35 louder voices
It hits before I even open my eyes.
Not sound-just the feeling of it, like something shifted overnight and my brain already knows it's going to be worse.
My phone is on my nightstand, screen lighting up every few seconds, notifications stacking faster than I can keep track of. I don't touch it right away. I just lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that whatever's on there doesn't actually matter.
It worked, before.
At least a little.
It doesn't work now.
I reach for it anyway.
Of course I do.
The photo is still the first thing I see.
That same angle. That same moment. Me and Caiden in his car, too close, too real, frozen in a way that feels almost invasive now that it doesn't belong to us anymore.
I don't linger on it. I scroll.
And that's where it gets worse. Because the comments aren't just curious anymore. They're not even pretending to be.
They've turned into something sharper, colder, certain.
I keep scrolling, even though my chest tightens a little more with every line.
My jaw sets. Still-
I don't stop.
And then-
The ones that don't even bother dressing it up.
I pause there. Not because it's the worst one. Because it's the one with the most likes.
I stare at it for a second too long, like there's something I'm supposed to figure out from it.
There isn't. There's just... that word.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I lock my phone, a little harder than necessary, and sit there with it in my hand, my reflection faintly staring back at me from the black screen.
It shouldn't get to me.
It's just people, just comments, just... noise. But it doesn't feel like noise anymore.
It feels like something that sticks.
?
By the time I get to school, it's already everywhere in a way that feels... settled, like people aren't reacting anymore.
They've already decided.
The hallway shifts when I walk in-not dramatically, not obviously-but enough. Enough that I notice the way conversations pause just slightly, the way eyes follow a second longer than they should.
No one's subtle anymore.
"She's here."
"That's the girl."
"I told you she was like that."
I keep walking. I don't look, I don't react. Because reacting would make it real in a way I'm not ready for.
At my locker, it gets worse. Not louder, but closer.
Two girls a few lockers down aren't even trying to hide it.
"I'm sorry, but if you move on that fast, what does that say about you?"
"It says she was waiting for a better option."
A quiet laugh.
"Or any option."
Something in my chest tightens, sharp and sudden, but I keep my hands steady as I open my locker, like I didn't hear a single word.
Jess appears beside me a second later, her energy immediate and volatile, like she walked in already ready to fight someone.
"I swear to-" she starts, then cuts herself off when she looks at me properly. Her voice drops. "Okay. No. This is not happening."
"It's fine."
The words come out too easily, too rehearsed.
Jess's expression hardens. "No, it's not. They're literally-"
"I know what they're doing."
"And you're just going to let them?"
I close my locker slowly, leaning against it, forcing my shoulders to stay relaxed. "Yes."
Because what else is there to do?
Prove them wrong?
Explain myself?
That would just make it worse.
Jess watches me like she's trying to decide whether to argue or protect. She chooses both.
"Say the word," she mutters. "I will ruin someone's reputation so fast."
Despite everything, a quiet breath of amusement slips out of me. "I'll keep that in mind."
?
By second period, it's not whispers anymore.
It's commentary.
"She's literally using him."
"I give it two weeks before he drops her."
"Honestly, I don't even blame him. She's... a lot."
There's a pause. Then, quieter-but not quiet enough-
"She looks like the type who'd do anything to stay relevant."
That one lands differently, like it doesn't bounce off the surface the way the others do, like it sinks.
I keep my eyes on my notebook, pen moving across the page in neat lines that don't mean anything.
Because if I stop-
if I look-
then they'll know it's working.
?
Lunch is worse in a way that feels almost predictable. Groups make people braver, crueler.
Jess drops into the seat across from me with enough force to make the table shake slightly, her expression tight with barely contained anger.
"I hate everyone here," she mutters.
"That's a strong stance."
"I stand by it."
Riley isn't here.
She's at her own school, probably already hearing about this from the other side of things, from Caiden's world instead of mine.
For a second, I wonder what it looks like over there. If it's different. If it's just as bad.
I don't dwell on it.
Jess is still watching me.
"You saw the comments," she says.
It's not a question.
I shrug, picking at my food without really looking at it. "People get bored."
"That's not boredom, Madi. That's-" she cuts herself off, jaw tightening. "That's targeted."
"Same difference."
"It's not."
I don't answer. Because arguing would mean admitting she's right. And if she's right, then-
this matters more than I want it to.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down without thinking.
Caiden.
Just his name.
No hesitation, no mystery-just something about seeing it there that makes my chest shift in a way I don't have a name for.
That's it.
No joke, no attitude, no performance. Just... that.
For a second, I stare at the message longer than I should, like there's something hidden inside it I'm supposed to figure out.
There isn't.
It's simple. Which somehow makes it worse.
I could answer.
I could say yes and leave it there.
I could say no and watch what he does with that.
Instead, I lock my phone and set it face down on the table, like that somehow solves anything.
Because I am okay.
Or at least-
I'm doing a good enough job pretending.