I touched his arm.
“No,” I said gently. “I need to talk to him.”
Mathieu stood a few rows away, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His expression was careful—open, but guarded. Like he was bracing for impact.
Archie head turned toward me, sharp. “Frankie?—”
“This is mine,” I said softly, before he could finish.
Yes, I meant the conversation. That was mine, absolutely. But I also meant something else.Mathieuwas mine too. I didn’t own him but… But he was mine to face, mine to speak to and to be honest with. I owed him that much.
Archie’s resistance rolled off him in waves—anger, worry, that fierce instinct to close ranks and keep me protected inside the circle he could control. He wanted to intercept, to absorb the impact so I wouldn’t have to.
“Take the coffee to the others,” I added. “Please. I’ll see you in first period. If not before.”
He stared at me, jaw tight, like he was fighting words already lined up behind his teeth.
I watched him wrestle with it. It was a fight for the ages. Hehatedthe idea of leaving me out here. Then he blew out a slow breath. Hated it but he was going to do it.
“Okay,” he said.
It cost him. I could see that clearly. Letting me walk toward uncertainty always did. I squeezed his fingers once—gratitude, reassurance—then stepped away before he could change his mind.
Mathieu waited for me, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
We stood there for half a second too long, the noise of the parking lot buzzing around us—cars pulling in, car doors slamming, voices carrying. The band was practicing somewhere, the drumbeat was almost too much—our own diegetic soundtrack. Too many ears. Too many eyes.
“Do you want to—” he started, then gestured vaguely. “Walk?”
I nodded.
We turned away from the building, cutting along the line of cars toward a path that led toward the athletic fields. It was quieter there, the sounds dulling as distance grew between us and the rest of the world.
For a bit, neither of us spoke.
Then Mathieu exhaled slowly. “I’m trying not to be weird,” he admitted. “But I think I’m failing.”
I glanced at him. “You’re doing okay so far.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “That seems quite a low bar.”
We walked a few more steps.
“I saw you with Archie,” he said finally. Not accusing. Just… honest.
I braced, but he didn’t push.
“And everything else,” he added. “You’ve been spending more time with them. They’ve asked you to Homecoming. The rumors. The pictures. Now you’ve moved in with him?” His mouth tightened. “It’s a lot.”
“It is a lot,” I agreed. “And I don’t blame you for feeling uncomfortable. To be very clear on one part of this, my mother and his father moved me into that house. Archie and I are both—dealing with that.” I wasn’t bringing up the sibling tale at the moment. I didn’t even want to think about it, much less discuss it. And honestly, that part had nothing to do with Mathieu.
He stopped walking then, turning to face me. “I don’t want to be unfair,” he said. “I care about you. I really do. But sometimes it feels like I’m… already on the outside of something I don’t fully understand.”
That landed harder than I expected.
