Chapter 12 – Oliver
The hallway is loud, but all I’m thinking about is finding Ellie.
She’s usually waiting near the stairs after this class — hair tucked behind her ear, that soft smile she gives me like she’s been counting the minutes. I’m already looking for her when someone steps right into my path.
“Oliver!”
Francesca.
She’s smiling like we’ve known each other for years. We haven’t. We’ve barely talked at all.
“Hey,” she says, falling into step beside me. “I was thinking… maybe we could plan something for Josh’s birthday?”
I blink at her. “Uh… what?”
She laughs lightly, brushing her hair back like this is the most normal conversation in the world. “You and Josh are close. I thought it’d be fun if we did something together.”
I nod because I don’t know what else to do. My brain is still trying to figure out why she’s talking to me. Francesca and Josh aren’t even friends. And she’s… smiling. A lot.
I glance past her, searching the hallway.
And then I see Ellie.
She’s standing at the end of the hall, frozen. Her expression shifts — surprise, then something heavier. Something that hits me right in the chest.
I open my mouth to call out to her.
But she turns around and walks away before I can say anything.
My stomach drops.
Hard.
Francesca is still talking, but her voice fades into background noise. I mutter something like “yeah, sure,” and step away from her as fast as I can without being rude.
By the time I reach the end of the hallway, Ellie’s gone.
And the empty space she leaves behind feels like someone just pulled the floor out from under me.
The rest of the day feels wrong.
I try to focus in class, but every time I blink, I see Ellie’s face in the hallway — the way her expression fell, the way she turned away from me like she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
My chest tightens every time I think about it.
I keep telling myself I didn’t do anything.
I didn’t flirt.
I didn’t encourage Francesca.
I didn’t even want to be talking to her.
But none of that matters if Ellie thinks she saw something else.
I check my phone between classes.
Nothing.
Everything sounds wrong.
Everything sounds like I’m guilty of something I’m not.
By lunch, my stomach is in knots. I can’t eat. I can’t think. I keep replaying the moment over and over, trying to figure out what I should’ve done differently.
I head to the parking lot hoping — praying — she’ll be there.
And she is.
But she’s not alone.
Josh is standing in front of her, talking fast, hands moving like he’s explaining something serious. Ellie’s arms are crossed, her shoulders tight, her face worried.
My heart drops straight to the ground.
I take a step closer.
Ellie looks up — sees me — and something in her expression closes off completely.
She says something quick to Josh, turns away, and heads straight for her dad’s car.
“Ellie—” I call out.
But she doesn’t stop.
She gets in, closes the door, and drives off before I can reach her.
No smile.
No wave.
No “see you later.”
Just gone.
Josh walks past me a second later, giving me this weird, tight look — like he knows something I don’t — and then he’s gone too.
I don’t move.
I just stand there, phone in my hand, heart in my throat, wondering what the hell is happening and how everything went so wrong in a single day.
By the time I get home, my chest feels tight. I drop my backpack on the floor and sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone like it’s going to magically fix everything.
I call her.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each time it rings all the way through before going to voicemail.
I don’t leave a message.
I don’t even know what I’d say.
I run a hand through my hair, pacing across my room. I’m not angry — I’m scared. Scared I messed something up. Scared she thinks I’d ever hurt her. Scared she’s pulling away and I don’t know why.
I call again.
Voicemail.
My stomach sinks.
I’ve never felt this far from her.
The bell above the café door jingles when I walk in, and the warm smell of coffee and cinnamon hits me like it always does. Usually it calms me.
Tonight it doesn’t.
Ellie’s already behind the counter, tying her apron. She doesn’t look up when I walk in. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t say hi.
That hurts more than I want to admit.
I swallow hard and step behind the counter with her. “Ellie,” I say quietly.
She flinches — barely — but she doesn’t turn around.
“Can we talk?” I try again.
She finally looks at me, and her eyes… God. They look tired. Sad. Like she’s been holding something heavy all day.
“Oliver…we need to talk,” she says softly. “About what Josh said after school.”
My heart drops straight to the floor.
“What did he say?” I ask, but before she can answer, the door swings open and a group of customers walks in.
Ellie steps back, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ll take them,” she says quickly, avoiding my eyes.
I want to grab her hand.
I want to pull her aside.
