Maya's POV
The card slipped from my sweaty fingers and landed in a puddle.
"No!" I gasped, dropping to my knees on the wet sidewalk.
I grabbed it quickly, but the damage was done. The edges were soggy, and the ink from my carefully drawn hearts was bleeding into ugly brown smudges. Two weeks of work—ruined in two seconds.
My eyes burned with tears as I stared at the mess. I'd spent hours on this card. Hours picking the perfect words, drawing tiny snowflakes around Jake's name, writing and rewriting my confession until every sentence was perfect.
And now it looked like garbage.
"Maya?" A voice made me look up.
Sophie Chen stood there, holding two cups of hot chocolate. She was in my English class and always smiled at me in the hallways, but we weren't exactly friends.
"Are you okay?" She handed me a napkin.
"I'm fine." I tried to wipe the card, but that only made it worse. "I just... I dropped something important."
Sophie looked at the card, and understanding crossed her face. "Is that for Jake Morrison?"
My cheeks went hot. "How did you know?"
"Everyone knows you like him," Sophie said gently. "You stare at him during lunch every single day."
I wanted to die right there on the sidewalk. "That obvious?"
"Kind of." Sophie sat down next to me, not even caring about the puddle. "Are you going to give it to him tonight? At the party?"
I looked toward the student center where the Christmas party was in full swing. Through the windows, I could see the big tree covered in lights, students dancing and laughing, and Jake standing with his basketball teammates, looking perfect as always.
"I was going to," I whispered. "But now the card is ruined, and I look like an idiot, and this whole thing was a stupid idea anyway."
"Hey." Sophie bumped my shoulder. "It's not stupid to tell someone how you feel."
"Even when they don't feel the same way?"
"You don't know that."
But I did know. I'd watched Jake for three years. Watched him date the prettiest girls in school, girls who were confident and popular and nothing like me. Girls who didn't spend Friday nights reading books or helping their dad at his restaurant.
"Come on," Sophie said, pulling me to my feet. "Let's get you cleaned up. You've come this far—don't give up now."
---
The bathroom mirror showed exactly what I expected: a mess.
My hair was frizzy from the rain, my mascara was smudged, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking as I tried to fix the card with paper towels.
"It's not working," I said, my voice breaking. "I should just go home."
"Or," Sophie said, appearing behind me with a mischievous smile, "you could forget the card and just talk to him."
"Talk to him?" I laughed, but it came out more like a sob. "I can barely breathe when he walks past me in the hallway. How am I supposed to actually talk to him?"
"One word at a time." Sophie squeezed my shoulder. "Look, the card was just paper. What matters is what you want to say. You don't need fancy drawings to tell someone you like them."
She was right, but that didn't make it any easier.
"What if he laughs at me?" I whispered.
"Then he's an idiot who doesn't deserve you," Sophie said firmly. "But you'll never know unless you try."
I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection. This was it. Tonight, I would finally tell Jake Morrison how I felt. No more hiding, no more watching from far away.
"Okay," I said. "I'll do it."
Sophie grinned. "That's my girl. Now let's go before you change your mind."
---
The party was louder than I expected. Music pounded through speakers, and everyone seemed to be talking and laughing at once. My heart hammered as Sophie led me through the crowd toward the Christmas tree where Jake stood.
He looked amazing. His dark hair was messy in that perfect way, and when he smiled at something his friend said, dimples appeared in his cheeks.
"I can't do this," I said, stopping.
"Yes, you can." Sophie gave me a gentle push. "Go."
I forced my feet to move, one step at a time. Jake was so close now. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.
Then a girl appeared out of nowhere and threw her arms around him.
I froze.
The girl was beautiful—long blonde hair, perfect smile, expensive-looking clothes. She kissed Jake's cheek, and he laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist.
My stomach dropped like a stone.
"Who is that?" I heard myself ask.
Sophie's face fell. "That's Brittany Collins. She goes to Lincoln Academy. I heard rumors they were dating, but I thought..."
She didn't finish, but she didn't need to.
I watched Jake pull Brittany closer, watched him whisper something in her ear that made her giggle. Watched my three years of hoping and dreaming crumble into nothing.
"Maya, I'm so sorry," Sophie said.
"It's fine." My voice sounded far away. "I should have known."
I turned to leave, but my shoe caught on something and I stumbled forward—right into a table full of punch cups. They crashed to the floor with a loud smash that made everyone stop and stare.
Including Jake.
Our eyes met across the room. For one horrible second, I saw confusion on his face, like he was trying to remember who I was.
Then Brittany whispered something to him, and they both laughed.
Tears blurred my vision as I ran for the exit. Behind me, I heard Sophie calling my name, but I couldn't stop. I pushed through the doors and into the cold night air, running until my lungs burned.
I ended up behind the library, leaning against the brick wall and crying harder than I had in years. The ruined card was still in my pocket, soggy and pathetic.
Just like me.
"Stupid," I whispered, hitting the wall with my palm. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
"I don't think you're stupid."
I spun around.
A guy stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets. He was tall with messy brown hair and kind eyes. I'd seen him around campus but didn't know his name.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just... you looked upset."
"I'm fine," I lied, wiping my face.
"No, you're not." He stepped closer, and I noticed he was holding something. A notebook. "I saw what happened in there. Jake Morrison is an idiot."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "You don't even know what happened."
"I know you were brave enough to go talk to your crush, and he was too busy with his girlfriend to notice." The guy shrugged. "That makes him an idiot and you brave."
"I don't feel brave. I feel humiliated."
"Those things aren't mutually exclusive." He held out the notebook. "Here. You dropped this when you fell."
I took it, confused. "This isn't mine."
"I know. It's mine." His cheeks turned pink. "But it has something in it I think you should see."
My hands shook as I opened the notebook. Inside were drawings—beautiful, detailed sketches of campus buildings, trees, and people.
And on the most recent page was a drawing of me.
I was sitting under a tree, reading a book, sunlight filtering through the leaves. The drawing captured everything—the way I tucked my hair behind my ear when I read, the small smile I got when I found a good part, even the worn backpack beside me.
"You drew this?" I whispered.
"I'm in your art history class," he said. "I'm Ethan. Ethan Park. And I've been wanting to talk to you for months, but you always seemed so focused on... well, on him."
I looked up at Ethan, really looked at him, and saw something in his eyes that made my breath catch. Not pity. Not sympathy.
Interest. Real, genuine interest.
"I know this is terrible timing," Ethan continued, his words rushing out. "And you probably think I'm a creep for drawing you without permission. But I just... I wanted you to know that someone sees you. Really sees you."
My heart was doing something strange in my chest. Something that felt nothing like the crushing pain from five minutes ago.
"Ethan, I—"
A scream cut through the night.
We both turned toward the sound. It came from the student center, followed by shouting and the sound of breaking glass.
"What's happening?" I asked.
Ethan grabbed my hand. "I don't know, but we need to go check."
We ran back toward the party, and what I saw through the windows made my blood run cold.
The Christmas tree was on fire. Students were running in every direction, panicking and screaming. And in the center of it all, Jake lay on the floor, not moving, while Brittany knelt beside him, crying.
"Call 911!" someone shouted.
Ethan pulled out his phone, but I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Then I saw it—a figure standing in the shadows near the burning tree, watching the chaos with a satisfied smile.
They turned, and in the flickering firelight, I saw their face clearly.
It was Mr. Henderson, our chemistry teacher.
And in his hand was an empty container of lighter fluid.