The hallway felt different after lunch. Not because it looked any different—but because everyone looked at Lynn differently now. Eyes lingered longer. Conversations stalled when she passed.
Some looked impressed. Others didn't even bother hiding the jealousy.
But Lynn didn't flinch.
She walked through the crowd like it was smoke.
Alex met her at her locker just before sixth period. He didn't say a word at first, just leaned beside her like he belonged there.
And maybe he did.
"You good?" he finally asked.
"Better than Chelsea," she replied, smirking. "Pretty sure I fried her ego."
Alex laughed under his breath. "You scared her."
"She asked for it."
He looked at her, and his eyes softened. "I like the way you protect things."
"You are a thing now?"
"No," he said slowly, tilting his head. "I'm yours."
Lynn froze for a half-second. It wasn't the kind of line guys tossed out just to win attention. His voice had weight. Intention.
She wanted to answer—say I'm yours too, maybe—but the bell rang, and the moment scattered like dust.
---
Later that afternoon, Lynn sat at the café near school with Dianne, Gallagher, and Fanshia. It was their usual spot for after-school strategy sessions and iced coffee gossip.
Dianne sipped her drink and eyed Lynn. "So what's your game plan?"
"My what?" Lynn asked, raising a brow.
"Girl, you don't just fall into a campus relationship with the most mysterious, tall, brooding boy at school and not have a plan. That's social suicide or power play. No in between."
Fanshia nodded, flipping her long curls. "There's already talk that Chelsea's trying to turn this into a popularity war."
"Let her," Gallagher said. "It's Lynn. Chelsea will break herself trying."
Lynn smiled at that.
But inside, she knew this wasn't just about school buzz anymore.
"I'm not playing a game," she said finally. "I like him. It's that simple."
"And he likes you," Fanshia said. "Which is why they'll come for both of you."
Gallagher's phone buzzed, and he frowned. "Speaking of... you might want to see this."
He turned the phone toward her.
It was a group story post. An anonymous account—clearly someone from school—had posted a picture of Alex at lunch with a caption:
> "Does anyone actually know who he really is? Some people should watch who they get close to."
Lynn's blood went cold.
"Cowards," she muttered. "They hide behind screens."
"But they're trying to chip at him," Dianne said. "Slowly."
"He can handle it," Lynn said. "But I won't let him face it alone."
---
Back at Alex's place, Sam was drawing again—this time a series of quiet sketches: Lynn's smile, her basketball pose, her hand brushing Alex's sleeve.
Peter leaned over the couch, scrolling through his feed. "We've got a troll problem."
Alex looked up. "What now?"
Peter showed him the post. "They're coming for you."
Alex took one look, then tossed the phone on the table.
"I knew it would happen eventually."
"Yeah, but now it's personal," Sam said. "You're not just some random new kid anymore. You've got Lynn."
Peter shrugged. "So what? Let them whine. You're not alone anymore, man."
Alex looked at them—two guys who didn't always say much, but always showed up.
Then he looked at the post again.
This wasn't just noise.
This was warning fire.
And if they thought he was going to fold?
They didn't know him.
---
The next morning, Lynn stepped out of her house and found Alex waiting on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, hoodie pulled up against the cool breeze.
"You're early," she said, walking toward him.
He handed her something small. A silver keychain shaped like a tiny basketball hoop.
"What's this?" she asked.
"I made it in metal shop," he said. "Didn't want to say much yesterday. But I wanted you to have something. Just... something real."
She ran her thumb over the hoop, smiling.
"You're kind of sweet under all that attitude."
"Only for you."
She looked at him then, searching for any sign of fear after everything—after the gossip, the attacks, the uncertainty.
But he wasn't scared.
He was steady.
And so was she.
They started walking together, side by side, silent but solid.
And Lynn knew: whatever line had been drawn in the sand by others—they'd crossed it together.
There was no turning back now.