You can call me Chris, of course,” he said. “I don’t think I could ever take ‘Mr. Wright’ seriously coming from you.”

Chirs? Wait a minute, I know him! I have heard many things about him from Ethan.

Chirs wasn’t just Ethan’s friend; he was the guy Ethan called “brother” without a hint of exaggeration. Their bond went back to their first year in college, where they’d been assigned as roommates in a shoebox-sized dorm with a malfunctioning heater and one sad desk chair. Chris had balanced Ethan’s wild demeanor with his perfectly arranged books and talent for making instant noodles like a five-star chef. Driven by poor coffee and worse jokes, they had pulled all-nighters together and helped each other out of more difficulty than either would have admitted.

Chris was the planner to Ethan’s impromptu ideas, the peace amid his tempest. Once Ethan said, Chris was the only reason he failed his first semester. Chris had responded with a sneer, stating Ethan’s Chrisural appeal most likely offset his lack of preparation. Over time, their friendship turned into something solid and unshakable, built on trust, loyalty, and a shared love of late-night philosophical debates. If Ethan needed someone to rely on, he knew Chris would show up—even if it meant rearranging his own life to do so.

So, this is “The Chris”? Mr. Wright? I need some time to digest it for sure.

They exchanged a glance of friendliness, the type of nonverbal understanding that lifelong friends could pull off. It was sickeningly wholesome.

And then Ethan dropped the bomb.

“So, Chris,” he began, laying his coffee down and leaning forward conspiratorially, “I need a favor. It’s about Alina.”

My grip tightened on the mug. Oh no. Don’t engage me in this bromance. Leave me out of it. Please, I beg you!

Mr. Wright’s eyebrows lifted, a trace of inquiry in his normally serene manner. “Alina?”

“Yes.” Ethan pointed towards me like I was a problem he needed help with.

“She’s a bit of a handful—”

“Excuse me?” I cut in, my voice dripping with indigChrision. “I’m sitting right here, you know.”

Ethan ignored me, as older brothers are prone to do. “—and with everything going on at home, I just... I need to know she’s okay here. That someone’s looking out for her.”

Mr. Wright’s expression softened. He glanced at me, his gaze lingering a little longer than necessary, as if trying to decode my very existence.

“Well, I already know her, I’m her literature teacher,” he said carefully.“But I’d be pleased to assist if you’re asking me to monitor her more generally.”

“Just right!” Ethan smiled, expressing a foolish sense of relief. “Dude, I knew I could rely on you.”

I was calculating the merits and drawbacks of tossing my coffee in Ethan’s face in the meanwhile. On one hand, it would be immensely satisfying. On the other hand, it was caramel macchiato, and I didn’t want to waste it.

“Wait a minute,” I said, setting my mug down with a dramatic clink. “What does ‘keeping an eye on me’ even mean? I’m not a toddler needing a babysitter.”

Ethan turned to me, his tone annoyingly patronizing. “It just means Chris will be around if you need anything. You know, like advice, help with school stuff, that sort of thing.”

“-------”

“He can protect you if needed and in that wayI will be more at ease.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I shot back.“I don’t need a babysitter, and I definitely don’t need a teacher meddling in my life outside the classroom.”

“Alina,” Ethan began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “this isn’t up for debate. I only want what’s best for you.”

“Best for me?” I repeated, my voice rising. I said it again, raising my voice. “What’s best for me is not having my life turned into some kind of charity project. I’m not an object for God’s Sake. I have feelings, you know?”

Ethan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in that exasperated older-brother way. Mr. Wright, meanwhile, looked like he’d walked into a minefield and wasn’t quite sure which step would set off the explosion.

“Alina,” Mr. Wright finally said, his voice calm and measured, “it’s not about interfering. It’s about being a resource if you ever need one. I won’t overstep. Rest assured!”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, sinking back into my chair and crossing my arms. “That’s what they all say.”

I know, I can never win against Ethan.

Ethan shook his head, clearly done with my theatrics. “Anyway, Alina, why don’t you head back to campus? Chris and I need to catch up a bit.”

I blinked. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Not kicking you out,” Ethan corrected. “Just giving us a chance to talk.”

I glanced at Mr. Wright, who looked equally baffled by this sudden development. Great. Now it wasn’t just me being awkward; it was a group effort.

“Fine,” I said, standing up with as much dignity as I could muster.“Enjoy your little bromance chat.”

Ethan smirked. “We will. Go on, now.”

As I left the coffee shop, I could feel their eyes on me, and my head was already spinning out conspiracy theories. What could they possibly need to talk about that I couldn’t hear? Was Ethan hatching some grand plot to wreck my life? Was Mr. Wright secretly scheming my demise?

Probably not. But a girl could speculate.

By the time I approached the campus gates, I was angry. The boldness of Ethan, treating me like some kind of delicate flower that needed continuous watering and sunlight.

And Mr. Wright—Chris—just agreed to it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I couldn’t figure out which angered me more: Ethan’s over protectiveness or Mr. Wright’s obnoxious eagerness to play along.

And yet, a small, treacherous part of me was interested. There was something about the way Mr. Wright had looked at me—curious, thoughtful, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

What could they possibly be talking about now?

Whatever it was, I had a feeling it was about to change everything. But deep down, I couldn’t help but wonder: What did I just get myself into?