Chapter 24 #2
I settle into my usual seat in the middle row, spine straight, chin up, pretending I’m not falling apart at the seams.
Lola settles next to me, her presence a shield I didn’t ask for but damn it, need. Aubrey slips into the seat behind me, claiming her spot beside Noah.
“Is she okay?” Noah whispers.
Aubrey doesn’t answer, at least not aloud.
Then there’s Reece.
One row ahead. Three seats over. Far enough not to touch me, yet close enough that I can feel every single moment of his gaze.
The teacher speaks in a monotone blur of dates and assignments. I don’t hear a thing.
My only awareness is Reece’s stare piercing into the side of my head.
Even so, I avoid looking his way.
Midway through class, my phone buzzes on the desk. The vibration rattles loudly enough to turn a few heads. I flip it over quickly, heart already pounding in my chest.
Reece: It wasn’t like that. I swear to fucking God, Sam.
I don’t move or breathe.
Another buzz.
Reece: I never said that shit. You weren’t some bet.
My stomach twists. That voice in my head whispers, ”What if he’s telling the truth?”
I shut it up fast.
Buzz.
Reece: Talk to me, Red. Please.
My hand hovers over the phone. Just for a second. Long enough to wonder whether answering would fix anything.
Then I blink.
The words blur together, foggy from tears burning in my eyes.
I shove the phone into my bag so quickly I almost fall out of my seat.
I blink hard. Breathe deeper.
Then, I lift my pen. I force my eyes to the board, anything to anchor myself in something that isn’t him.
The teacher’s droning about ecosystems or equations or some shit I should probably care about. So I write it down, word for word. Not because it matters, but because focusing on the lesson means I’m not replaying his voice in my head.
I underline a heading, then write the date. Pretend it’s just another day, and I’m not falling apart behind every word I write.
By lunchtime, he’s sent me seven more texts.
Each one a digital scream, buzz after buzz, his name lighting up my screen. I don’t open them. I already know what they’ll say.
I didn’t mean it. I swear. It wasn’t like that. Please, Red.
I just sit there, watching the notifications stack up. All the while pretending my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time his name flashes across the screen.
All day, the whispers follow me like shadows I can’t escape. They cling to my skin, crawl under my clothes, and settle in the space between my shoulder blades. Every hallway feels longer. Every turn is sharper. I hear them behind locker doors, between class changes, and over the flush of toilets.
The stares hit harder.
Some land with pity. Eyes wide, soft, full of that sad-girl sympathy that makes me want to scream.
Others are sharp with curiosity, trying to read the scandal on my face as if it’s written across my cheeks.
But the worst ones are the ones that laugh.
The ones who treat my humiliation like a goddamn group chat joke.
Passing comments in the hallway: “Guess she wasn’t that innocent after all” or “Bet he didn’t even have to try that hard. ”
A boy behind me snickers during biology. Another one whispers something to his friend in the hallway, and they both burst out laughing after I walk past.
They don’t care if I hear.
That’s the point.
Their words weren’t meant to be secret; they are meant to brand.
And they do.
Every one of them sinks into my skin, poisons my blood, wraps around my ribs, and squeezes until I can barely fucking breathe.
And the worst part?
There’s no escaping it.
We sit at our lunch table as if the world isn’t tearing me apart with every whisper. Conversations buzz loudly in my ears. Fluorescent lights stab into my skull.
But we sit anyway, pretending my name hasn’t become the punchline of every locker room joke and hallway rumor.
Lola sits to my right, and Aubrey to my left. They both check in with me in their own subtle ways. No grand gestures, just gentle glances and small touches. Their hands rest on my arm, or knees nudge mine. A steady rhythm of ‘I’ve got you’ without needing to say it.
And thank fuck for that.
They’re the only reason I’m upright. The only reason I haven’t grabbed my bag and bolted from the cafeteria like I’m on fire.
Reece takes his usual seat at the table, directly across from me.
The tension sticks to us, thick and uneasy. He says nothing. Not with Lola watching him like she’s about to throw her juice box at his head. Not with Aubrey stiff beside me. And definitely not with Noah, glaring at him as if he’s ready to swing if Reece so much as breathes wrong.
