Chapter 4 #2
I make it to first period with seconds to spare. The bell rings just as I slide into my seat, breath still short from running across the quad. Mrs. Harlow barely glances at me before turning to the class.
“Group projects,” she says. “Partners are assigned. One week.”
She starts reading names from a clipboard. When she says, “Penelope MacHale and Catherine O’Farrell,” I look up to find a girl already standing beside my desk.
She looks like someone who has never once worried about being too much.
Blonde hair twisted into a faux mohawk with streaks of teal cutting through it like lightning. Eyeliner sharp enough to slice glass. The Edgewood uniform altered just enough to follow the letter of the dress code while completely ignoring the spirit of it.
She’s smiling like we’ve known each other for years.
“Penelope,” she says cheerfully. “But call me Penny or I’ll assume you’re my mother.”
“Catherine,” I say. Then, after a beat, “Cat.”
My eyes drift to the teal streaks in her hair. “That color is incredible.”
She touches it automatically. “Three rounds of bleach and a prayer. The administration tried to suspend me, but technically there’s no rule against teal, so here we are.”
We move to the back tables with our assignment sheets and for the first time since arriving at Edgewood, something inside my chest shifts.
Not the pressure—that’s still there, humming quietly under my ribs.
But the isolation. The feeling of being the only person in the building who exists outside the script.
Penny definitely lives outside the script.
“I dyed mine for a concert,” I say, tugging lightly at a strand of my wine-dark hair. “Ashes of the Kings.”
Her entire body lights up. “You’re kidding.”
She grabs my forearm instinctively—my left forearm. The one with the bandage under my sleeve. I flinch before I can stop myself. The movement is small, but it’s there. If she notices, she doesn’t react.
“You listen to Ashes?” she says excitedly. “I’ve seen them four times. Every Massachusetts show since I was fifteen.”
“Same,” I say. “I thought I was the only person in this school who—”
“You are,” she interrupts. “Everyone else here listens to whatever Spotify tells them to and has the emotional depth of a puddle.” She drops into the chair beside me and flips open the assignment sheet.
“Okay. First: this project. Second—and far more important—what the actual fuck are you doing with Jonathan Pennington?”
I blink. “He’s… nice?”
“My dead grandmother was nice,” Penny says solemnly. “Rest her soul. Try again.”
A laugh escapes me. A real laugh. Not practiced. Not rehearsed. It surprises me enough that I nearly choke on it.
“Our families are close,” I say. “The Penningtons helped with the move. It kind of… happened.”
“So it’s an arranged marriage.”
“It is not—”
“Does he make you happy?” she interrupts. “Does he make your heart do the thing?”
I open my mouth. Then close it.
Penny points at me triumphantly. “That. That right there. That silence. That’s your answer, Cat.”
Before I can respond, a shadow falls over the table. Jonathan. He’s late to class. His blazer is crooked. His hair slightly out of place. His expression tight as he looks between Penny and me.
“Catherine,” he says sharply. “What are you doing with Penny?”
“Group project,” I say. “She’s my partner.”
Penny doesn’t look up from the paper. “So what are you doing this weekend, Cat?” she says casually. “We should hang out. I’ll introduce you to some people who aren’t terrible. We can go to the lacrosse game. I hear the opposing team’s goalie is gorgeous.”
Jon’s hand lands on my shoulder. Heavy. Deliberate. “She won’t be going to the game.”
Penny slowly looks up. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Jon’s fingers tighten. The pressure travels down my arm, straight to my wrist where the fresh cut pulses under its bandage. Something in my body goes still.
Old. Familiar. The instinct to freeze.
“Catherine,” he says quietly. “You’re walking a very fine line right now. I suggest you rethink your choices.”
“I’d love to come,” I say to Penny.
My voice stays steady. My shoulder burns under Jon’s hand.
“My mom’s release party is Sunday. You should come to that too.”
Penny grins. “Done. It’s a date.”
Jon’s hand slides from my shoulder to my arm. He leans down, breath hot against my ear. “Fine line, Catherine. I swear to God, if you go to that game—”
A hand closes around his wrist and removes it. Not violently. Precisely. Like removing a splinter.
Isaac.
Iz stands behind him, completely still. “What are you going to do, Pennington?” he says mildly. “Finish the sentence. I’d love to hear the rest.”
Jon jerks his wrist, trying to pull free. Iz holds it for exactly one second longer. Then releases.
“This is none of your business, Isaac.”
“You putting your hands on a girl who clearly wants you to stop is everyone’s business.”
Iz’s voice is quiet. Almost gentle. Which somehow makes it far more threatening.
“For someone who talks about consent as much as you do, you don’t seem to understand the concept.”
Jon glances between us, calculating. Audience versus consequences. He straightens his blazer. Turns to me.
“We’ll talk about this later.”
He leaves. The classroom door shuts behind him and the air seems to decompress all at once. Iz pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slides it across the table toward me.
A name. A phone number.
“Anytime,” he says simply. “Don’t care what time it is. Don’t care how small it seems. You call.”
Then he walks away and drops into a desk across the room, leaning back like he intends to nap through the rest of class.
Penny watches me carefully. Her grin has softened. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
She squeezes my hand under the table. Quick. Real.
“But that’s okay,” she says. “We’re going to have a good weekend, Cat. I promise.”
For a brief moment the pressure behind my ribs eases. Not gone. Just lighter. Because someone is holding on.
After class I head to my locker and see that Kaiden is leaning against it. Arms crossed. Watching the hallway like it belongs to him.
I don’t slow down. I stop directly in front of him. “You’re in my way.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Seems to be a pattern.”
“Move, Kaiden.”
He straightens slowly. All six feet of him unfolding from the locker like something dangerous stretching awake.
“We should probably talk about the hierarchy at this school, Catherine,” he says lazily. “You’ve been here less than a week and you’re already making choices that—”
“That what?” I interrupt. “Annoy you?”
I step closer. Not because I’m intimidating. Because I want him to see my face.
“You want me to be afraid of you,” I say quietly. “I can see it. You’re used to people being afraid, and it bothers you that I’m not.”
His jaw tightens. Something flickers behind his eyes.
“You should be.”
“I’ve been afraid of things you can’t imagine, Kaiden.”
My voice stays calm. “You don’t even register.”
The hallway is nearly empty. We’re close enough that I can see the stitching on the Edgewood crest on his blazer. Close enough to smell the dark, woody scent of his cologne.
He doesn’t move. Just looks at me.Hard. Intense. Like he’s trying to see past my skin.
I reach past him, open my locker, and pull out my books. When I close the door our eyes meet again.
“Try me,” I say softly.
Not a challenge. A statement. Then I walk away.
My wrist throbs under the bandage. My hands want to shake. I press my books tighter against my chest until the tremor disappears into the weight.
In the parking lot I sit in my car for a full minute before turning the key. Part of me waits. For footsteps. For someone approaching from behind. But they never come.
The engine starts. Music fills the car again. And I drive. What I refuse to think about on the drive home is the look on Kaiden’s face when I told him he didn’t register.
It wasn’t anger. Or insult. It was recognition. Like I said something he already knew.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
One day at a time. Survive the days. Survive the nights. Keep the bandage hidden. Keep the smile convincing. Keep the walls intact. One day at a time. Until one day stops feeling like a war.