Cynthia Reyes had always believed she was the luckiest girl at Eastwood High. She had the best friend in the world—Lydia, who listened without judgment, who remembered every tiny detail Cynthia spilled during late-night talks, who grounded her when life felt like a whirlwind. They were supposed to be unbreakable. And for the most part, they still were: morning locker rituals, shared playlists, inside jokes that made them collapse into laughter over nothing. But lately, something felt… off. A hairline crack Cynthia couldn't quite name.
It started the night Lydia confessed her crush on Raymond.
They were cross-legged on Lydia's bed, fairy lights twinkling above them, nail polish bottles scattered like confetti. When Lydia whispered, "It's Raymond," Cynthia had squealed so loudly she nearly knocked over the lamp. She'd meant it—Raymond was perfect for Lydia. Quiet, smart, steady. The kind of guy who wouldn't play games. Cynthia had promised to help, to gather intel, to be the best wingwoman in history.
And then… things shifted in ways she hadn't expected.
Because talking to Raymond turned out to be easy. Too easy.
It began innocently. A question about a homework prompt in AP Lit. A shared eye-roll over Mr. Harlan's endless Gatsby lectures. Then hallway conversations that stretched longer than necessary. Texts about debate topics that morphed into favorite movies, music, dreams after high school. Raymond listened to her stories without interrupting, asked follow-ups that made her feel truly heard. He laughed—actually laughed—at her dramatic retellings, a low, warm sound that surprised her every time.
Cynthia told herself it was all for Lydia. She was building a bridge, softening him up, making him comfortable around their circle. But deep down, she knew she enjoyed the conversations for their own sake. Raymond was different from the loud, performative guys she usually bantered with. He was calm water to her sparkler energy. And for the first time in a long time, Cynthia found herself toning down the sparkle just to keep talking to him.
She noticed the rumors, of course.
At first, they were funny. A sophomore whispering, "You and Keller—total couple vibes." Thomas's relentless teasing at lunch: "When's the wedding, Reyes?" Even teachers raised eyebrows when she and Raymond walked into class together chatting. Cynthia laughed it off, corrected people with an easy, "We're just friends!" because it was true. Mostly.
But every time she denied it, she caught Lydia's expression—a flicker of something before the quick smile returned. Hurt? Resentment? Cynthia couldn't tell. Lydia had started pulling back: shorter replies to texts, skipping their weekend coffee runs with vague excuses about homework. When Cynthia asked if everything was okay, Lydia always said yes. Always.
So Cynthia kept hanging out with Raymond. Because backing off now would look suspicious. Because it helped Lydia… right?
Wrong, a small voice whispered.
One Thursday in early November, Cynthia sat in the cafeteria watching Lydia and Jack across the table. Jack was mid-story, gesturing wildly about a soccer prank, and Lydia was laughing—really laughing, head tilted back, eyes bright. It was the kind of laugh Cynthia hadn't heard from her best friend in weeks.
A pang hit her chest. Guilt? Jealousy? Both?
She loved Jack's energy—he'd slotted into their group like he'd always belonged. He was kind to everyone, quick with a joke, never moody. And he was especially good to Lydia: saving her seats, remembering she liked chocolate milk, walking her to classes. The whole school had latched onto it, chanting "Lovers!" every chance they got. Cynthia had joined in the teasing at first—it seemed harmless. But watching Lydia blush and duck her head now, she wondered if she'd been part of pushing her best friend away.
Raymond sat beside her, unusually quiet. His tray was barely touched, blue eyes fixed on Lydia and Jack with that stern, closed-off look he'd worn more and more lately. Cynthia nudged him.
"You okay?"
He blinked, mask slipping for a second. "Yeah. Fine."
"Liar." She kept her voice low. "You've been brooding since the game last week."
Raymond shrugged, picking at a fry. "Just tired."
Cynthia studied him. She'd gotten better at reading his silences these past weeks. "It's the chanting, isn't it? The 'lovers' thing with Lydia and Jack."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "It's stupid."
"Maybe. But it bothers you."
He didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Cynthia sighed, turning back to watch Lydia and Jack. Jack was showing Lydia something on his phone now, their heads close together. Lydia's smile was soft, genuine. Cynthia felt that pang again, sharper this time.
