It wasn’t until the end of my favorite class—Advanced Studio—after the bell rang that I felt it. Relief. The only room I wanted to be in anymore was the studio. Not school. Not home. Somewhere I could untangle space and color, somewhere I could start again.
A few steps later, Avery plopped beside me at one of the metal-topped tables, her sketchbook splayed open in front of her. “Honestly,” she muttered, “I can’t draw worth a damn.”
She tapped at a half-finished figure wrestling with perspective. “I tried sketching—guess who?” She’d been doodling what suspiciously resembled Jax: square jaw, stormy eyes, hunched hockey posture. A decent likeness, all things considered.
I glanced over. “That’s… actually not bad.”
She grimaced. “It’s awful. Look—I messed up the ear, the jaw’s wonky, and the damn eyes are off-kilter.”
I leaned in. “Here, try softening the jawline—less square, more angular. And shift the eye over a bit.” I traced the adjustment on the page. “There. Now he looks like trouble, the kind you want to chase.”
She blinked, a smile creeping in. “That’s… kinda better.” She pushed her hair back. “See? I’m totally the worst artist in the room.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re not, Aves.”
She laughed quietly, nudging me. “Shut up and let me finish it.”
We sat there—two artists lost in the rhythm of lines, hearts tangled in places pencils couldn’t reach.
I stayed late after the bell rang to finish a sketch—of Luke, of course—before packing up. The hallway lights were warm, yellowed glass, the corridor empty of students. I thumbed through Luke’s text:Roof. After practice.
I dumped the books I wouldn’t need into my locker, spun the dial, and turned to leave—then stopped cold.
Elise’s voice. Muffled. Clipped. Laced with venom.
I took a step toward the bathroom entrance then paused just before the corner. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t hiding. I wasn’t eavesdropping. But I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Because something in her tone said I needed to hear this.
“I’m trying! He’s chasing her—what do you want me to do, drug him?”
My breath caught in my chest. She wasn’t laughing. She sounded angry, scared, and unhinged. I backed away, putting some distance between myself and the door, nearer the girls’ basketball trophy case where she might not see me.
Elise flew through the girls’ bathroom door, storming toward the school’s exit without seeing me. I waited then crept forward and checked around the corner. No one. She’d been on the phone.
A second later, she slapped both palms into the metal bar on the exit door, shoving it open before disappearing from sight. Then came the silence. A hollow, echoing quiet that somehow roared louder than her voice.
My stomach rolled as the world spun around me—What if she meant it? What if she wasn’t kidding?
The crack in her composure felt darker than high school petty. This wasn’t drama. This was desperation. A girl coming undone under pressure. And whatever she'd been asked to do... it had pushed her too far.
I backed out of the corridor, legs heavy, mind reeling. The halls had mostly emptied, the last stragglers filtering toward the parking lot. At the exit, I paused long enough to check my phone.
One message blinked from Avery:You good? You seemed off all day.
I typed back:Yeah. Just needed a minute.
No explanation. She’d probably already left, assuming I would catch up later.
I took the long way out. Climbed into my car and drove without thinking—muscle memory steering me toward the only place that ever made sense when the noise got too loud—the studio at the boardwalk.
I parked, climbed over the sand-stained railing, and walked until the spray kissed my ankles. Waves slapped the pilings. A breeze tangled through my hair.
Then I called Mom. Fingertips shaking. She answered on the third ring, and mind spinning, I jumped right into my latest problem. “You’re not going to—Elise didn’t—I mean…”I paused, swallowed.
“Slow down, Mila. What happened?”
When I told her what I’d overheard, her voice went low.
“Look.” Mom’s tone was measured but urgent. “All I can speculate is that her father’s putting the screws to her. I’ve only heard rumors, but the man’s ruthless. Elise might be under pressure to find a weakness in the Kings, and fast. Whether it’s her dad pushing that angle or someone else—I don’t know. But it tracks.”
