This wasn’t just a drawing. It was a war memorial. And I was the name carved into the stone.
“You good?” someone asked behind me—a guy from the team. He probably had no clue what he was looking at. All he saw was just another weird art kid spiraling on paper.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. But I wasn’t.
Because that wasn’t just a drawing of Tru. That was a picture of everything I’d ripped out of him. His kindness, his trusting nature, his spirit.
And if that version of him still lived inside, then maybe the real Tru—the one who used to smile at me like I was the sun—was already dead. Buried beneath all the silence I left him with.
The drawing didn’t ask for pity. It demandedaccountability.
I turned to go, but stopped after two steps. And when Ilooked back, he was watching me. It was just a flash of his blue eyes, a connection from across the room.
He didn’t smile and didn’t look away.
But neither did I. I should’ve. Because I’d spent years pretending I didn’t care. That I hadn’t ruined everything worth saving. And one look at that drawing?
It cracked something open. Something I couldn’t bury this time.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone at the show, didn’t wait for a ride, and when the guys called after me, I didn’t answer. The night air felt cool on my face and blessedly quiet. Nothing but the occasional cricket as I walked—and walked—Nearly two miles with no clear direction in mind, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, hood up, head down.
Maybe if I just kept moving, I could outrun the version of myself hanging in the middle of that gym. The one who split Tru open and called it love. Or hate. I still couldn’t tell the difference.
Half a block from home, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and thumbed the screen.
Lauren:
Wanna come over? Parents are gone.
I stared at it until the screen dimmed, then shoved the phone back into my pocket without answering.
The last thing I wanted was someone else’s hands on me.
Not when his picture was still burned to the inside of my eyelids.
I had meant to go home, but I just couldn’t stomach the silence. It was different than the quiet that enveloped me as I walked. That was soothing. Mind numbing. The silence at home felt… Empty. And also loud. Echoes of all the things that had been shouted, and all the things that had been left unsaid by my parents, bounced off the walls until I couldn’t hear myself think.
Somehow, I ended up at the lot.
The pale, ghost-like moon cast shadows across the bones of the old construction site, littered with unfinished foundations and piles of lumber gone soft with rot.
I knew exactly where to go.
The skateboard ramp had sagged more since summer. One of the wooden support beams had split, and the nails rusted and pulled free. But the hideout underneath was still there, tucked into the dirt like a forgotten secret.
I ducked down, dropped to my knees, and crawled in. It smelled a bit moldy and abandoned. I reached out and ran my hand along the wooden beam. My fingers found the initials before my eyes did.
Tru + Dare = Forever
A heart around them. Still visible. Still…there. Except someone had drawn a harsh, black line through the middle.
A kill shot.
A split.
Tru had been here. Of course, he had. He’d found my rock.
I sat back on my heels, heart pounding harder than it should’ve. I felt as if I were being watched, judged, as I pressed my palm to the dirt. What had I wanted from this place? Forgiveness? Proof that the boy who cared about me still existed under all that bitterness?
