32 wrong again
By Wednesday, the attention hasn't died down.
It's changed.
Monday had been loud in that overwhelming, everywhere-at-once kind of way. Tuesday had settled into something quieter, more controlled, like people were getting used to the idea of me being part of whatever story they'd built over the weekend.
Wednesday feels sharper, more intentional. Less curiosity, more opinion.
I'm at my locker when I feel it before I see it.
That shift in the air. The kind that used to mean something different when it came from him.
Now it just feels-
annoying.
I don't turn around right away. I finish what I'm doing, close the locker, and only then look over my shoulder.
Josh is already there, closer than I would've liked.
He doesn't look like he used to. Not relaxed, not confident in that easy, practiced way.
He looks irritated.
Good.
"Can we talk," he says.
It's not really a question.
"No."
I step past him.
He moves with me, not blocking me, just staying there in a way that forces the conversation whether I want it or not. "Madi."
The tone is different too. Less smooth, more... controlled anger.
I stop. Not because I want to. Because I'd rather end it now than have him follow me down the hallway like this is some kind of performance.
"What?"
He studies me for a second like he's trying to figure out where the version of me he recognizes went.
"You're really doing this," he says.
I lean back slightly against the lockers, arms crossing without thinking. "Doing what?"
"This whole thing," he says, sharper now. "Dragging it out. Making a show out of it."
"You're going to have to try harder than that."
His jaw tightens.
"You and Caiden Jackson," he says, the name landing with obvious irritation. "Seriously?"
There it is.
Not just annoyed, not just frustrated.
He hates him.
I don't react to the name. "Yes. I am aware of who I'm seeing."
A couple people nearby go quiet. Not enough to make it obvious, just enough to make it clear they're listening.
"Of course you are," Josh says, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "The captain. The whole 'perfect guy' thing. That's convenient."
"Convenient for what?"
"For this," he gestures vaguely. "All of it. The posts, the attention, the-"
"Say it," I cut in, my tone even.
He doesn't hesitate this time. "The act."
The word lands wrong. Not because of what he means. Because of how close it is to everything else.
The rumors.
The whispers.
The assumptions.
I don't let that show.
"It's called moving on," I say.
"That's not moving on," he snaps. "That's you jumping straight into something bigger so everyone looks at you."
I tilt my head slightly. "You think I need help with that?"
"I think you like it."
That one-
almost-
lands.
"I don't do anything for you to have an opinion on anymore," I reply.
"You're not doing it for me," he says immediately. "You're doing it for them. For attention. For whatever this is supposed to prove."
"I'm not proving anything."
"Then why him?"
That question comes out different. Quieter, more personal, like it matters more than he meant it to.
I hold his gaze.
"Because I wanted to," I say simply.
He scoffs. "Right. You just randomly pick Caiden Jackson."
"Yes."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe."
That lands harder than anything else.
I can see it.
Good.
"You don't even know him," Josh continues, pushing now. "You think he's different? He's exactly what you think he is. Hockey, attention, reputation-"
"Stop."
That comes out sharp, clean and final.
He does.
Barely.
"You don't get to talk about him like you know anything," I say, my voice steady in a way that feels deliberate. "And you definitely don't get to talk about me like you do."
"I know you," he says.
"You knew me."
The correction sits between us. Heavy and unavoidable.
"I'm not rewriting anything," he says, quieter now, but still edged. "I'm just saying you don't have to do all this to get people to look at you."
There it is again.
The same sentence, different version, same meaning.
And it hits-
not because it's true-
because it sounds like everything else I've been hearing all week.
I don't let that show.
"I'm not doing anything for attention."
"Then what is it?" he presses.
I hold his gaze. For a second, something old tries to surface. Then it doesn't.
"It's none of your business."
I push off the lockers, stepping past him. He turns slightly, not following, but not letting it go either.
"You're using him," he says, not loud, but not quiet enough to miss. "And he's too full of himself to even notice."
I stop, just for a second, then turn back.
"I'm not using anyone," I say. "And even if I was, it still wouldn't involve you."
That ends it. Not dramatically, not loudly, just... done.
Jess is at my side immediately, like she's been waiting for exactly that moment to step in.
"I had a whole speech ready," she says under her breath, glancing back at him once. "Very dramatic. Slightly illegal."
"I believe you."
"You handled that," she adds, like she's impressed despite herself.
"I handled it."
"That was better than handled."
I don't answer.
Because now that it's over-
now that he's not standing there anymore-
the adrenaline fades.
And something else settles in its place.
Jess glances at me. "You good?"
"Yes."
She doesn't believe me.
Of course she doesn't.
"I mean it," I add.
"I know you do."
We walk in silence for a few seconds.
Then-
"He's wrong," Jess says, quieter now. "About all of it."
"I know."
"Good."
I nod once. Because I do know. I know I'm not doing this for attention. I know I'm not being pulled into something I don't understand. I know I'm not the version of me he keeps trying to drag back.
All of that is clear.
What isn't-
is why what he said still echoes anyway.
Not because it's true. Because it sounds too similar to everything else. And that-
I don't say out loud, but I feel it.
As we turn down the hallway, the noise of the school rising around us again, nothing looking different even though something definitely shifted.
Josh doesn't matter anymore.
That part is done.
But the way he said Caiden's name-
the way it wasn't just annoyed, but something closer to threatened-
lingers for a second longer than I expect.
And I don't let that show either, I just keep walking, like none of it got under my skin at all.
Even though-
just a little-
it did.