10 wrong crowd
By lunchtime, I've developed a system.
It's not a good system, and it's definitely not sustainable, but it works well enough to get me from one class to another without having to explain myself to every person who suddenly thinks we're close enough for them to ask about my life choices.
Step one: keep moving.
Step two: don't make eye contact.
Step three: if someone says "so about that video," immediately become unavailable as a person.
Jess, unfortunately, refuses to cooperate with any of this.
"You can't keep pretending you're invisible," she says as we walk toward the cafeteria, matching my pace like she's personally responsible for making sure I don't disappear into a wall.
"I'm not pretending I'm invisible," I reply, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. "I'm just not participating."
"That's literally the same thing."
"It's not," I say. "One is avoidance. The other is strategy."
She glances at me. "You're avoiding strategically."
"I'm glad you understand."
Jess exhales, but she's smiling, which means she's enjoying this more than she should. "You've had at least five people try to talk to you today."
"And I've successfully avoided all five," I point out. "That's efficiency."
"That's denial."
"That's peace."
We turn the corner into the main hallway near the cafeteria, and the noise shifts in a way that's hard to explain unless you're the reason for it. Conversations don't stop completely, but they soften, like people are trying not to be obvious while also very much being obvious.
I don't look around.
I don't need to.
Jess nudges me lightly. "Okay, but this is a little intense."
"I'm choosing not to notice."
"That's not how noticing works."
"It is if I commit to it."
She shakes her head, but doesn't argue, which is rare enough that I almost appreciate it.
Almost.
We make it halfway down the hall before I see him.
Josh is standing by the lockers, not leaning like he usually does, not pretending he just happens to be there. He's actually watching the hallway, scanning faces in a way that makes it very clear he's waiting for someone.
For me.
Jess notices at the exact same time. "Oh."
"I've got it," I say quietly, slowing just enough that I don't walk straight into him.
"You said that last time."
"And it worked."
"You avoided him last time."
"Which still counts as working."
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets me go anyway, hovering just behind me like she's ready to step in if necessary.
Josh straightens as I get closer. "Madi."
"Josh."
There's a brief pause, just long enough for me to notice that he looks different.
Not dramatically different, not in a way anyone else would probably pick up on, but enough that I do. The usual confidence is still there, but it's quieter, less performative.
"Can we talk?" he asks.
"We're already talking," I reply, keeping my tone even.
"You know what I mean."
"I do," I say. "I'm just choosing to ignore it."
He exhales, running a hand through his hair like he's trying to reset the conversation before it even starts. "Can we talk alone?"
I glance at Jess for a second, then back at him. "That's not necessary."
"It is if you actually want to hear me."
"That depends on what you're planning to say."
There's a moment where it looks like he might push harder, but then he doesn't. He just nods slightly, like he's adjusting his expectations.
"Fine," he says. "Then we'll do this here."
Jess shifts a little closer, not interrupting, but very clearly present.
Josh looks at me again, and this time there's less hesitation in it.
"You've been acting different," he says.
"That's what people keep telling me today," I reply. "It's becoming a theme."
"Because it's true."
"Or," I counter, "people just don't like when things change."
"This isn't just change," he says. "This is... whatever this is."
He gestures vaguely, like the situation is too ridiculous to describe properly.
"That's not very specific."
"You kissed a guy from another team in front of everyone," he says. "That's not normal."
"I've never claimed to be normal."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point."
He hesitates for a second, then looks at me like he's trying to decide how honest to be.
"The point is that's not you."
I tilt my head slightly. "You're very confident about that."
"I know you."
"That's debatable."
"I dated you," he says.
"That's also past tense."
His jaw tightens just enough that I notice.
"That doesn't mean I don't know how you think."
"That assumes I think the same way I did then," I reply.
"You don't just randomly do something like that," he says. "There's a reason."
"Everything has a reason."
"Then what's yours?"
I could tell him.
I could explain the jersey, the game, the moment, the fact that none of it had anything to do with him and everything to do with me not wanting to feel like I was the one left behind.
Instead, I shrug slightly. "I wanted to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
He studies me for a second, like he's trying to figure out where the line is between what I'm saying and what I'm not.
"You're doing this for attention," he says finally.
I let out a quiet breath, more amused than anything else. "That's a convenient conclusion."
"It makes more sense than you suddenly caring about hockey."
"I don't care about hockey."
"Exactly."
There's a flicker of something in his expression, like he thinks he's proving a point.
"You're reacting," he continues. "You're trying to prove something."
"To who?"
"To me."
That lands differently than I expect it to.
Not because it's right, but because it's so confidently wrong that it almost throws me off balance.
"I'm not doing anything for you," I say, quieter now.
"You didn't used to be like this," he says again.
"Maybe I just didn't show it," I reply.
"That's not fair."
"Neither is assuming you know everything about me," I say.
There's a pause. And for a second, it feels like it used to.
Not in a big, overwhelming way, just in that familiar, easy tension where neither of us is really arguing, we're just... talking.
I don't hate it.
Which is the problem.
Because it would be easier if I did.
Josh looks at me like he's about to say something else, something that might actually matter, something that could shift this in a direction I'm not sure I want it to go.
And for a second-
I almost let it.
"Isn't your girlfriend waiting for you somewhere else?"
Jess's voice cuts in cleanly, sharp enough to break whatever that moment was before it has a chance to settle.
Josh looks over at her, caught off guard.
Jess steps forward slightly, her expression calm in a way that isn't actually calm at all.
"Or are we just recycling bad decisions now?" she adds.
There's no hesitation in it.
No room for interpretation.
Josh's attention shifts between us, something in his expression tightening as the tone of the conversation changes completely.
"That's not what this is," he says.
"It looks like it," Jess replies.
"I'm talking to her."
"You were," she corrects. "Past tense."
I don't interrupt.
I don't step in.
Because she's not wrong.
Because whatever that was-it's gone now.
Josh looks back at me, like he's waiting for me to say something, to disagree, to keep it going.
I don't.
"I'll see you around," he says after a moment.
"Probably," I reply.
He nods once, then steps back, letting us pass without another word.
Jess waits until we're far enough away before exhaling.
"You were about to forgive him," she says.
"I was not."
"You were considering it."
"I was listening," I correct.
"That's worse."
I glance at her. "You didn't have to step in."
"Yes, I did."
"No, you didn't."
She raises an eyebrow. "You forgot."
"Forgot what?"
She looks at me like it should be obvious. "You have a boyfriend now."
I let out a quiet laugh. "That's not real."
"It is to everyone else," she says.
That lands in a way I don't expect.
I adjust my bag on my shoulder as we walk into the cafeteria, the noise swallowing us back up like nothing just happened.
"Right," I say.
Jess nods once. "Right."
I don't look back. Because I don't need to.
Because whether I meant to or not-
I've already moved on.