Chapter 12 — Names
The boy reached into his bag and pulled out a crumpled worksheet.
“I came back for homework,” he said, as if explaining his existence. “Forgot it. Story of my life.”
He slid it into his folder, then looked at me again.
“You’re really close to passing out,” he said. “Do you want water?”
“I’m okay,” I repeated, softer this time.
He didn’t push.
That alone felt unfamiliar.
We sat in a quiet that wasn’t hostile.
Just… present.
The fluorescent lights hummed.
Outside the window, the courtyard lights cast pale rectangles on wet grass.
Finally, he spoke again.
“I’m Julian,” he said. “Julian Park.”
“Evelyn,” I replied automatically, then corrected myself. “Evie.”
“Evie,” he echoed, like he was tasting the sound. “Okay. Evie. Are you always this brave at night or was I just lucky?”
I huffed a laugh I didn’t feel.
“You scared me.”
“I can tell,” he said, still rubbing his cheek. “My face is taking notes.”
A small silence.
Then he added, more gently, “Look. Noah didn’t leave because of you.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged.
“I mean, I don’t know your story,” he said. “But I saw him today. He didn’t look… happy.”
The word wasn’t comfort.
But it wasn’t cruelty either.
I swallowed.
“What did he look like?”
Julian hesitated.
Then spoke carefully.
“Like someone trying to prove something,” he said. “To her. To himself. To whoever’s watching.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A new message.
From Noah.
**Stop.**
One word.
No subject.
No context.
Just a blade.
Julian saw my face change.
“Text?” he asked.
I slid my phone deeper into my pocket.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just… my ride.”
Julian studied me like he didn’t believe that for a second.
But he didn’t call me out.
He stood, slung his bag over his shoulder, and gestured toward the door.
“I’ll walk you to the front,” he said. “It’s late.”
“I don’t need—”
“You do,” he cut in, not unkindly. “And before you say no, I’m not asking.”
We walked down the corridor together.
My footsteps and his were out of sync.
The flickering bulb above Noah’s classroom blinked once as we passed.
A brief flash.
In that flash, I saw something on the floor near the wall.
A small strip of paper.
Folded.
I bent and picked it up without thinking.
A corner of it was damp from the air.
A name was written on the outside in neat handwriting.
**Iris.**
My throat tightened.
Julian glanced down at it.
Then at me.
His voice lowered.
“You really didn’t know,” he said.
I folded the paper carefully and slipped it into my pocket.
Outside, the front doors opened to the night.
The streetlights had come on.
On the pavement, our shadows stretched long.
Two shapes walking side by side.
Not touching.
But not alone.
And for the first time in a long time, the space beside me didn’t feel like a punishment.