Chapter 6
6
BEVERLY, 1995
13 years old
I wish I could say that after that conversation, things took a turn for the better—that Blake had an epiphany, snapped out of whatever was going on in his mind, and realized how ridiculous he was being. That he grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, “B, I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot. Let’s go back to normal.”
But he didn’t.
If anything, it got worse.
In the beginning, I was angry. Furious, even. My mind replayed our conversation on a loop, over and over again, desperately searching for any sign of where I might have gone wrong, why he couldn’t just talk to me. But no matter how many times I replayed it, I couldn’t come up with an answer.
Time didn’t stop for heartbreak; it just moved.
Weeks stretched into months, and eventually I gave up trying to reach out. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was tired of being the only one who did.
The days blurred together, one after another, until weeks turned into months once more, with the same monotony repeating itself like an endless loop: classes, homework, dance practice—repeat.
I went through the motions each day, trying to keep busy and distract myself from the emptiness I felt. I couldn’t help still waiting for a knock at the door that would never come. I still found myself looking for him in the halls, my heart leaping when I saw him, only to sink in disappointment when I realized he was too busy laughing with Jamal to even glance in my direction.
It wasn’t just the fact that he was drifting away from me—it was that I didn’t know how to catch up. He had skipped a grade, after all, because the teachers said he was “too advanced”.
Now, he was in Jamal’s grade, a year ahead of me, and it felt like he was moving further away, slipping into a world where Jamal and the others had his attention. And I lived in the space between his footsteps and the echo they left behind.
At home, Blake stayed buried in his books, his notebooks filled with scribbles of Arabic. I could tell he wasn’t learning Arabic for any formal reason, nor was it for anyone else’s approval. It was something personal—a connection to a world that fascinated him. The words weren’t mere letters on a page; they were keys to unlocking a culture, a history, a way of thinking that had always eluded him.
Sometimes Jamal would come over, and I’d hear their laughter floating up from the kitchen as they practiced pronunciation. It was weird, seeing Jamal in our house, hearing Blake laugh at something he said while I sat in my room pretending I wasn’t dying to know what was so funny.
I liked Jamal, though.
He always brought over the most mouthwatering dishes, the kind that made my stomach growl in appreciation even before I knew what was on the plate.There was always something new: falafel, shawarma, hummus… But as much as I appreciated his offerings, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was replacing me.
I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn’t. Because, if I were honest with myself, it wasn’t really Jamal I was mad at.
It was Blake.
Sure, I could’ve joined them at any point. I could’ve sat beside them and made a joke about Blake’s awful pronunciation.
But I didn’t. Because he didn’t want me to. Somewhere along the line, he had made it clear that Jamal was his priority now.
So I kept dancing.
Every day after school, I did my homework and then went to the studio, throwing myself into routines until my muscles burned, until sweat dripped down my back, until the ache in my chest became easier to ignore, and I was too exhausted to think about the way he used to just be with me.
And just like that, time moved.
Before I even realized how much time had passed, it was the end of the year—the last day of class before winter break. The class was buzzing with excitement, everyone eager to escape for two weeks of freedom.
And that’s when it happened.
At first, I didn’t even realize what was going on. It started with a dull ache in my lower stomach during third period. Annoying, but manageable. I ignored it, focused on the teacher’s voice, and told myself it was nothing.
By lunch, it wasn’t nothing anymore.
The ache had turned into a deep, twisting, clawing pain that made it hard to sit still. I could barely focus on the food in front of me, my thoughts consumed by the pain that rolled through me in waves, tightening and pulling, like someone had reached inside me and was wringing my insides out.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my arms crossed over my stomach as I fought the urge to curl into myself.
“Hey, you okay?” Tiffany’s voice cut through the fog of discomfort. She was sitting across from me, her eyes narrowing as she leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Bev?”
I tried to wave her off with a half-hearted smile, but the pain was too much. “Just a stomachache,” I muttered, though even to me it didn’t sound convincing.
Tiffany raised a thin, freshly plucked eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Are you sure? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I was so distracted by the pain, I almost missed it. The way Blake’s eyes flicked toward me from across the cafeteria. The way his brows furrowed, his grip on his book tightening.
