CHAPTER 5
Where It Finally Comes Out
I didn't wait for dinner.
The moment I stepped into the house, I slipped out of my shoes near the door and walked past the living room without lifting my head.
The television murmured in the background.
I could sense my grandmother sitting in her chair, knitting slowly, and my mom moving around the kitchen, placing plates on the table.
"Jane?" my mom called softly. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
I didn't answer.
I went straight to the stairs.
"Jane," my mom called again, a little louder.
I paused for a second and said, "I'm tired," without turning around.
Then I continued upstairs.
Once inside my room, I closed the door behind me and locked it.
Only then did my shoulders finally drop.
I left my bag near the door and sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall opposite me.
My room felt smaller than usual. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every thought echo louder than it should.
I lay back slowly and stared at the ceiling. My chest felt tight, as if something heavy was pressing down on it. I tried to breathe the way people always say you should—slow and steady.
It didn't work.
My throat burned. My eyes filled before I could stop it.
At first, the tears came quietly. Just a few slipping down the sides of my face. I wiped them away, irritated with myself.
Stop, I told myself.
You're fine.
But I wasn't.
My breathing hitched, and suddenly I curled onto my side, clutching the pillow.
A broken sound escaped me before I could stop it. I pressed my face into the fabric, trying to keep it quiet, trying not to let anyone downstairs hear me fall apart.
My fingers brushed against something hard near my waist.
The keychain.
I pulled it closer and wrapped my fingers around it tightly.
The familiar shape pressed into my palm, grounding me just enough to keep me from completely breaking.
"I'm trying," I whispered, not sure who I was talking to. "I really am."
My phone buzzed beside me.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the screen through blurred vision.
Heather.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
I didn't want to cry on the phone. I didn't want to explain everything. I didn't want to sound weak.
But the moment I imagined hearing her voice, something inside me finally gave way.
I pressed call.
"Jane?" Heather answered almost immediately. "Hey. What's wrong?"
That was all it took.
My breath broke. The tears came harder now, my chest shaking as I tried—and failed—to hold myself together.
"I—" My voice cracked. "I don't know where to start."
"Then don't," she said gently. "Just breathe. I'm here."
I shook my head even though she couldn't see me.
"Everything hurts. Everything. I feel so stupid for thinking it could be different."
"Slow down," Heather said softly. "Tell me what happened. Start wherever it hurts the most."
I swallowed hard. "Luke."
She went quiet—the kind of silence that told me she was listening carefully.
"He humiliated me today," I said, the words tumbling out now. "In front of everyone. I fell. He took pictures. He laughed. Everyone laughed."
"Oh, Jane," she whispered.
"And it's not just that," I continued, my voice shaking. "He keeps saying things about my dad. About losing him. Like it's a joke. Like my pain is something he can use."
"I'm so sorry," Heather said.
"I feel so small," I admitted. "Like no matter what I do, I'll always be that girl they look down on."
There was a pause.
"Is that why you sound like this?" she asked gently. "Because you feel small?"
"Yes," I whispered. "And because… it's about Zack."
Heather sighed softly, not surprised. "I figured."
That made my chest tighten. "You did?"
"You didn't sound like this because of Luke alone," she said gently. "And last time we spoke, you wouldn't stop smiling when you said his name."
I let out a weak, tearful laugh. "I didn't even notice."
"I did," she said. "So what happened?"
"He's still kind," I said quietly. "Still patient. Still… real. He listens to me in a way that doesn't feel forced."
"And that scares you," Heather said.
"So much," I admitted. "What if I'm only seeing what I want to see?"
I told her everything then.
The poem.
My answer in class.
Luke's cruelty.
Zack returning my keychain without making a scene.
The way his voice steadied me when everything felt too loud.
"And today," I said softly, "he asked me to have dinner with him."
Heather was quiet for a moment.
"That's a big step," she said finally. "Not because it's romantic. But because it means he chose you."
"And that's exactly why I'm scared," I said. "What if he realizes I'm not worth the trouble?"
"Jane," Heather said firmly, "that fear didn't come from him."
I closed my eyes.
"I asked him for three days," I continued. "I couldn't say yes. I couldn't say no. I just froze."
"That doesn't make you weak," she said. "It means you're thinking."
"I don't want him to get bullied because of me," I said. "And I don't want to lose him either."
There was a short silence.
"Heather," I whispered. "What do I do next?"
"I can't tell you what to do," she said carefully. "Because it has to be your choice. Not mine. Not Zack's."
"What if I choose wrong?"
"You might," she said honestly. "That's part of being alive."
"So… do you think I should go?"
"I think," she said gently, "if you want to go, then you should. Not because you're afraid of losing him. But because you're curious."
"And if I get hurt?"
"Then you pay attention," she replied. "To how he treats you when no one is watching.
To whether he listens when you're
uncomfortable. To whether he respects your silence as much as your smiles."
I tightened my grip on the phone.
"What kind of red flags?"
"If he rushes you."
"If he makes you feel guilty for needing time."
"If he talks down to you, even as a joke."
"If he makes your pain feel inconvenient."
I listened carefully.
"But don't look for flaws just to punish yourself for liking him," Heather added. "Red flags aren't about suspicion. They're about awareness."
"And if I don't see any?" I asked quietly.
"Then maybe," she said softly, "this isn't something to run from. Maybe it's something to walk into carefully—with your eyes open."
I was quiet for a moment.
"Thank you," I said. "For everything. For not judging me. For staying."
Heather chuckled lightly. "Of course I stayed. You're stuck with me."
That made me smile through my tears.
"And for the record," she added, "if this Zack guy turns out to be an idiot, I fully reserve the right to say 'I told you so.'"
I laughed—an actual laugh, surprised by the sound of it.
"Deal," I said.
We ended the call soon after.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the keychain resting against my chest. For the first time, Zack wasn't the question anymore. What mattered was whether I trusted myself enough to choose—not out of fear, not out of loneliness, but with my eyes open. Maybe the meaning of life wasn't about finding someone who saved me, but about believing that I was strong enough to walk forward on my own, even if it meant taking a risk.