42. Addy
Chapter forty-two
Addy
T he last of my pencils clatters into the metal case, echoing in the nearly empty classroom. I take my time sliding each book into my backpack, drawing out the seconds. Chess is out there, I know, with that half-cocked grin and the patience of a saint. He's been my self-appointed escort to the computer lab since... well, since things between us changed from just classmates to whatever tangled mess we're in now.
"Addy, you coming?" Mrs. Kline asks, her eyes kind but curious behind her glasses.
"Right behind you," I lie, watching as she nods and exits the room. The door swings shut with a soft click and I'm left in the silence—a precious commodity given how noise follows me like a shadow, both at home and in these halls.
The busy little bees haven't stopped all fucking morning.
I'm putting the rest of my things away, already picturing Chess leaning against the lockers with that unruly dark hair of his falling over his forehead. That look he gives me, like I'm the only constellation in his night sky, sparks a warmth that lingers long after his smile fades—it sends a thrill through me every damn time.
It's different from Saint, who looks at me like I'm a puzzle he's still solving, or Dre who looks at me like he wants to crack my bones and suck the marrow out.
I'm still annoyed with them for making me spectacle this morning. But now that I've had time to calm down, I understand why they did it. And I do appreciate it.
But then, laughter trickles in from the hallway, high-pitched and flirtatious. It grates on my nerves, the simpering tones of girls who think volume equals importance. I roll my eyes, ready to block them out, until a familiar name weaves through their cackles.
"Chess, you are so bad," one of them teases.
My movements stall, and I feel the prick of annoyance. Not at him—never at him—but at the situation, the expectation that I should care. But I do. I do dammit. But I shouldn't. It's not like Chess and I are exclusive. I'm not even sure what we are. We're... complicated.
With the others I never know where I stand. I doubt I'm more than a game to them. But, with Chess, I thought it had been real. Or, more real than anything I've ever had anyway.
I shove my textbooks into the backpack with more force than necessary, the zippers straining against the sudden onslaught of fury I can't quite keep at bay. Stupid, Addy, so stupid. My hands tremble, but no one's here to see it.
"Come on, spill. Who's better, me or Mandy?" another girl presses, and the irritation flares hotter in my chest.
With an exaggerated sigh, I lean back against the cool surface of the teacher's desk, arms crossed over my chest as if I can physically hold back the tide of emotion trying to break free. I don't need to look to see the picture they paint—him, the center of attention; them, hanging on his every word.
"How could I possibly choose?" Chess fires back, and despite myself, the anger I've been so good at pushing down all these years comes bubbling back to the surface. He knows I can hear him. He has to.
"Maybe we should let you try us side-by-side so you have what you need to make a decision," comes the simpered reply, followed by more laughter.
I gag.
I straighten up, slinging my bag higher onto my shoulder. Time to make an entrance, to pretend none of this reaches me, to be the Adelaide Winthrop everyone expects—untouchable, unbothered.
I take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs and freeze over the hot, searing pain of betrayal. There's a mask I've perfected over years—the icy facade that's kept me safe when nothing else could. It slides into place now, seamless and cold.
He doesn't get to see how much he's hurt me. He doesn't deserve that satisfaction.
The chatter picks up, the words curling around me like smoke, insidious and suffocating. One of the girls mentions a night with Chess, her voice sugary sweet with reminiscence. There's a hardness in my throat as I listen, a silent witness to the casual exchange.
"Chess always knows how to make a girl feel special," she purrs, each word a needle into the fabric of what I thought we had.
"Definitely top tier," giggles another. The sound is jarring, too bright, too sharp.
"Totally," agrees the first with an airy laugh that grates on my nerves. "Remember that time at Lila's party?"
My fingers tighten on the strap of my backpack, knuckles whitening. I can't help but eavesdrop, the masochist in me needing to hear, even as it carves away pieces of something delicate within.
