Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 — BOOK I

 

What He Learned to Leave

 

(Los Angeles)

 

It wasn’t one thing.

 

It was the accumulation.

 

At his locker, Geoffrey noticed it before he opened the door — the way the boys nearby went quiet, then didn’t.

 

Someone had taped a printed still from one of his short films across the metal. A freeze-frame taken at the worst possible moment: his mouth open mid-sentence, eyes unfocused.

 

Under it, written in marker:

 

DIRECTOR’S CUT: TRY HARDER

 

A boy he barely knew glanced at it and smirked.

 

“Dude,” he said, not unkindly, “you know people only watch that stuff because your dad’s famous, right?”

 

Geoffrey peeled the paper off slowly.

 

“It’s just a joke,” the boy added quickly. “Relax.”

 

Relax.

 

In English class, they were discussing character motivation.

 

The teacher asked Geoffrey a question — something straightforward, something he could answer. He did.

 

A voice from the back of the room cut in.

 

“Wow,” someone said. “That sounded rehearsed.”

 

Another laughed. “Method acting.”

 

Someone else followed, lighter, almost friendly. “Careful, man. You’re gonna get typecast as ‘Sensitive Guy.’”

 

The teacher cleared her throat. “Enough.”

 

But it was already enough.

 

At lunch, Marcus dropped into the seat across from him like nothing had changed.

 

“Hey,” he said easily. “You look like hell.”

 

Geoffrey stared at his food.

 

“You hear about the film club thing?” Marcus continued. “People are saying you’re only in because of connections.”

 

“You’re in film club too,” Geoffrey said.

 

Marcus shrugged. “Yeah. But I’m not pretending it’s merit-based.”

 

Something tightened behind Geoffrey’s eyes.

 

“I didn’t say it was,” he replied.

 

Marcus leaned back, hands laced behind his head.

 

“I’m just saying — you make it really easy for them. All intense, all serious. You don’t know how to play it cool anymore.”

 

“Play what cool?” Geoffrey asked.

 

Marcus smiled, thin.

 

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “You. The whole tortured-genius thing.”

 

Geoffrey stood so abruptly his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

 

“Don’t,” he said.

 

Marcus raised both hands. “What? I’m helping.”

 

Geoffrey grabbed his bag and walked away.

 

Behind him, Marcus called out, half-laughing, half-irritated:

 

“Man, you used to be fun.”

 

He caught up to Marcus by the bike racks.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Geoffrey asked.

 

Marcus frowned slightly, as if genuinely confused. “About what?”

 

“You heard them,” Geoffrey said. “At my locker. In class.”

 

Marcus sighed. “It wasn’t that serious.”

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

“What did you want me to do?” Marcus replied. “Jump in front of you? Make it worse?”

 

“You could’ve said something,” Geoffrey said. “Anything.”

 

Marcus adjusted his bag. “Geo, you’ve gotta learn when to let things slide. If you react, you give them what they want.”

 

Geoffrey nodded once.

 

“I didn’t react,” he said. “You did.”

 

Marcus blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means,” Geoffrey said carefully, “you laughed first.”

 

Marcus scoffed. “You’re overthinking this.”

 

Geoffrey waited.

 

Marcus said nothing else.

 

That was the answer.

 

Reina found him near the quad, sunglasses still on even though the sun was already slipping away.

 

“I heard about the film thing,” she said, like she was commenting on the weather.

 

Geoffrey shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

 

She smiled sympathetically — from a distance.

 

“I just want you to know,” she said, “I support you. I really do.”

 

“That’s it?” he asked.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It sounded like a press statement.”

 

Reina laughed lightly. “You’re so intense.”

 

She reached for his arm, then stopped short.

 

“You care too much about what people think,” she continued. “That’s your problem.”

 

“Since when is that a problem?”

 

“It isn’t,” she said quickly. “It’s just… not attractive when you let it show.”

 

The word landed before he understood it.

 

She adjusted her bag strap. “You’d be so much better if you didn’t take everything so personally.”

 

She smiled again.

 

“I stood up for you,” she added.

 

“When?”

 

“With people. You weren’t there.”

 

“That doesn’t help me.”

 

“It helps your reputation,” she said. “Which is honestly the bigger issue right now.”

 

“You’re spiralling,” Reina continued. “And when you spiral, people stop taking you seriously.”

 

“People like who?”

 

She tilted her head. “People who matter.”

 

Later, he heard her laughing with Marcus near the arts building.

 

“I just couldn’t deal with how emotional he got,” Reina said. “It was like dating a mood.”

 

Marcus smirked. “Yeah. Geo’s intense.”

 

Reina nodded. “I tried. I really did. But you can’t fix someone who likes being the victim.”

 

Geoffrey stepped into view.

 

Reina blinked once — then recovered.

 

“Oh,” she said brightly. “We weren’t talking about you.”

 

The door at home closed harder than he meant it to.

 

Not violently. Just decisively.

 

He sat on the edge of his bed, breathing too fast to notice at first. Somewhere downstairs, the television volume lowered.

 

No one followed.

 

That was worse.

 

A knock came — once.

 

“Geo,” his father said. “Can I come in?”

 

George didn’t stand over him. He sat slightly turned, giving space.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

“Nothing,” Geoffrey said.

 

George waited.

 

“They asked how school was,” Geoffrey said finally. “I said ‘fine.’”

 

“And it wasn’t.”

 

“They decide things about you,” Geoffrey said. “And once they’ve decided, that’s it.”

 

Elaine appeared quietly with a glass of water, set it down, rested her hand briefly on his shoulder.

 

“Drink,” she said. “You’re breathing too fast.”

 

Later, the truth came out — slowly, carefully, without theatrics.

 

Marcus.

Reina.

The jokes that weren’t jokes.

The silence that mattered more than words.

 

Elaine laced her fingers through his.

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“I know,” Geoffrey said. “But knowing it doesn’t change anything.”

 

George leaned forward. “Sometimes the problem isn’t you. It’s the system you’re in.”

 

When Sydney was mentioned, it didn’t sound like escape.

 

It sounded like air.

 

Weeks later, at the airport, Geoffrey handed over his boarding pass.

 

He paused once at the gate, folded letter in his pocket — not to read, just to feel its presence.

 

As the line moved, he spoke quietly, not as a promise, not as a vow.

 

Just a direction.

 

“Aku akan datang untuk kau.”

 

I will come for you.

 

Then he boarded the plane.

 

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