Every voice, every stare—it was like the whole world knew.
My cast itched already, stiff and white and loud. It made me feel seen in the worst way. The scholarship girl with a broken arm. The fragile one. The reminder that I didn’t belong here.
I just wanted to get to class. Blend in. Pretend nothing happened. But the second I turned the corner, I saw them.
Layla, Aly, and Jennie all froze mid-step before running straight toward me. Aly’s face fell first, eyes wide with that protective look behind them, and Layla covered her mouth as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Jennie still had that same worried look from yesterday.
And then they were all around me.
Layla reached out first, her hands shaking as she hovered near my arm but didn’t touch. “Why didn’t you answer?” she asked, voice trembling. “We were all worried sick when Jennie told us, Aurora.”
My throat burned. I didn’t know what to say. How could I explain something I didn’t even understand myself?
I looked down, blinking fast, willing the sting in my eyes to disappear. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here.
But my chest still ached.
Because standing there, seeing their faces, seeing how much they cared, hurt more than the cast pressing into my skin.
Jennie’s hand landed gently on my back, guiding me closer. “Hey, breathe, it’s okay,” she whispered. Her tone was soft, like she was talking to a scared kid.
I wasn’t scared. I was humiliated.
They shouldn’t have to see me like this, weak, broken, a walking reminder of what happens when people get too close to me.
So I tried to step back, to leave. To run.
But Aly caught my good wrist before I could. “Don’t,” she said firmly. Her grip wasn’t harsh; it was grounding. “Don’t you dare walk away.”
I looked up at her, startled.
“You don’t get to run when people love you,” Aly said quietly. “Not anymore.”
That did it.
I broke, silently, completely as Jennie’s arms wrapped around me from one side and Layla’s from the other, careful not to touch the cast.
I stood there, shaking, trapped in warmth I didn’t know what to do with.
It felt too much. Too kind. Too good for me.
I wanted to tell them it’s okay, that I deserved it, that it was my fault. But all I could do was stand there, breathing unevenly as their voices blurred into soft promises that they wouldn’t leave.
And I believed them.
The girls walked me all the way to my class, one on each side like bodyguards.
I could feel people staring, the cast, their worried faces, it was all too obvious.
“Wait here,” Jennie said, pointing at the door. “Don’t move. Text me if you need anything, okay?”
Layla added, “Don’t disappear again.”
And Aly—of course—crossed her arms and gave me that look. “We mean it, Campbell.”
I gave them a tiny nod. That was enough for them to finally relax.
Jennie waved before they left, Layla blowing a small kiss in the air, and I stood there for a moment… just breathing.