So he remains quiet.
And so do I.
We all sit there, pretending this isn’t a goddamn mess, three girls trying to act normal while my heart slowly bleeds out beneath the table.
I keep my eyes down, fork digging into the pasta. I’m not eating it, just moving it around to look busy.
I see what Reece did to Jace. The bruises are still spreading across his face, deep purple and menacing. A perfect match for the filthy shit that crawled out of his mouth.
Lola hasn’t said a word to Jace since he slid into his spot at the table, wearing that smug grin he’s perfected. He practices the casual act, voice low, eyes gentle, and quietly says, “Hey, Bells.”
Lola doesn’t look his way or offer him any food like she usually does.
He keeps trying to drop that nickname, like it still holds weight.
Second attempt.
Third.
By the fifth, he’s struggling, voice tight, ego bruised.
She still doesn’t look at him, calmly sipping her juice with a disinterest that makes silence seem harsh.
He gets it eventually.
Jaw clenched, he stalks away, muttering something under his breath about bitches and whatever cock-measuring contest he’s losing today.
He’ll probably find some easy fuck behind the gym to remind himself that he still matters.
Reece remains silent the entire time, sitting there with his elbows on the table and his jaw clenched so tightly it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack.
Ten minutes go by before he gets up and walks away.
Finally, I can breathe again.
Enough to take a sip of water without feeling like it chokes me.
By the end of the day, I’m barely holding it together with a grip that makes my fingers ache. My smile is a crack in concrete, and my voice is barely more than a breath. But hey, I’m still standing. Sort of.
Aubrey and Lola stay close to me.
We pile into my car. My hands tremble too much to drive, so I sit quietly with keys in my lap.
Aubrey slides into the passenger seat, and Lola takes the back.
No one speaks for a second.
Aubrey turns to me, her voice gentle but steady. “So, how long has it been going on between you and Reece?”
I swallow hard. “I went to his place,” I say, staring at the steering wheel. “To do the assessment. You know… because of how my dad is with guys.”
They nod. They know what that means.
“We had sex there,” I say. “That was the first time.”
Lola lets out a soft whistle from the back seat but stays quiet.
I glance at Aubrey then down at my hands. My voice barely comes out when I say, “And I was the one in the library. That was me.”
Aubrey blinks, stunned. “Holy shit.”
Lola gasps so loudly I almost jump. “Wait, your Library Girl?” Her eyes go wide in the rearview mirror. “I thought that was some senior skank with no gag reflex.” She doesn’t stop there. “Babe, I thought that was one of the cheerleaders. You know, the ones who moan when they sip Gatorade.”
Aubrey snorts. “Lola—”
“No, seriously,” Lola keeps going, now totally excited. “I told Jace the other day, it was probably some senior bitch who thinks sucking off the quarterback counts as team spirit.”
That’s it. I lose it.
A laugh punches out of me, so unexpected, that it startles all three of us. Aubrey’s eyes snap wide before she bursts out laughing too, clutching her stomach and shaking her head. Lola’s already collapsed in the back seat, wheezing so hard she sounds asthmatic.
And for a second, it’s perfect.
Three girls in a car. Just ugly laughs, snorts, and the kind of joy that burns quick and hot.
The laughter gradually fades, thinning out between shaky breaths. My cheeks are damp, my ribs hurt, and for a moment I forget why I was bleeding in the first place.
Then I remember.
I wipe my eyes and look out the windshield, voice soft. “I have his jacket. And his ring.” My hand forms a fist in my lap. “Can you give them to Noah?” My voice nearly breaks. “To give to Reece.”
Aubrey nods.
Movement outside grabs my attention. Across the parking lot, Tia walks confidently through the lot, Jace right beside her, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward her with that laid-back smirk. Her arm brushes against Jace’s, and even that seems rehearsed.
“Are you ever gonna forgive him?” Aubrey asks, her voice directed at the back seat.