Later that afternoon, she cornered Lydia at her locker.
"Hey, stranger," Cynthia said, aiming for light. "We haven't had a proper hangout in forever. Movie night this weekend? Just us?"
Lydia closed her locker slowly. "I promised Jack I'd help him study for the history midterm Saturday. He's stressed about it."
Cynthia's stomach dropped. "Oh. Okay. Sunday then?"
"Maybe. I'll text you."
The brush-off was gentle, but it stung. Cynthia forced a smile. "Cool. No pressure."
As Lydia walked away, Cynthia leaned against the lockers, watching her go. She spotted Raymond down the hall, heading the opposite direction—his expression stern again as he glanced toward Lydia's retreating figure.
This was her fault.
That night, Cynthia lay in bed scrolling through old photos on her phone—her and Lydia at the beach last summer, making silly faces at the county fair, dressed up for homecoming sophomore year. They looked happy. Solid. When had the distance crept in?
She opened her messages with Raymond on impulse.
Cynthia: You up?
Raymond: Yeah. What's wrong?
Cynthia: Nothing. Everything. Idk.
Raymond: Talk.
She hesitated, thumbs hovering.
Cynthia: I think I messed up. With Lydia.
Three dots appeared, vanished, reappeared.
Raymond: How?
Cynthia: All the time we've been spending together… people think we're a thing. And Lydia's pulling away. I didn't mean for it to hurt her.
Raymond: She told you she likes me.
It wasn't a question.
Cynthia: Yeah. And I thought I was helping. But now she's super close with Jack and barely talks to me about anything real anymore.
Raymond: The chanting doesn't help.
Cynthia: I know. I laughed along at first but… I should've shut it down.
A long pause.
Raymond: It's not just you. I haven't exactly talked to her either.
Cynthia: Because of Jack?
Raymond: …Maybe.
Cynthia stared at the screen. She'd suspected Raymond felt something for Lydia—those small smiles when her name came up, the way his eyes tracked her in group settings. But hearing it implied so plainly made it real.
Cynthia: You like her too.
Raymond: I don't know. Maybe. It's complicated.
Cynthia exhaled slowly. Complicated. That was the perfect word for everything right now.
Cynthia: We need to fix this. Before it gets worse.
Raymond: How?
Cynthia: I don't know yet. But I miss my best friend.
Raymond: Yeah.
She set her phone down, staring at the ceiling. For the first time, Cynthia saw the full picture from the outside: Lydia hurting in silence, Raymond closed off behind that stern mask, Jack unknowingly (or maybe not) filling the space she'd left empty. And herself—enjoying Raymond's company more than she should, all while losing the person who mattered most.
The next day at lunch, Cynthia made a decision.
She arrived early and saved Lydia's usual seat. When Lydia approached with Jack, Cynthia waved enthusiastically. "Sit here, Lyd! I miss you."
Lydia hesitated, then smiled and slid in beside her. Jack took the seat across, still close but not glued to Lydia's side.
As the table filled—Thomas loud as ever, Julius silent and scowling at the end, Raymond arriving last with that stern expression already in place—Cynthia leaned toward Lydia.
"I'm serious about movie night," she whispered. "Just us. Tomorrow. Please?"
Lydia met her eyes, and for a moment the old warmth flickered there. "Okay. Tomorrow."
Cynthia squeezed her hand under the table. "Good."
Across from them, someone started the chant again when Jack passed Lydia a napkin—"Lovers!"—but Cynthia cut it off sharply.
"Enough with that already. They're friends. Like the rest of us."
The table went quiet for a beat. Thomas raised an eyebrow. Even Raymond glanced up, stern mask softening slightly in surprise.
Jack just grinned easily. "She's right. Chill, people."
Lydia gave Cynthia a grateful look.
It was a small step. But Cynthia felt the crack in their friendship begin—maybe—to mend.
She didn't notice Julius watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, or Raymond's gaze lingering on Lydia a little longer than usual. She was too focused on holding onto the one relationship she couldn't bear to lose.
But the threads were still tangled, and one honest conversation wouldn't untie them all.
Not yet.