Now I was the invisible one. The weird kid. The art freak. The one people stared at just a second too long before looking away, as if they watched me for too long, they might catch whatever disease I had.
And maybe I was contagious. Maybe heartbreak was a virus, and Dare was the carrier.
I stood up to leave because I just couldn’t do it today—the noise, their cruel eyes, the way every glance felt like a needle. I just wanted to disappear.
I took one step, then another. My foot slipped on something. A shoelace? A crumpled wrapper?
Didn’t matter. My tray went flying. It hit the ground with a loud crash enough to silence the room. Milk spilled across the tile. My sandwich landed face down. Fries scattered like shrapnel.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
All the air left my lungs in a single, choking exhale. I stood there shaking, staring down at the wreckage. My hands clenched at my sides. My eyes burned with unshed tears.
Laughter rippled around me. Not a roar, but worse. A hush filled with smirks and whispers and amusement that slithers under your skin and makes you feelfilthyfor existing.
I felt them watching. Felthimwatching. I looked up. Just once. Just to see.
Dare was halfway out of his seat. His eyes locked on mine. Something flickered there—guilt? Regret? Recognition? Then one of his friends slapped him on the back and pointed at me, grinning like I was the funniest thing they’d seen all day.
Dare didn’t move again. He didn’t come to help. Didn’t say a word. He sat back down.
And helaughed.
My knees wanted to buckle under the weight of my shame and humiliation. I swallowed hard and turned, and I didn’t stop to grab my tray or my bag. I just ran out of the cafeteria, down the hallway, and through the nearest door.
The cold hit me like a slap to the face, but I kept going. I didn’t stop until I was behind the gym, hands braced on my knees, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might rupture.
The tears came then, quiet and angry. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my hoodie, cursing myself for letting him still matter.
Why does he still matter?
Because some part of me still believed he would’ve helped me. Some stupid, naïve part that hadn’t gotten the message.
He chose them. Again.
Just like everyone else. Just like my dad. People don’t stay. They don’t choose me, they choose someone easier to love.
I didn’t go home after school. I rode until my legs burned, until my lungs felt raw and the wind turned my face numb. The burn in my calves was better than the one in my chest.
The old construction field was mostly overgrown now, nature reclaiming the half-built promise of a neighborhood that never got finished. The grass was tall enough to brush my knees.
I dropped my bike in the grass and ducked beneath the ramp. My fingers traced over the names scrawled in red Sharpie on the wooden post.
Tru + Dare
Forever
The blue heart around it had faded, the ink bleeding into the grain like it didn’t want to hold on anymore.
Neither did I.
I pulled a Sharpie from my hoodie pocket. The same kind Ikept in my sketchbook case. Same kind I used to use when we spent entire afternoons hiding out here, drawing monsters and robots and worlds where no one ever left you behind.
I uncapped it and drew a line. Right through the heart. Right throughus.A slow, black scar that split it in half. My throat burned, but no sound came. My fingers shook, then locked tight, refusing to let go. I just stared at what I’d done. Proof of the end, etched in ink.
The wind outside made the ramp creak. Somewhere far off, a dog barked. I stayed under there until the light started to change, until the shadows grew long and golden and the hurt inside me quieted enough to breathe through.
When I finally climbed back on my bike, I didn’t look back. But I left the Sharpie behind.