"God, yes. We snuck off and—"
Backpack secured, I straighten up, ensuring every strand of blonde hair is in its rightful place, every inch of my posture screaming indifference. The classroom door feels heavier as I push it open, the weight of my pride making me stronger, or maybe just more stubborn.
My jaw clenches. I don't need the sordid details; the implication alone stings enough. My eyes flicker involuntarily towards Chess. He stands there with his signature smirk, that dark hair falling just so over his hazel eyes. But he doesn't shoo them away, doesn't end their trip down memory lane. Is it for my benefit? Or maybe for his own ego?
"Addy," he says suddenly, and I realize he's caught me lingering in the doorway. Chess's gaze catches mine, and there's something in his eyes—a flash of what? Shame? Regret? It's gone before I can decipher it
"Are you ready for lunch?" I manage to ask, keeping my voice light, indifferent.
"Ah, of course." Chess shrugs, a half-smile dancing on his lips, not reaching his eyes. "Let's head over."
"Come on, then,” I say, breaking the tension.
"Addy," he starts, but I'm already past him, nose wrinkled as if I've just stepped through something foul rather than merely glancing at a scene I wish I could unsee.
The hallway is cluttered with students, but they part like the Red Sea, creating a path for me to walk.
The click of my boots on the linoleum echoes louder than my pounding heart as I storm down the hallway. Behind me, Chess's voice cuts through the swell of chatter and locker slams, desperate to be heard over the noise.
"Addy, wait up! Let me explain—"
I don't slow down, not even when his hand brushes my arm. The girls trail after him like a string of giggling ducklings until he spins around, motions sharply for them to back off. They stop, their faces a mix of confusion and hurt vanity. Good.
"Please," he pleads, catching up and matching my brisk pace. "It's not what you think. Just let me explain."
I whirl on him, my green eyes flashing with a frost that could chill the warmest day. "There's nothing to explain. It's not like you're the only guy I'm hooking up with, Chess. It's really not a big deal." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but if it shields my wounded pride, so be it.
He flinches as if slapped. The sight should satisfy me, but it doesn't. He knows about Dre. He's watched me with Dre, shared me with Dre. But, that's not where his mind goes. Good. "Who else, Addy? Tell me."
His hazel eyes search mine, raw with something that looks suspiciously like pain. It almost cracks the ice encasing my heart. Almost.
"Does it matter?" I say coolly, arching an eyebrow. His mouth opens, then closes, silenced by the hard look I give him. He gets the message.
We continue walking, my guard up, his attempts at conversation stumbling into silence. We're both trapped in this turbulent sea of unspoken words and bruised feelings, but I'll drown before I let him see me flounder.
I'm not this person. With each step, I shed a layer of the hurt, replacing it with the cool detachment that's gotten me through worse than high school heartbreak. By the time I reach the door, I'm encased in ice once again.
The heavy door to the computer lab swings open with a low creak, breaking the silence that's settled between Chess and me. Inside, the hum of computers and the faint scent of antiseptic greet me. I make a beeline for my usual spot, where a neatly arranged lunch waits on the desk.
"Thank you," I direct at Saint, my voice steady despite the storm inside. No response comes, but then again, Saint is not one for many words—at least not to me. I settle into my chair and pull the sandwich from its wrapper, the rustle loud in the tense quiet.
"Addy, can we talk about this, please?" Chess's voice is tight, laced with a desperation that might have tugged at my heartstrings on any other day.
"Nothing to talk about," I say between bites, keeping my gaze fixed on the screen in front of me. The pixels blur into nothingness as I focus on the mundane task of chewing and swallowing, creating a rhythm to drown out the turmoil.
He exhales slowly, and I can almost hear his thoughts churning, searching for the right words to mend what's been broken. But the damage is done, and no amount of talking can piece it back together—not now.
"Okay," he says finally, his defeat nearly tangible in the air. He moves to his own station, the distance between us more than just physical.
I take another bite, the food tasteless, and keep my eyes on my screen, letting the silence settle over us like a shroud.