I would’ve been annoyed at the fact that he was suddenly paying attention after months of pretending I was invisible, but I was too focused on trying not to die.
Then the bell rang. I stood up.
That’s when I felt it.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
“Uh, Beverly—” Tiffany started, staring at me with wide eyes, her expression a mix of shock and something else I couldn’t place. “You…”
Confused, I shifted my weight, but then I paused, my stomach flipping as a strange, sticky sensation settled between my legs. Something was?—
Blake appeared so fast beside me I barely had time to react. I didn’t even see him move. One second, I was standing, dazed, and the next, his hand was wrapping tight around my wrist.
“Bathroom, B. Now.”
I blinked up at him, still confused. “Huh?”
His grip tightened, and his voice dropped. “You’re bleeding, Beverly.”
I stared at him, my mouth going dry.
“What?” My voice came out thin, barely more than a whisper.
My brain was running on empty, trying to process the word “bleeding,” and the context in which Blake was using it.
My mind was completely refusing to put the pieces together.
Blake didn’t wait for me to understand.
Before I could argue, he was moving, tugging me through the hallway, weaving through students like he couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. I stumbled after him, still trying to process.
Bleeding?
What did he mean? Where ? How?—
My stomach flipped as panic set in.
A clammy sweat broke out across my skin.
“We’ll take care of it,” Blake said, glancing back to make sure I was following. “Just breathe.”
Breathing was impossible.
No, no, no, no, this was not happening?—
My face went hot as the realization sank in.
My first period. In the middle of lunch. In front of everyone .
We stopped abruptly in front of the girls’ bathroom, and Blake shoved me inside so fast I almost tripped.
“Check,” he ordered, nodding toward the stalls. “Now.”
I froze. No, seriously, I couldn’t move. My legs felt like they were made of stone. I wasn’t even sure if I could breathe, let alone walk into a stall and confirm the disaster that had just occurred.
Seconds stretched into eternity. I stood there with my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Blake exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his blond hair. “Beverly.”
“I—” I couldn’t even form words. My lips trembled as I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing coherent came out.
I swallowed hard, still not moving.
With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed a handful of paper towels from the sink and thrust them at me. “Beverly,” he said again, more gently this time. “It’s okay. Just go check.”
I snatched them out of his hand, too mortified to even look at him, and darted into the nearest stall, locking the door behind me.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the graffiti on the door as if it held the secret to my survival. It didn’t. But it was a nice distraction.
Finally, I sucked in a breath and forced myself to look down.
Blood . Everywhere.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut as my whole body flushed with humiliation. Oh. God.
This was actually happening.
I bit into my palm to keep from crying out. My first ever period, and Blake had to be the one to notice. I was going to die. Right here. Right now. On this disgusting bathroom floor.
“B?” His voice was lower now, softer. “You good?”
“ Kill me .” I pressed my forehead against the stall door, groaning. “Kill me now .”
“Not an option,” he replied without missing a beat.
I groaned louder, covering my face with my hands.
From the other side of the door, I heard a quiet chuckle.
“There are worse things,” he said.
“Name one.”
There was a pause, and I could practically hear him thinking. “Do you need?—?”
“No,” I cut him off immediately, peeking through my fingers in horror. “Do not finish that sentence.”
Another chuckle. “Right.”
I forced myself to breathe, trying to calm down.
This was fine. I could handle this. I just needed to?—
I didn’t have anything to handle this.
Oh. God.
“Blake?”
“Yeah?”
“I… I don’t have anything.”
Silence.
Then, “I’ll figure it out.”
“How?” I asked, my voice rising in panic.
“Let me handle it.”
“Blake…” I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. “This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. Ever.”
“It’s not embarrassing.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s literally a biological function.”
“You’re a biological function ,” I shot back.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Shut up .”
He laughed, and for the first time in months, it felt like things were back to how they used to be between us. Maybe that should’ve pissed me off. Maybe I should’ve been mad that this was the thing that finally got him to talk to me again.
But I was too busy dying to care.
He was still laughing as I heard him walking toward the door. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
The door swung shut behind him, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. I stayed in the stall, forehead pressed against the door, while Blake figured things out.
I had no idea what that meant.
