6 unfortunate fame
By the time I step out of the car, I can already tell today is going to be unbearable.
Not in a dramatic, life-is-over kind of way. More in the quiet, deeply irritating way where everything feels slightly off and everyone is pretending it's normal when it very much isn't.
Jess slams her car door and immediately looks at me like she's trying to hold something in.
"Don't," I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
"I didn't even say anything."
"You were about to."
She smiles. "I was about to say good morning."
"You were about to say something weird and supportive."
"That too."
I start walking toward the school entrance before she can continue, but it takes exactly three steps before I notice it.
People are looking. Not casually. Not the usual hallway glance where someone recognizes you and moves on.
This is... deliberate.
Lingering.
Annoyingly obvious.
Jess falls into step beside me, lowering her voice. "Okay, so we're being perceived again."
"I hate that we keep using that word."
"It's accurate."
A group of girls near the entrance stop talking as we pass. One of them nudges another, her eyes flicking straight to me, then down to her phone like she's trying to match something up.
I don't slow down.
If I acknowledge it, it becomes a thing. And I am not making this a thing.
"Hey," someone calls out behind me.
I keep walking.
"Hey—Madi."
Jess glances at me. "That one sounded persistent."
"I'm choosing not to hear it."
"That's not how hearing works."
I sigh, turning just enough to acknowledge the guy jogging up beside us. He's smiling in that overly friendly way people get when they think they're about to be part of something interesting.
"That was crazy," he says immediately. "Was that planned?"
"No," I reply.
"That's even crazier."
"Glad you enjoyed it."
He blinks like he wasn't expecting that answer. "So, like... are you actually—"
"No," I cut in smoothly.
Jess makes a quiet sound next to me that might be a laugh.
The guy hesitates, then nods like he's satisfied enough with that. "Still cool, though."
"Thanks."
He walks off, already pulling his phone out again.
Jess nudges my arm. "You're handling this suspiciously well."
"I'm not handling it," I say. "I'm ignoring it."
"That's not a strategy."
"It is if I commit to it."
We make it inside, and somehow it gets worse.
The hallway noise doesn't change, but the attention does. Conversations dip when I pass, then pick right back up, quieter but sharper, like I'm part of them now whether I want to be or not.
Someone laughs behind me.
Someone else says, "That's her," like I can't hear them.
Jess leans closer. "Okay, but if we're being honest, this is a little iconic."
"I'm going to need you to stop using that word too."
"I can't. It applies."
I open my locker, focusing on something normal, something that doesn't involve being analyzed by half the school before first period.
It lasts about five seconds.
"Did you actually kiss him?"
I don't turn.
"No," I say.
Jess snorts.
The girl behind me pauses. "Wait, really?"
"No," I repeat, grabbing my books. "It was a very convincing illusion."
Jess loses it completely, covering her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
The girl blinks, then slowly nods like she's not sure if I'm serious but doesn't want to push it. "Right. Okay."
I close my locker and walk away before she can ask anything else.
Jess catches up quickly. "That was my favorite answer so far."
"I'm setting a tone."
"The tone being confusion?"
"The tone being none of their business."
We make it halfway down the hall before I see him.
Josh is leaning against the lockers like he's been waiting, one shoulder pressed back, arms crossed in a way that would've been familiar a few weeks ago.
Now it just feels... expected.
Jess notices immediately. "Oh."
"I've got it," I say quietly.
"You always say that."
"And I'm always right."
"That's not statistically accurate."
I ignore her and keep walking, not slowing down, not changing direction.
Josh pushes off the lockers as I get closer. "Madi."
I stop, but only because not stopping would be obvious.
"Yes?" I ask, turning just enough to look at him.
He studies me for a second, like he's trying to figure something out. "That video."
"That's not a sentence."
"You know what I mean."
"I do," I say. "I'm just choosing not to engage with it."
Jess shifts slightly beside me, close enough that I can feel her trying not to react.
Josh runs a hand through his hair. "So what was that?"
"A moment."
"That's not an explanation."
"It wasn't meant to be."
His jaw tightens slightly, something in his expression shifting from confusion to something more pointed. "You think this is funny?"
"I think you're taking it too seriously."
"That's easy for you to say."
"It usually is," I reply.
There's a pause. He looks at me like he's expecting something else—an explanation, maybe, or an apology I'm not planning on giving.
"You're acting different," he says finally.
I tilt my head. "Different from what?"
"From before."
"That tends to happen," I say lightly. "People change."
Jess makes a soft approving sound.
Josh exhales, clearly frustrated. "This isn't you."
"That's a bold claim."
"You don't even like hockey."
"That part hasn't changed," I admit.
"Then why him?"
I almost laugh.
Not because it's funny, but because it's so far off from what actually happened that explaining it would make it worse.
"Why not?" I say instead.
That lands harder than I expected.
His expression shifts again, something sharper this time, something closer to being bothered than confused.
Jess steps in before it can go anywhere else.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asks, voice sweet in a way that isn't actually sweet at all.
Josh glances at her. "We're talking."
"Were," she corrects. "Past tense."
He looks back at me. "We're not done."
I shrug slightly. "We are for now."
There's another pause, longer this time.
Then he nods once, like he's filing that away for later. "Fine."
"Great."
He steps back, giving us just enough space to walk past.
Jess waits until we're a few steps away before leaning in. "That was clean."
"I try."
"You almost smiled."
"I didn't."
"You thought about it."
I don't respond to that. Because she's not wrong.
We reach our next class, and for a second, it feels normal again. Just a classroom, a seat, something structured that doesn't involve being watched or questioned or turned into something else.
I sit down, pulling my phone out of my bag without thinking.
There are still notifications.
Still messages.
Still that video sitting there, waiting to be watched again.
I don't open it.
Instead, I lock my phone and slide it onto my desk, leaning back in my chair like none of this matters as much as everyone else thinks it does.
Jess glances at me from the seat next to mine. "You're doing the thing again."
"What thing?"
"The pretending."
I rest my chin in my hand, staring toward the front of the room.
"I'm not pretending," I say.
She raises an eyebrow.
I don't look at her.
Because the truth is—
I don't actually know if that's true.