Wren didn't look back when she left the classroom.
I noticed because I'd been half-expecting her to.
That was the problem. Somewhere between Sunday night and Wednesday afternoon, I'd started expecting things. Small ones. Meaningless ones. The kind that sneaks up on you and rearranges the furniture in your head without asking.
I packed my bag slower than usual.
Marcus clapped me on the shoulder as he passed. "Practice in an hour. Don't disappear."
"Yeah," I said. "I know."
He lingered, squinting at me. "You good?"
That question again.
It followed me lately.
"I'm fine."
He smirked. "You keep saying that like it's a spell."
I waited until the room emptied before standing. Serena's laughter floated past the doorway as she and her friends left, sharp and polished. I didn't look in her direction. I didn't need to. I could already feel her attention like a tap on the shoulder, but I refused to answer.
Instead, my mind did what it had been doing all week.
It went to Wren.
Not the version of her in class, quiet and composed, eyes always holding something back. The other one. The one from Sunday night, sitting at my kitchen table with her sleeves pushed up, explaining something with her hands when she forgot to be careful.
The way she'd gone still whenever things felt too close.
The way she never filled silence just to escape it.
I hated how much space she took up in my head.
Practice was loud. The gym smelled like sweat and floor polish, echoes bouncing off the walls. I threw myself into drills harder than necessary, jumping higher, hitting sharper. It helped until it didn't.
"Dude," my friend Josh said during a water break. "You're playing like you're mad at the air."
I wiped my face with my shirt. "Just tired."
He raised a brow. "Uh-huh. Is this about the girl?"
I froze.
"What girl?"
"The one who made you forget to check your phone for three hours on Sunday," he said lightly. "Marcus mentioned it."
I shot Marcus a look across the gym. He shrugged, unapologetic.
"She's not… like that," I said.
Josh smiled. "That's never what people mean when they say that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After practice, I sat in my car longer than usual, hands resting on the steering wheel. My phone lay facedown in the cup holder.
I wanted to text her.
I didn't know what I'd say.
You okay? felt too familiar.
Did today feel weird for you too? felt like stepping onto thin ice.
Weren't you satisfied with our presentation of the project? I wanted to ask, but felt too personal, So I did nothing.
At home, the house greeted me with its usual quiet. No lights on. No voices. Just space.
I dropped my bag by the stairs and stood there, listening to the silence settle. Sunday night replayed again, uninvited. The way she'd stood near the door when she left, hesitating like she was deciding whether to say something else.
She hadn't.
Neither had I.
I leaned against the counter and exhaled slowly.
People thought they knew me. The volleyball star of the team. The easy smile. The life that made sense from the outside. What they didn't see was how much I relied on patterns. Familiar routes. Predictable outcomes.
Wren didn't fit any of them.
That was the part I couldn't stop thinking about.
I finally picked up my phone, typed her name, then paused.
Somewhere between curiosity and concern, something else had started to form. Something quieter. Something that didn't demand answers yet, but wanted honesty when it came.
I locked the screen without sending anything.
Not because I didn't care.
Because I cared enough to be careful.
And that scared me more than I was ready to admit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marcus called around ten.
I let it ring twice before answering, already knowing what he was going to say.
"Get dressed," he said. "We're going out. Just a few of the guys."
"I have practice tomorrow."
"So do we," he replied. "That's future-us's problem."
I stared at the ceiling, phone pressed to my ear. The house felt too quiet tonight. Like it was listening.
"I'm not really in the mood," I said.
Marcus laughed. "That's exactly why you're coming."
Twenty minutes later, I was in the back seat of Josh's car, city lights streaking past the windows. The music was low, the conversation louder. Someone passed bottles around. I took one, mostly to keep my hands busy, barely sipping.
I wasn't there to forget.
I was there to stop thinking.
It didn't work.
The place was crowded but dim, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off walls. Familiar faces. Familiar energy. The kind of night I usually blended into without effort.
That's when I saw the jacket.
Maroon and white. Thick lettering across the back. A crest I recognized without trying.
I stiffened.
She stood near the bar, talking animatedly, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her laugh rang out, sharp and confident. She wore the jacket like it meant something. Like she wanted it seen.
Wrens old school.
I hadn't even realized I was staring until Josh nudged me. "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," I said absently. "I just… know her."
That wasn't entirely true.
I had seen her a couple of times on the blog when I was snooping around about Wren.
I watched her for another second, gears clicking into place. Curiosity stirred again, sharper this time. Less gentle.
Before I could overthink it, I moved.
"Hey," I said when I reached her.
She turned, eyes flicking over me, then lighting up with recognition that surprised me. "Oh. You're Elias, right?"
I frowned. "You know me?"
She smiled, slow and knowing. "Everyone does, the star volleyball player? Who doesn't?"
I glanced at her jacket. "You go to Eastbridge?"
"Went," she corrected. "Transferred last year."
My pulse picked up. "Oh I see. You know Wren?"
Something flickered across her face. Not surprise. Caution.
"I know of her," she said carefully. "Why?"
"She's in my class," I replied. "We're… working together, on a project."
That wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
The girl studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "She always did that. Kept things vague."
"Did what?"
"Stayed unreadable," she said. "People talked. She never confirmed anything."
"About what?" I asked.
She took a sip of her drink, eyes scanning the room like she was checking who might be listening. "Let's just say Eastbridge wasn't exactly kind. And Wren didn't exactly fight back."
My jaw tightened. "Fight back how?"
"She disappeared when things got loud," the girl said. "Then suddenly transferred. No goodbye. No explanation."
I waited.
"She's not a bad person," she added quickly. "Just… private. And when you're private in the wrong place, people fill in the blanks for you."
Before I could press further, someone brushed past us, laughing too loudly. The moment fractured.
"I should go," she said, already stepping back. "You didn't hear this from me."
She turned away before I could respond.
I stood there longer than necessary, staring at the empty space she left behind.
That's when I felt it.
Not a tap. Not a voice.
A lens.
Across the room, Serena's friend stood near the entrance, phone lifted casually. Too casually. She smiled at something on her screen, then slipped the phone into her bag.
My stomach dropped.
I didn't say anything. I didn't chase after anyone. I just went back to the guys, the night suddenly sour in my mouth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, the picture was everywhere.
I saw it before first period. Someone had posted it in a group chat, then another. Then another. Me, leaning slightly toward the girl. Her varsity jacket clear as day. The angle close enough to suggest something that hadn't happened.
Mystery girl spotted with Elias!
I stared at my phone until the screen dimmed.
By lunch, everyone was talking about it.
By afternoon, I noticed Wren hadn't looked at me once.
She sat two rows ahead, shoulders tense, gaze fixed on her notebook like it held answers. When the bell rang, she left immediately, moving fast, avoiding the hallways we usually crossed at the same time.
I tried to catch up. She disappeared.
That afternoon, it hit me.
She knew.
Not about the picture.
About the girl.
And whatever Wren was running from, I'd just brushed against it without meaning to.
For the first time since meeting her, I didn't feel curious.
I felt worried.
And that was worse.