For as long as I remember, I’ve taken care of myself. I managed growing up. I managed just fine. It may make me sad, but it’s the only way I’ve ever known how to be.
CHAPTER 12 – ANTONIO
I often hid in the library in high school. Between the neglected shelves at the back of the building, it felt like the universe had forgotten I existed. That’swhy libraries are almost holy to me. Also, they’re an all-you-can-eat buffet for brains.
Maria was alarmed when I told her I’d signed up for every available summer course. Not because she thinks it’s a bad idea—she knows how much I love studying—but because she’s worried I’m hiding. I’m not hiding. I’m overwriting. If I cram enough knowledge into my brain, maybe the bad memories get pushed out. Feelings replaced by facts. It’s a logical theory. It could work.
I know my sister wants me to be happy. I know she wishes I could put high school behind me and never look back.
I also know she doesn’t understand the science of humiliation. The precise formula of holding your breath so no one notices you. The art of shrinking yourself until you’re small enough to slip through cracks. You don’t always grow back into what you were.
If you’ve never been bullied, you don’t get it.
I’m glad Maria doesn’t get it.
But I do. I fucking do.
I sigh as I step out of the library, blinking against the sudden sunlight.
My phone buzzes. Luca is asking if I’m free on Thursday. I’m about to reply when I see something catastrophic.
Caspian Stone.
In my vicinity.
The intake of breath is sharper than it has any right to be. I realize I’ve never been this close to him before. Panicking, I duck behind a column—a ridiculous but necessary move. I’ve seen him before, of course, but always from the outskirts. From the bleachers where I watched the golden quarterback of Baywood High perform his magic tricks. The boy who could do no wrong. The boy everyone wanted to befriend, date, or worship.
Ryan Rutherford was his loyal shadow.
My heart thunders, hate rising so fast it steals my breath. Caspian leans against the wall of the campus café, casually scrolling his phone. His polo clings to muscle in an almost offensive way. He’s always been so infuriatingly physical.
I swallow as he runs a hand through his stupid, perfectly disheveled hair.
He looks like he could charge a fee just for being in someone’s line of sight.
Well, I don’t want him to exist anywhere near me. He should go back to his ridiculous lake house—the one theBaywood Gazettedrooled over for three anda half pages in a lifestyle feature. I accidentally read it. Well, the first time was an accident. The second time was a pure, academic hate-read.
Caspian has never had to shrink. He’s never scanned a room for exits. Never been small, scared, or humiliated. Not him. Not Ryan Rutherford’s bro.
Then, as if summoned by dark magic, Ryan steps onto the quad. He walks straight up to Caspian and claps him on the shoulder, all casual and intimate.
My stomach lurches. Acid burns the back of my throat. I’d heard rumors Ryan was back. I’d hoped they were wrong.
Locker room laughter floods my head. The taste in my mouth turns metallic.
I remember hands that didn’t let go. I remember words that cut deep.
Come on, fight back. Crybaby. Freak.
What a loser.
You’re asking for it.
My chest locks. Air refuses to move. Each inhale catches in my throat like athorn. Everything stretches and shrinks—or maybe I’m shrinking.
I brace my hands on my knees, my fingers numb. I drag air in shallow,
shameful sips.
