The headache hit before I even opened my eyes. My tongue was dry, my stomach queasy, and the memory of last night came back in sharp, humiliating flashes—Angela's worried face, my own muffled sobs, the sound of retching into a bucket. Perfect. Just another layer of shame to stack on top of this cursed school year.
But no matter how heavy my head felt, I couldn't afford to miss my major class. I dragged myself out of bed, dressed as best I could, and stumbled toward the kitchen for hot water.
The common kitchen smelled faintly of instant noodles and reheated rice. A long wooden table stretched across the room, crowded with mismatched chairs. Most of the old boarders had already left for class, but the new ones lingered—Jacob among them, his guitar case propped casually against the wall. I felt their eyes flicker toward me as I fumbled with the electric heater, my fingers clumsy and unsteady.
"I got you a tea," a voice said behind me.
I turned, already knowing who it was. Anthony.
He held out a steaming mug, grinning like a cat that had cornered its prey. "Drink this before you collapse."
"Ugh. Thank you," I muttered, my voice hoarse, taking the cup without meeting his eyes.
He leaned closer, dropping his voice. "Rolan called me last night. Said you were drunk."
I groaned, pressing the mug to my lips. "He's a walking mouth," I muttered, turning my back before Anthony could see the flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck.
Behind me, Anthony laughed easily, sliding back into his usual charm. He introduced himself to the new boarders with practiced ease—bragging, teasing, playing entertainer, making sure everyone knew his name.
I knew him too well. For over a year, he'd been circling me—persistent, relentless, always waiting for the smallest crack to wedge himself into my life. And now, with Mark out of the picture, he was practically gleeful.
I gripped the cup tighter, forcing down a sip of tea.
When I finally glanced up, my eyes caught Jacob's across the table. He wasn't laughing at Anthony's jokes, wasn't leaning in like the others. Instead, he was watching me quietly, as if he could see the invisible tug-of-war, I wanted no part of.
I looked away first, but my chest felt strangely unsteady
------
The days blurred together after that—the usual rhythm of classes, deadlines, and the endless chatter in the boarding house. But then sports week arrived, and with it, my assignment to cover the basketball tournament.
That morning, as I stepped out of my room with my notes tucked under my arm, I noticed some of the boys in the hallway pulling on their team jackets, the bold lettering of our school's name stretched across their backs. One of them was Jacob.
"You're playing games?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable, and gave a single nod.
"I'm covering it," I added, shifting the papers in my hand. "What time's your game?"
That was all it took—the first exchange that wasn't wrapped in teasing or group introductions. He told me the schedule, and before I realized it, I was walking beside them toward the gymnasium. Our steps fell into an easy rhythm, and though the conversation was sparse, it felt… natural. Too natural.
We must have drawn more attention than I noticed, because as we neared the court, I became aware of the whispers, the curious looks from passing students.
And then came fate's cruel joke.
Another team brushed past us, their jackets in contrasting colors, their laughter too loud. I didn't need to look—but I did. My eyes found Mark instantly, his arm slung casually over his girlfriend's shoulders. For the briefest second, his gaze caught mine.
A jolt shot through me. My chest tightened, my steps faltered.
"Stop staring."
The low voice startled me.
I turned. Jacob had leaned just close enough for me to hear, his hand brushing my shoulder as if to anchor me. His eyes, sharp and steady, left no room for denial.
Heat flooded my face. How could he possibly know? But then I remembered—the whispers, the stares, the humiliation that had spread across the campus like wildfire just two weeks ago. Of course he knew.
I pulled away, forcing a laugh that came out thinner than I wanted. "I wasn't staring."
"Sure," he said simply, straightening his jacket as if the moment meant nothing. But the faint curl of amusement on his lips told me he didn't believe me for a second.
And strangely, instead of shame, a small spark of defiance lit in my chest.