Rosa Linwood
Tuesday, 6:21pm, September 10, 2025
Julian Blackwood was never supposed to matter to me again.
We hadn't spoken much since sixth grade, when he used to sit behind me and copy my vocabulary tests, grinning like he thought I wouldn't notice. He was all dimples and crooked confidence back then—one of those boys who didn't need to try too hard to be liked.
Now? He was taller. Quieter. Still charming in a way that sneaked up on you. And failing Algebra II.
That's how I ended up across from him in the library every Tuesday and Thursday after school, pencil in hand, explaining how to isolate variables while pretending not to notice the way he looked at me when I wasn't looking.
"Okay," I said, circling the denominator. "You just need to multiply both sides by the reciprocal. Like this."
Julian leaned forward, watching my hand move. "You make it look easy."
"It is easy," I said, smiling a little. "You just overthink it."
He smiled back. Not the big, showy smile he used on most people. This one was softer. Real.
"You always knew how to make things seem less scary," he said.
I blinked. That wasn't about math.
We both knew it.
Outside the library window, the sun was starting to slip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the tables. A few kids were packing up. We still had fifteen minutes.
"You remember the science fair in fifth grade?" Julian asked suddenly.
I raised an eyebrow. "The one where your volcano exploded in your locker?"
He grinned. "Yeah. You helped me clean it up. Miss Weathers gave me detention anyway."
"You deserved it. You put actual baking soda in a sealed bottle."
"It was for science."
"You nearly blew up the hallway."
We both laughed. And for a second, it felt like we were back there again—before high school, before things got complicated.
Before his sister started glaring at me like I'd personally stolen her future.
"Has Sierra always hated me, or is that new?" I asked, too tired to pretend I hadn't noticed.
Julian rubbed the back of his neck. "It's… not new. She thinks you're too perfect. Like you walk around with a spotlight on you. Teachers love you. People listen when you talk. Your parents are really successful too."
"I study hard," I said. "It's not a crime."
"I know. But Sierra… she's always felt like people only see her as my sister. Never on her own."
I didn't say anything. I knew what that felt like, in a way. Being reduced to someone's shadow. Or someone's threat.
"I think she's wrong about you, though," Julian said, quietly. "You're not perfect. You're kind of messy, actually. You chew on your pens. Your notes look like spiderwebs. And you talk to yourself when you're stuck on a problem."
I narrowed my eyes. "You've been watching me?"
He looked down at his notebook, flustered. "Just… noticing."
That word hung between us like a held breath.
Noticing.
It meant more than he was ready to say. Maybe more than I was ready to hear.
But still, when our hands brushed reaching for the same eraser, I didn't move away.
And neither did he.
Julian's fingers lingered against mine for a heartbeat longer than they should have.
I moved my hand away quickly, pretending to adjust my pencil, but I could feel the warmth still there—like the echo of something I wasn't ready to name.
He cleared his throat. "So… uh, listen. I was wondering—" he looked up, nervous now, the grin faltering at the edges, "if you'd want to hang out this weekend? Just us."
My pencil froze halfway across the page.
"Like," he added quickly, "not for tutoring. I mean… just to hang out. Get coffee. Go somewhere. I dunno. I thought maybe—"
"Julian."
He winced a little at the way I said it. Not cruel. Just soft. Careful.
"It's not that I don't want to…" I glanced away, not sure where to look. The bookshelves? My notes? His eyes? "It's just… Wednesday."
He looked confused. "What about Wednesday?"
I hesitated. Then I said it. "We're all meeting up. Elijah invited everyone. It's… a group thing."
I hoped that would be enough. I hoped he'd leave it there. But of course he didn't.
"Elijah?" he repeated, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You mean Nathaniel's Elijah?"
I didn't answer. Not directly. I just started gathering my papers, sliding them into my folder like the conversation wasn't cracking something open between us.
"I didn't know you were all still close," he said.
"We're not," I replied, too fast. "Not like before. But we're… trying."
Julian leaned back, arms crossed, a faint frown pulling at his mouth. "So, it's like… a reunion?"
I looked up at him then. "More like… a reminder."
He didn't understand what I meant. Not really. How could he?
That place we were meeting—the spot Elijah called our "secret"—wasn't on any map. It wasn't even particularly special. Just an abandoned art room behind the old gym, windows cracked, paint peeling. But it was ours. A place we used to sneak off to after school before things changed. Before secrets dug roots into all of us.
Julian let out a breath, then smiled, tired and small. "Right. The 'secret club' thing."
"It's not like that."
"Sure."
I hated the way his voice got quieter, sadder. Like he already knew how this would go.
Like he knew that Wednesday wasn't just a hangout.
Like he knew he was already on the outside of something important.
Still, when I stood to leave, he reached out again—not touching me this time, just close enough to feel.
"Rosa… if this thing with him doesn't feel right, don't let it swallow you."
I nodded, even though I didn't really know what "right" felt like anymore.
Then I left.
And didn't look back.