31 hallway echo
Walking into school feels familiar.
That's the problem.
The first time, it had been loud in a way that almost made it easier to deal with. People whispering, staring, asking questions like they didn't know what they were looking at yet.
Curiosity is manageable. Curiosity still leaves room for doubt. This... doesn't.
The second I step through the doors, it hits differently. Not louder, not more obvious, just... sharper. Like everyone already decided something over the weekend and I'm the last one to be informed.
I don't slow down.
That would make it worse.
Jess falls into step beside me, matching my pace like she always does, her presence automatic in the way only years of friendship can be. Riley isn't here-she's across town at her own school-but her absence is noticeable in a quiet, grounding way I didn't expect.
We make it about ten steps before it starts.
"Did you see-"
"That's her-"
"No, I'm telling you, it was-"
The voices aren't even trying to hide it.
That's new.
Jess exhales slowly, like she's holding herself back on purpose. "I'm giving myself exactly three minutes before I start saying things I shouldn't."
"Please don't," I say.
"I'm not promising anything."
We pass a group near the lockers, and one of the girls looks straight at me this time, not pretending to be subtle about it.
"So," she says, like we're in the middle of a conversation I didn't agree to, "was it actually like that or-"
Jess stops walking.
I don't.
"That's not your business," Jess says, voice sharp enough to cut through whatever tone the girl thought she had.
"I was just asking-"
"Don't."
There's a pause.
Then a quiet, "Okay," but not in a way that sounds like she's backing off, more like she's storing it for later.
Jess catches up to me a second later, her expression tight. "People are unbelievable."
"They're bored," I say.
"That doesn't excuse it."
"I didn't say it did."
We keep walking, but it doesn't stop. It just changes form. Less direct, more constant. Conversations that lower just enough when I pass. Phones angled slightly. Eyes that don't move away fast enough to pretend they weren't staring.
And the worst part isn't the attention.
It's the certainty.
No one's asking what happened anymore. They're deciding.
We reach my locker, and I open it like that's something to focus on, something normal. Jess leans against the one next to mine, still visibly holding herself back from saying something to the next person who looks at me wrong.
"I hate this," she mutters.
"It'll pass," I say.
"That's not the point."
"It kind of is."
Jess shakes her head. "No, the point is that they think they know everything now."
"They don't."
"That's not stopping them."
I close my locker, turning slightly toward her. "It's still the same situation."
Jess gives me a look. "It doesn't look like it."
"That doesn't change anything."
"It changes how people see it."
"That's their problem."
Jess doesn't answer right away.
Instead, she studies me for a second longer than usual. "You've talked to Riley today?"
"Not yet."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because she's probably dealing with the same thing over there," Jess says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the other school. "And she'll be calmer about it than I am."
"That's not a high bar."
"It's still true."
I pull my phone out, more out of habit than anything else, and unlock it.
There are already notifications.
Group chat included.
I huff out a small breath despite myself.
I lock my phone again before Jess can escalate digitally too.
"See," she says, like she knows exactly what Riley said without even reading it, "she's being reasonable. I don't like it."
"You don't like anything right now."
"Correct."
We start walking again, heading toward class, the hallway still buzzing around us in that same low, constant way.
A guy I vaguely recognize steps into my path just enough to slow me down.
"Hey," he says, like we're familiar. "So you and that hockey guy-"
"No," I say, not stopping.
He blinks, thrown off just enough for me to walk past without him finishing the sentence.
Jess looks impressed. "That was efficient."
"I'm not doing this all day."
"You will be," she says.
"I won't."
"You will," she repeats, softer this time.
We reach the classroom, and I take my seat like everything's normal.
It's not.
I can feel it in the way people look at me when they think I'm not paying attention. In the way conversations pick up the second I look away. In the way the photo-
the moment-
isn't just something that happened anymore. It's something everyone thinks they understand.
And the worst part-
the part I don't say out loud-
is that they're not reacting to something that looks fake.
They're reacting to something that doesn't.
I rest my chin lightly against my hand, staring at nothing in particular as the noise settles into the background.
"This doesn't change anything," I tell myself.
The words sound the same.
They just don't feel like it anymore.