NORA'S POV
The lights come back on, flooding the basement with fluorescent brightness.
We're alone.
Ash and I stand frozen, still gripping each other's hands. The footsteps are gone. The breathing is gone. Whoever was here vanished the second the lights returned.
"What just happened?" I whisper.
Ash's face is pale, his blue eyes darting around the basement. "We need to get out of here. Now."
He pulls me toward the stairs, but I yank my hand away.
"No. Stop. Just—stop!" My voice echoes off the concrete walls. "I'm done with the games. Both of you."
"Nora, someone was just here—"
"Was it you?" I'm shaking now, anger drowning out fear. "Was it Evan? Are you two playing some sick joke on the scholarship girl?"
"What? No! I would never—"
"You sent me gifts for months without saying a word. Evan kissed me and then humiliated me. Neither of you will tell me the truth!" Tears burn my eyes. "I can't tell which twin is lying anymore. Maybe you both are."
Ash flinches like I slapped him. "Those gifts were real. Everything I wrote was real."
"Then why not just talk to me? Why the games?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. His hands shake as he runs them through his hair. "Because I'm a coward. Because every time I try to talk to people, I panic and—" He stops, breathing hard. "You deserve someone brave. Someone like Evan."
"Evan called me charity!"
"He's protecting you—"
"By destroying me?" I'm crying now, weeks of exhaustion and humiliation finally breaking through. "No. I'm done. With both of you. Leave me alone."
I run up the stairs before he can stop me, bursting out of the library into the December cold. Snow falls softly on campus, peaceful and pretty, like the world isn't falling apart.
That was three days ago.
Now I'm living in hell.
Finals week hits like a truck. I have four exams, three papers due, and I'm working overtime at all my jobs because I need next semester's tuition money. I study eighteen hours a day, surviving on coffee and fear.
And everywhere I go, Evan Crane is there.
Monday morning, I drag myself to the library at 6 AM—my favorite study spot by the window. Except when I get there, Evan's already sitting in my chair, his hockey bag taking up the entire table.
"Oops," he says, not looking up from his phone. "Didn't see your name on it."
His teammates laugh from across the room.
I find another table. Start spreading out my notes.
Ten minutes later, Evan moves to the table behind me. Talks loudly on his phone about his "charity kiss" at the gala. Everyone stares. I pretend I can't hear, but my hands shake so badly I can't write.
Tuesday, I'm in line at the coffee shop—not working, just desperate for caffeine—and Evan cuts in front of me.
"Pike's Place, extra shot," he tells the barista. Then he looks at me. "Oh, did you want to order? I figured you'd be too busy crying in the bathroom."
His friends crack up.
The barista—someone I used to work with—won't meet my eyes.
Wednesday, I'm eating lunch in the corner of the dining hall when Evan's entire hockey team sits at the table next to mine.
"Hey, isn't that mistletoe girl?" one of them says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Yeah, she's the one who threw herself at Evan."
"Desperate much?"
They laugh. I pack up my food and leave without eating.
By Thursday, I'm running on two hours of sleep and pure stubbornness. My English exam is in three hours, and I haven't finished the required reading because I've been working double shifts.
Another gift appears in my locker—a charcoal portrait of me reading in the library. The detail is incredible, capturing every curl of my hair, the concentration on my face. It's signed "A" like all the others.
Is this Ash's way of apologizing? Or Evan's way of mocking me?
I crumple the portrait and throw it in the trash.
I can't do this anymore. Can't wonder which twin is real and which is playing games. Can't survive on no sleep and constant humiliation. Can't keep pretending I'm strong enough for this.
Mom used to say I was made of steel. That losing her wouldn't break me because I had her strength inside me.
But Mom never had to choose between eating lunch and being bullied. Never had to work three jobs while maintaining a 4.0. Never had to wonder if the boy who kissed her did it as a joke.
I'm not made of steel. I'm made of the same fragile stuff as everyone else, and I'm cracking.
Friday morning, I'm in the library bathroom splashing cold water on my face when Maya finds me.
"You look terrible," she says, which means I look worse than terrible.
"Finals," I mutter.
"It's not just finals. It's Evan. He's everywhere, Nora. Yesterday he told half the hockey team you were stalking him. People are starting to believe it."
My stomach drops. "What?"
"He's saying you won't leave him alone. That you keep showing up wherever he is, trying to—"
"That's a lie! He's the one following me!"
"I know. But he's Evan Crane, and you're..." She trails off, wincing.
"Nobody," I finish. "The scholarship kid nobody believes."
Maya hugs me tight. "We'll fix this. After finals, we'll—"
My phone rings. Grandma Elena's number.
I answer immediately. "Grandma? What's wrong?"
Her voice is small, scared—not like her at all. "Mija, I fell. I can't get up. My hip—something's wrong."
Ice floods my veins. "Where are you?"
"Kitchen floor. I tried to reach the counter but—" Her voice breaks. "It hurts so much, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize. I'm coming. Right now. Don't move, okay?"
