I stepped out of the car the moment it stopped, the door barely clicking shut before I was already moving. I didn't look back. I didn't give my father a chance to ask another careful question I wouldn't be able to answer. The morning air felt too sharp in my lungs as I walked faster than necessary, my bag thudding against my side.
Instead of heading straight to the building, I veered toward the back of the school.
The backyard was quiet that early. The maintenance shed cast a long shadow across the concrete, and the distant hum of traffic faded behind the walls. I paused, pretending to adjust my bag, and scanned the area. No students. No teachers. Just the rustle of leaves and birds that didn't know—or didn't care—what kind of morning I was having.
I crouched beside the trash bin and pulled out the clothes I had stuffed into my bag the night before. The fabric was stiff, darkened in places I refused to look at too closely. I hesitated, fingers tightening around the bundle, then forced myself to let go. The clothes dropped into the bin with a soft, final sound.
Gone.
As I straightened, my hand brushed my pocket, and I felt the edge of the card my father had given me. The unfamiliar address pressed into my thoughts. No name. No explanation. Just his calm voice in the car, telling me I could get what I needed there. I didn't know whether that was meant to help me—or confirm that he already knew more than he let on.
By the time I reached the classroom, my chest felt relief.
I slid into my seat quickly, keeping my head down. Jerry turned toward me almost immediately, eyebrows lifting.
"Good morning, Nick," he said. Then his smile faded. "You okay? You look pale. Like—paper pale."
"I couldn't sleep last night," I replied. My voice came out rougher than I expected. "Probably insomnia."
"Insomnia?" he snorted. "Since when?"
"Since last night."
He leaned back, studying me. "Told you those creepy books would mess you up."
I managed a weak smile. "Probably."
Jerry glanced at the door, then back at me. "Looks like your girl's late again. Bell's about to ring and she's still not here."
Mae.
Her name landed heavier than it should have. With everything that happened the night before, she had slipped to the back of my mind, like something postponed. Part of me was relieved she wasn't there yet. Another part tightened, uneasy.
Then the door opened.
Mae walked in—at the same time as John.
They didn't touch. They didn't speak. But they arrived together, close enough that anyone paying attention would notice. And suddenly, I noticed everything. The way a few heads turned. The way whispers died too quickly. The looks that passed between classmates—brief, knowing.
Something cold settled in my stomach.
Mae spotted me and brightened instantly, her face softening into that familiar smile. She stopped beside my desk.
"Hey, babe," she said. "I'm sorry I forgot to message you last night."
I looked at her.
The words didn't come right away. Her face—once comforting, once familiar—felt wrong now. The innocence in her eyes looked practiced. Her voice, gentle as ever, disgusted me.
A voice stirred in my head, low and eager.
Rip that face off. Kill her. Kill the one beside her. Kill everyone here who betrayed you.
My fingers curled against my palm. I breathed in slowly, forcing the urge down, burying it where it couldn't surface. Not here. Not now.
"We should break up," I said.
The words fell between us, flat and final.
Mae blinked. "W-What?" Panic flickered across her face. "What do you mean? Is this because I didn't message you? Or because I said no yesterday? Nick, I thought we agreed we'd go out today, I—"
"I don't need you anymore," I cut in. I kept my voice steady, even. "I don't need dates. I don't need explanations. I just want you out of my life."
Her eyes filled instantly. Tears spilled over, tracing down her cheeks. She didn't try to hide them.
It was the first time I had ever made her cry.
Before, I had always been the one who gave in. The one who apologized. The one who held things together. Now, all I felt was a dull clarity. Two years of giving everything. Two years of ignoring signs everyone else seemed to see.
John pushed his chair back and stepped closer. "Come on, man," he said. "What's your problem? I thought you two were fine. Why are you treating her like this?"
I turned to him slowly.
We had grown up together. Shared lunches. Shared secrets. I had trusted him without question. And now he stood there beside her, acting surprised.
"You don't get a say," I told him. "This is between me and her." My voice was louder than what I intended.
He stiffened. I met his eyes.
"Or were you looking forward to this?"
He didn't answer.
The bell rang, sharp and unforgiving. Mr. Topaz walked in moments later, the room snapping into order as if nothing had just shattered.
I straightened my seat, heart pounding, hands clenched beneath the desk. I knew it wasn't over yet.
A few desks away, I caught whispers slipping through cupped hands.
"Did you hear that?"
"They broke up?"
"No way, just like that?"
"I told you something was off with Mae and John."
Someone behind me let out a low whistle. Another classmate pretended to rummage through their bag far longer than necessary, eyes flicking in my direction every few seconds. No one was subtle about it. They didn't know what to say to me, so they said nothing at all—and that silence felt louder than any insult.
Mae stood there for a second longer, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her shoulders trembled, but she didn't sob. She never did like crying in public. That used to make me admire her strength. Now it just felt rehearsed. She turned away without looking back at me and walked to her seat. A girl beside her leaned in immediately, whispering something I couldn't hear. Mae nodded once, stiffly, staring down at her desk.
John lingered.
He stayed standing like he wanted to say something else—an apology, maybe, or a defense—but nothing came. His jaw worked, teeth grinding. A few people glanced at him, then back at me, clearly connecting dots they had already half-drawn weeks ago. Someone muttered, "Took him long enough," not quite quietly enough.
Jerry leaned toward me, voice low. "Hey," he said carefully, "you okay, man?"
I nodded once. It was easier than explaining. My throat felt tight, like if I spoke any more, something ugly might slip out.
"Didn't expect that," he added, scratching the back of his neck. "But… yeah. People talk, you know."
"I know," I said.
And that was the worst part. I really did know—now. The glances. The timing. The way conversations stopped when I got close. I hadn't been blind. I'd been choosing not to see.
Mr. Topaz cleared his throat at the front of the room, tapping his pen against the desk. "Settle down," he said, his voice calm but carrying weight. "If you have personal matters, deal with them outside the classroom."
A few students straightened immediately. Others exchanged last looks before facing forward. The room quieted, but the tension didn't leave. It lingered, hanging low over the desks like humidity before a storm.
I kept my eyes on my notebook, though I wasn't reading