By Friday, the whispers had evolved into something sharper. Amara could feel them on her skin like nettles, prickling every time she walked down the hall. Girls turned their heads as she passed, voices dipping into cruel laughter. Boys exchanged knowing smirks, as if she'd suddenly become the punchline of some inside joke.
The story had grown legs and teeth: Amara and Ryan weren't just "talking"—they were together. And not everyone liked that idea.
Especially not Kayla Hayes.
Kayla wasn't just another cheerleader; she was the cheerleader. Beautiful, bold, with the kind of confidence that filled a room before she even spoke. She and Ryan had dated on-and-off since sophomore year, their relationship more of a spectacle than a secret. Breakups, reconciliations, dramatic fights in the cafeteria—everyone knew the Kayla-and-Ryan saga by heart. And though they weren't together now, most people assumed it was only a matter of time before they were again.
So when Kayla saw Ryan laughing with Amara by the lockers Friday morning, her eyes sharpened like glass.
Amara noticed it immediately—the way Kayla's smile didn't reach her eyes, the way her gaze lingered too long, too cold. It was a warning, silent but clear: You don't belong here.
Lena noticed too. "Uh-oh," she muttered under her breath, tugging Amara down the hall. "You've officially woken the dragon."
"I didn't do anything," Amara whispered, heart pounding.
"Exactly," Lena said grimly. "That's the problem."
The first attack came during third period. Amara walked into class to find a sticky note plastered to her desk. In thick black ink, the words screamed:
"Ryan's Charity Case."
Her throat closed up. She yanked the note off quickly, crumpling it in her fist before anyone could see. But the laughter from the back of the room told her someone already had.
The second attack came at lunch. She sat with Lena, trying to ignore the buzzing stares, when a shadow fell across their table. Kayla stood there, tray balanced in one manicured hand, her eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous.
"Amara, right?" she said, her voice sweet but laced with venom.
Amara nodded cautiously.
Kayla tilted her head, lips curving into a smile that wasn't really a smile. "I just wanted to say… congratulations."
Amara blinked. "For what?"
Kayla leaned closer, her perfume filling the air. "For catching Ryan's attention. I mean, it's cute. Really. But just so you know…" Her voice dropped, sugar turning to steel. "Boys like Ryan? They don't date girls like you. Not for long, anyway."
The cafeteria seemed to go silent, the words slicing through the air like a blade. Lena shot up, ready to snap back, but Amara grabbed her wrist under the table, shaking her head.
Kayla straightened, her smile widening. "Anyway, enjoy it while it lasts." She turned and walked off, hips swaying like she owned the room.
Lena muttered something under her breath that Amara didn't catch. But Amara barely heard anything at all over the roar in her ears.
She wanted to disappear. She wanted to crawl inside her sketchbook and never come out. But instead, she forced herself to breathe, to keep her face calm even as her hands trembled in her lap.
The worst part wasn't Kayla's words. It was the small, traitorous part of her that believed them.
That evening, Ryan found her again. He always seemed to know when she needed him most, though she never understood how. He caught up with her outside the school library, where she'd gone to hide before heading home.
"You okay?" he asked, studying her face.
Amara shrugged. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
She hesitated, then sighed. "Kayla talked to me today."
Ryan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "What did she say?"
"Just…" Amara hugged her sketchbook tighter. "That this isn't real. That you don't… that we don't make sense."
Ryan's jaw tightened. "She doesn't get to decide that."
"But maybe she's right," Amara whispered before she could stop herself. The words tumbled out, raw and ugly. "You're you. And I'm… me. People look at us and laugh. Maybe this is a mistake."
Ryan stared at her for a long moment, something fierce burning in his eyes. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Amara, listen to me. I don't care what they say. I don't care about Kayla, or the rumors, or the stares. I see you. That's all that matters."
Her heart raced, caught between fear and something dangerously close to hope.
"You don't get it," she whispered. "Being with you means… I lose everything I've worked for. My quiet. My safety. People hate me for it already."
Ryan softened, reaching out like he wanted to touch her but stopping short. "Then let them. Because if they hate you for being with me… that's their problem. Not yours."
Silence pressed between them. For a heartbeat, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just the two of them—the space between his hand and hers, the unspoken words trembling in the air.
But before Amara could answer, the sound of laughter echoed down the hall. Kayla and two other cheerleaders swept past, their eyes flicking toward Amara with pointed disdain.
The moment shattered. Amara stepped back, clutching her sketchbook like a shield. "I should go."
Ryan's expression tightened, but he didn't stop her. "Amara—"
"Please," she said quickly, her voice cracking. "Just… not now."
And then she slipped away, her footsteps echoing down the corridor, her chest tight with confusion and fear.
That night, Amara sat at her desk, sketchbook open, pencil hovering uselessly over the paper. She wanted to draw, to pour all the chaos inside her onto the page. But every line came out wrong. Every shape dissolved into nothing.
Her mind was filled with Kayla's words, Ryan's voice, the sting of laughter, the warmth of his eyes. It was too much. Too loud. Too dangerous.
She slammed the sketchbook shut, burying her face in her hands.
For the first time in her life, Amara Daniels wasn't sure if she wanted to be invisible anymore.
But she wasn't sure she could survive being seen, either.