I'm already running, Maya calling after me. I burst out of the library, my backpack forgotten, my exam forgotten, everything forgotten except getting to Grandma.
Please let her be okay. Please. She's all I have left.
I'm halfway across campus when someone grabs my arm.
Evan.
"Get off me!" I try to yank away, but his grip is firm.
"Where are you going? You look—"
"My grandmother fell! She's hurt! Let me go!"
His face changes—the smirk drops, replaced by something that looks almost like concern. "How are you getting to her? Do you have a car?"
"The bus—"
"That'll take an hour. My car's right here."
I stare at him. Is this another game? Another way to humiliate me?
But there's something in his eyes that looks genuine. And Grandma is on the kitchen floor, alone and in pain.
"Fine," I say. "But drive fast."
We run to the parking lot. He unlocks a sleek black Range Rover—of course he has a Range Rover—and we peel out of campus.
The drive to Grandma's apartment should take twenty minutes. Evan does it in twelve, running two red lights.
Neither of us speaks. My hands twist in my lap. Please be okay. Please be okay.
"She raised you?" Evan asks quietly.
"After my mom died. Yeah."
"My grandmother died last year. I'm sorry."
The kindness in his voice confuses me. This is the boy who's been tormenting me for days. The boy who called me charity.
Why is he helping me now?
We screech into Grandma's apartment complex. I'm out before the car fully stops, running up three flights of stairs because the elevator's too slow.
"Grandma! I'm here!"
I unlock the door with shaking hands and find her on the kitchen floor, exactly where she said. She's pale, trembling, trying to smile when she sees me.
"Mija. You came so fast."
"Of course I came." I kneel beside her, terrified to move her but terrified not to. "We need to call an ambulance—"
"No ambulance. Too expensive. Just help me to the couch—"
"Grandma, your hip could be broken—"
Evan appears in the doorway. Grandma's eyes go wide.
"Is that—is that Evan Crane? The boy from TV?"
Even injured and scared, she recognizes campus royalty.
Evan kneels on her other side, his voice gentle. "Ma'am, we need to get you to a hospital. I'm calling 911."
"No! I can't afford—"
"I'll handle it," he says firmly. "Just let us help you."
His fingers are already dialing. As he talks to the dispatcher, I hold Grandma's hand and watch this boy who's been destroying me suddenly become a hero.
Who is he really? The cruel bully or this gentle person helping my grandmother?
The ambulance arrives. EMTs load Grandma onto a stretcher. She's trying to tell them about insurance, about costs, but they're not listening.
One EMT pulls me aside. "Are you her next of kin?"
"Yes. I'm her granddaughter."
"We need to take her to County General. Based on preliminary assessment, looks like a fractured hip. She'll need surgery."
Surgery. The word hits like a punch.
I don't have money for surgery. I barely have money for groceries.
"How much?" I whisper.
The EMT winces. "Without insurance? Probably sixty thousand. Maybe more."
The world tilts sideways. Sixty thousand dollars. I'd have to work for ten years to save that. And Grandma needs it now.
They load her into the ambulance. She reaches for my hand.
"Don't worry about the money, mija. We'll figure it out."
But I see the pain in her eyes. The fear. She's been forgetting things lately—calling me by my mom's name, losing track of days. Early dementia, the doctor said. Manageable with medication.
Medication we can't afford.
Surgery we definitely can't afford.
The ambulance pulls away, sirens wailing.
I stand on the curb, watching my entire world disappear into the distance. I'm alone. I'm broke. I'm failing.
Evan's hand lands on my shoulder.
"I can help," he says quietly.
I turn to look at him, this impossible boy who torments me and saves me and confuses me.
"Why?" My voice cracks. "Why would you help me? You hate me."
His jaw clenches. For a long moment, he doesn't answer.
Then his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, and I see his face go pale.
"What?" I ask. "What is it?"
He shows me the screen. A text from an unknown number:
UNKNOWN: Perfect timing. Here's your deal, Evan: Nora needs $60k for her grandmother's surgery. You need a fake girlfriend to get your parents off your back about Madison. Three weeks. Christmas break. Convince everyone you're in love. I'll pay for everything—surgery, bills, medications. Refuse, and I'll make sure Nora loses her scholarship AND her grandmother ends up in a county facility. You have one hour to decide. Reply YES to accept.
My blood turns to ice.
"Who sent that?" I whisper. "Who knows about—"
Another text appears:
UNKNOWN: Oh, and Nora? If you tell anyone about this deal—the police, your friends, Ash—the offer disappears and your grandmother suffers. This stays between you and Evan. Welcome to the game.
I look up at Evan, my enemy, my tormentor, the boy who just drove me to save my grandmother.
"What game?" I ask. "What the hell is happening?"
His blue eyes meet mine, and I see something there that terrifies me.
He knows more than he's saying.
And whatever this game is, we're both already playing it.