I didn’twantto know.
Minutes dragged by like hours. My brain was still catching up, reelingfrom the fact that this was actually happening. That Blake had noticed before I did. That he was out there, right now, probably pacing like an idiot, while I stood here trying not to die of humiliation.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Blake’s voice drifted in. “Got ‘em.”
I lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “Define ‘got ‘em.’”
“Some girl had extras in her locker,” he said, sounding way tooproudof himself. “She didn’t ask questions.”
Kill me now.
“Just—” I exhaled sharply, willing my dignity to stay intact. “Slide them under.”
A second later, a hand appeared under the stall door with a small pack of pads. I grabbed them, feeling my entire soul leave my body.“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I ripped open the pack with way too much force. “Yeah, I do.”
Blake justlaughed. Laughed . Unbelievable.
I didn’t know why I was surprised at this point.
“Take your time,” he said, as if he wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by any of this. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Right here ? Oh, perfect. Because that wasn’t mortifying at all.
“Go away,” I replied, my voice echoing in the cramped bathroom stall. “Seriously. Just leave.”
“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’.He sounded maddeningly cheerful. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t crawl out the window in embarrassment.”
I glared at the stall door, wishing I could set him on fire with sheer willpower. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he huffed.
I finished what I had to do, stuffed the crinkly package into the back pocket of my jeans, and tried to summon whatever shreds of pride I had left.
The truth was, I was stalling. Not because I needed more time, but because I had no idea how to face him. Blake had been ignoring me for months, barely sparing me a glance, but the moment I needed him—really needed him—he was there. Without hesitation.
And that just made me more confused.
Once I’d composed myself, I opened the stall door.
And nearly died on the spot.
Blake stood there, his hoodie now missing, bare chest on full display. My brain short-circuited for a solid five seconds. His jeans hung low on his hips, and under the harsh fluorescent lighting, his skin was smooth in a way that was frankly unfair.
My eyes widened as I stared at him, words failing me completely.
“What— what are you doing?” I managed to choke out.
He raised an eyebrow as if it was obvious, his hoodie dangling from one hand. “Well, you’ve got a pad now, but you don’t have fresh jeans.” He held up the hoodie, eyes softening. “I don’t have a spare in my locker, so you’ll have to take this.”
Before I could argue, he crouched slightly and wrapped it around my waist, knotting the sleeves in front. His fingers brushed my hip and lingered for a moment, and my heart did something that made it increasingly hard to breathe—something deeply inconvenient.
I blinked up at him, my throat suddenly dry. “You can’t walk around like that. You can’t walk through school half-naked .”
“I’m heading home,” he said, unfazed, taking a step back. “And so are you. Let’s go.”
But I didn’t move.
I just stared at him, hoodie tied around my waist, heart racing for all the wrong reasons. All the emotions from the past few months clawed their way to the surface. He had spent weeks pretending I didn’t exist, leaving me to wonder what I’d done wrong, and now, just like that, he was acting like things were fine? Like we were fine? No .
I folded my arms, my voice sharp. “So, that’s it?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You ignore me for months, and now that you’ve played hero, everything just goes back to normal?”
He exhaled, shifting on his feet. “We should?—”
“No.” I shook my head, stepping closer. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you care when it’s convenient for you.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if he were holding something back.“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” My voice cracked, and I hated how desperate I sounded. “Because I spent months trying to talk to you, trying to figure out what I did wrong, and you just shut me out. Like I didn’t matter.”
He looked away, his hands balling loosely into fists at his sides. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” I demanded.
Silence.
That was all I got. Again .
Nothing except for the sound of my own breathing, heavy and ragged, filled the air between us. He was my shadow after all—never far enough to disappear but too close to breathe freely.
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, the sting of hurt I’d buried deep inside bubbling to the surface. “You know what? Forget it.”
I turned toward the door, pushing past him.
“Bev—”
I spun back around before I even realized what I was doing, my heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. “ No .”
Something flickered in his expression—something pained, something almost guilty—but I wasn’t going to let myself believe it. Because if he really cared, he wouldn’t have let me feel alone for all these months.
And the worst part?
Even now, after all of it, I still wanted him to stop me.
But he didn’t.