I want to tell her I didn’t do anything wrong.
I want to tell her I love her.
I want to fix this.
But she’s already greeting the customers with a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
And I’m stuck behind the counter, watching her move around like she’s made of glass.
More customers come in.
Then more.
And more.
Every time I try to get close, someone calls her name or asks for help or orders something complicated.
We never get a chance to talk.
Not even for a second.
By the time the rush slows down, Ellie is wiping down a table with her back to me, shoulders tense, head down like she’s trying not to fall apart.
And I’m standing there behind the counter, feeling helpless, confused, and terrified of what Josh told her.
Terrified of losing her.
The shift drags on forever.
Every time I look at Ellie, she’s already looking away.
Every time I try to get close, someone orders a drink or asks for a refill.
Every time I open my mouth, the bell above the door rings again.
By the time we clock out, my nerves are shot.
Ellie unties her apron without looking at me. She grabs her bag, her keys, her jacket — all without a single word.
I follow her outside.
The night air is cool, but my chest feels hot and tight. She walks straight to her car, and I swear my heart is pounding so loud she can probably hear it.
“Ellie,” I say, finally catching up. “Please. Talk to me.”
She stops.
Just stops.
Her shoulders rise with a shaky breath before she turns around. Her eyes are glossy, tired, and full of something that makes my stomach twist.
“Josh told me something today,” she says quietly.
My pulse spikes. “What did he say?”
She looks down at her hands, twisting her keys between her fingers. “He said… he said you’ve been talking to Francesca. That you’ve been close. That you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to know.”
My heart drops straight to the pavement.
“What? Ellie, no—”
“And then I saw you with her,” she whispers, voice cracking. “And you didn’t even look surprised. You didn’t look uncomfortable. You just… stood there with her.”
I take a step closer. “Ellie, I didn’t—”
“I don’t know what to believe,” she says, and her voice breaks completely.
That sound hits me harder than anything Josh could’ve said.
I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back, wiping her eyes quickly like she’s embarrassed.
“Ellie, I swear nothing is happening,” I say, and I hate how desperate I sound. “I swear to you.”
She looks up at me, eyes shining. “Then why didn’t you tell me she talked to you?”
Because I didn’t think it mattered.
Because it was nothing.
Because I didn’t want to make you worry.
Because I’m terrible at explaining things.
Because I didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding weird.
All the reasons crash into each other in my head, but none of them make it out of my mouth.
All I manage is:
“I didn’t think it was important.”
Ellie’s face falls.
And that’s when I realize I said the worst possible thing.
She turns away, pressing her hand to her mouth like she’s trying not to cry again. “It felt important to me,” she whispers.
My chest aches. “Ellie, please—”
“I just need time,” she says, stepping back. “I need to think.”
She gets into her dad’s car before I can say anything else.
The door closes softly, but it feels like a slam.
I stand there, helpless, watching her start the engine with trembling hands.
She doesn’t look at me when she pulls out of the parking lot.
She doesn’t wave.
She doesn’t smile.
She doesn’t even glance back.
She just drives away.
And I’m left standing in the empty lot, heart in my throat, wondering how everything fell apart so fast… and how I’m supposed to fix something when I don’t even know where it broke.
I don’t move for a long time after Ellie’s car disappears.
The parking lot is almost empty now, just a few scattered cars and the soft hum of the streetlights flickering on. The night air feels colder than it should, like someone turned the world down a few degrees without warning.
I’m still standing exactly where she left me.
My hands are shaking.
My chest hurts.
My throat feels tight.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. I just know I can’t go home like this — with her voice breaking in my head, with the look on her face when she said she didn’t know what to believe.
I sink down onto the curb, elbows on my knees, hands in my hair.
I’ve never felt so helpless.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
I know that.
But it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t believe me.
And the worst part is… I don’t even know how to fix it.
I’m not good with words.
I’m not good at explaining myself.
I’m not good at saying the right thing at the right time.
But I love her.
God, I love her.
And the thought of losing her — over something I didn’t even do — makes my chest ache so hard I can barely breathe.
I stare at my phone one more time, hoping for a message that isn’t there.
The screen stays dark.
The night stays quiet.
And for the first time since the lake, since she said she loved me, since everything felt perfect…
I feel like I’m losing her.