Lola doesn’t respond right away. She leans her head back against the seat. “He fucked up,” she says finally. “Said shit about Sam. So no. Not yet. Not until he earns it.”
Aubrey looks back at her. “It hurt him today. With you ignoring him.”
“He deserved it,” Lola scoffs.
“I know. But still, when you ignored him, it hit him harder than you think.”
“Maybe,” Lola says, voice flat. “But he doesn’t look hurt now.”
We all look out through the front windshield.
Jace is laughing at something Tia says, his whole posture relaxed, casual, and at ease.
“He looks like he’s got a sure thing with her,” Lola says.
Then nothing. No more punchlines or sass from Lola. Just silence.
Lola sinks into the seat, eyes on the floor, shoulders tense.
And I catch it in the rearview mirror; her face falls, but it’s enough to see that whatever she says, Jace means more to her than she wants to admit.
Aubrey moves next to me and raises her eyebrows. That look says it all.
She saw it too.
I say nothing as I reach for the keys and slide them into the ignition. The engine turns over. I ease the car out of the lot. Jace and Tia shrink in the rearview.
When we pull up in front of my house, Dad’s there, hosing off his truck. His flannel sleeves are rolled up, arms dripping with water, boots soaked from standing too close to the spray. He looks up when he hears us, eyes squinting against the sun.
“Hey, girls!” he says as we step out of the car.
“Hi, Mr. Carter,” Aubrey calls out.
“Hey, Mr. C,” Lola says.
He grins at both of them, before he looks at me. His eyes scan my face, lingering a little too long.
And there it is.
The falter.
That brief half-second crack in his smile. The way his brow furrows.
“You okay, kid?” he asks.
“Fine,” I lie. The word barely makes it past my lips. “Just tired.”
He nods, but I know him. He doesn’t buy it, not for one second.
We head inside, take our shoes off at the door, and I hang my key on the hook. Routine. Habit. Something normal to hold on to.
I lead them down the hall, passing framed photos of better days—birthdays, camping trips, one of me and Dad at the track, both of us sunburned and smiling. Dad was right. Boys like that are bastards.
In the kitchen, I grab a couple of cans from the fridge and slide them across the counter to the girls. Aubrey cracks hers open immediately, leaning against the bench. Lola holds hers.
No one speaks as I lead them up the stairs.
When we arrive in my room, we drop our bags near the door. My room is generally clean, with a little clutter here and there. There’s a stack of books by the bed and clothes that are half-folded on the chair in the corner.
Lola kicks her feet up on my bed, cracks open her can, and takes a long sip while half-sprawled across the pillows. Aubrey sinks into the beanbag by the window, sipping her drink as her eyes drift across the room.
I don’t sit.
Instead, I walk over to my closet and take down Reece’s jacket from the hanger. It still faintly smells like him. Then, I go to my bedside drawer. The ring rests inside, cool metal against my fingers as I pick it up, remembering how he used to spin it on his thumb during class.
I turn and walk over to Aubrey, clutching Reece’s things in my hands. She looks up without a word, her eyes soft and steady. I hold them out to her. Two pieces of him I can’t bear to keep anymore.
She takes them and tucks them into her lap. Somehow, it lifts, just a little — enough to breathe again, knowing nothing in this room belongs to him anymore.
“Okay,” Lola says, standing up and dropping her can on my desk with a loud clunk. “Now, after the day you’ve had, I’m putting goop on your face.”
I blink. “What?”
“Facials, bitch.” She’s already heading to the bathroom, her tone all business. “Healing energy. Minimal emotional scarring.”
Aubrey chuckles and shakes her head.
I sigh and stretch out on the bed as Lola comes back with a tube in one hand and a stack of towels in the other, her hair up in a messy bun, sleeves pushed to her elbows as if she’s getting ready for battle.
Fifteen minutes later, we all recline.
With me lying across the pillows, Aubrey curled up on my beanbag, Lola at the foot of the bed—green masks drying on our skin. Spotify is playing something soft and non-depressing.
We don’t discuss Reece, Jace, or anything real.
We just sit and breathe, letting the silence suffice.
And for a little while, it is.