Chloe: I’m sorry about Jake. He’s just… protective. Thank you for tonight. For being my escape.
I stared at the message, a confusing mix of triumph and guilt churning in my stomach. I was her escape. But who was mine?
I thought of Maya, probably asleep in her basement, surrounded by empty noodle cups and the flickering light of a zombie movie. I had chosen the sun, and in doing so, I had left the moon in the dark. And for the first time, I wondered if, when I looked up, she would still be there.
Chapter 4:
The Crack in the Canvas
The Monday after the party, the school halls felt like a minefield. I saw Jake first, his eyes locking onto me with a cold, warning glare before he turned and slung an arm around Chloe, pulling her close in a very public display of ownership. Chloe caught my eye over his shoulder, her expression a complicated mix of apology and something else—defiance, maybe.
I retreated to my safe harbor: Maya’s art studio during free period. The familiar scent of turpentine was a comfort. She was there, attacking a large canvas with a palette knife, slathering on thick, angry strokes of black and deep blue.
“Rough weekend?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She didn’t turn around.“You could say that.” The palette knife scraped violently.“How was your family thing?”
The air went out of the room. She knew.
“Maya, I…”
“Save it, Leo.” She finally turned, and the look in her eyes was one I’d never seen before—not anger, but a deep, weary hurt.“I saw the pictures on Sarah’s feed. You looked very cozy on that swing with Chloe.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, the lie sounding pathetic even to me.
“What was it like, then?” she challenged, dropping the palette knife with a clatter.“Were you discussing the thematic parallelsbetween Catcher in the Rye and the social hierarchy of a high school party?”
“We were just talking! She’s… it’s complicated with her and Jake.”
“Oh, I see,” Maya said, her voice dripping with a sarcasm that felt like acid.“So you’re her emotional side-piece. Her intellectual escape from her dumb jock boyfriend. How very romantic.”
Her words hit their mark, because they were true. The guilt I’d been feeling curdled into defensiveness.“You don’t understand what it’s like! You’ve never been in love with someone like that!”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. The studio went utterly silent. Maya’s face went pale, all the fight draining out of her.
“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.“I guess I haven’t.”
She turned her back to me, picking up a brush with a trembling hand.“You should go, Leo. I have to finish this.”
“Maya, I’m sorry…”
“Just go.”
I left, the slam of the garage door feeling like a period at the end of a sentence I never meant to write. The crack in our friendship wasn't a hairline fracture anymore; it was a chasm, and I was the one who had swung the sledgehammer.
I avoided her for the rest of the day, the weight of my own stupidity a physical pressure on my chest. In Calculus, Chloe slid into the seat next to me.
“Hey,” she said softly.“You okay? You look… rough.”
“Just… friend stuff,” I mumbled.
She placed her hand over mine on the desk. Her skin was warm.“I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”
Her touch was supposed to be a comfort, but all I felt was the ghost of Maya’s hurt. I was trapped. The sun was warm on my skin, but the moon was gone, and the world felt cold and dark without its light. I had wanted a place in Chloe’s world so badly, but I hadn’t realized the cost of the ticket was the person who had always been my home. The triangle wasn't a romantic dilemma; it was a slow-motion wreck, and I was at the wheel of every car.
Chapter 5:
The Empty Easel
