Chapter 10 — The Confession Wall
Monday morning, my name was on everyone’s mouth.
Not spoken. Whispered.
The kind of whisper that carries farther than shouting.
A girl from my math class slid into the seat beside me, eyes bright with excitement.
“Evie,” she hissed, already holding her phone up. “Someone posted about you.”
I frowned.
“What kind of post?”
She grinned, delighted by the drama.
“Confession wall. Like, a real confession.”
The screen showed a photo.
Me.
Walking down the hallway with my backpack half-zipped, hair tucked behind one ear, looking down at something I was reading.
It wasn’t a posed picture.
It was stolen.
The caption underneath was worse.
**To the girl in Honors Track, Evelyn Lin — I’ve liked you since orientation.
I’ll wait until you look up.**
A hundred comments.
Two hundred.
People tagging friends. Guessing names. Making jokes.
A few said I looked “cold.”
A few said I looked “untouchable.”
I felt my stomach drop, slow and heavy.
My hands went cold on the desk.
“Do you know who it is?” the girl asked, thrilled.
I swallowed.
“I don’t,” I said.
It wasn’t a lie.
But my skin still prickled as if I’d been watched for weeks.
The bell rang.
Students moved, laughing, spilling into the hallway.
The post followed me like a shadow.
Between periods, I caught glimpses of Noah.
He was there—always there—leaning against lockers, laughing with friends, looking like the kind of boy who belonged anywhere.
His phone was in his hand.
He was reading something.
His expression didn’t change.
But his eyes flicked up when I passed.
Not to meet mine.
To measure distance.
A silent warning: don’t connect the dots.
In the girls’ bathroom mirror, I stared at my own face.
Same brows. Same mouth.
Nothing about me looked like trouble.
And yet trouble had found my name.
I washed my hands twice.
As if I could rinse the feeling off.
At lunch, my phone buzzed again.
A new comment under the confession post:
**She walks like she’s already leaving.**
I stared at that line longer than I should have.
It felt too accurate.