She no longer gets to live rent free in my head. I carry myself forward, shoulders back, chin high, reminding myself with every step that I am still standing.
And that has to count for something.
I move up the steps, my grip still firm on the strap over my shoulder, and my heart is steady now.
Tia and her little crew are right there at the top, blocking half the entrance like they still own the place.
Tia’s voice cuts through the morning noise.
“For god’s sake, if you’re going to wear that, at least don’t stand next to me,” she snaps at one of the girls hovering behind her. “You look cheap.”
The girl flushes, mumbles something, and instantly shrinks back. No one defends her. They laugh weakly and shuffle closer to Tia, desperate to stay in her orbit no matter how sharply it cuts.
I walk straight through it, and none of them glance my way.
I push through the doors and into the building, the noise shifting, lockers slamming and voices echoing down the halls.
I see Sam and Aubrey up ahead near Sam’s locker.
Sam is smiling wide as Aubrey talks animatedly, hands flying as she shares a story I’ve clearly missed. Something in my chest softens at the sight.
I smile before I can stop myself. The kind that reminds me these are still my people.
I step toward them, already gathering the words in my mind. Visualizing Sam’s face when I tell her I’m tutoring Jace. The disbelief. The swearing. The are-you-out-of-your-fucking-mind look she does so well.
I just want to say it. Get it out. Let the moment breathe. Let them react and call me insane for agreeing to help the guy who basically fucked Reece and Sam over last semester.
I head toward them when a voice interrupts across the corridor.
“Lola! Hey!”
I turn and see Brianna jogging over, her ponytail bouncing and her glittery blue phone case waving in one hand as if flagging down a taxi. Her oversized art folio is tucked under her other arm, wide enough to take out anyone dumb enough to stand in her way.
“Did you hear Mr. Malvern’s moving the exhibit to Friday?” she blurts. “It’s a mess. I haven’t even finished my sculpture yet.”
I nod, forcing a smile that feels practiced. “You’ll pull it together. You always do.”
She beams, relief washing over her face. “You’re sweet.” Then, like she just remembered something important, she tilts her head. “Hey, are you still coming to the gallery opening next week?”
“Maybe,” I say, which is what I said the last time she brought it up. And the time before that. A polite maybe. The kind that means probably not, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.
She chatters on anyway, filling the space easily. Complaining about deadlines. About paint not drying fast enough. About how her hands are permanently stained charcoal gray. I nod in the right places, murmur encouragement, laugh when I’m supposed to.
Eventually, someone calls her name from down the hall.
“Oh, crap,” she says, adjusting her grip on the folio. “I’ve gotta run. Text me later, okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”
She jogs off, already halfway turned toward her next crisis.
I turn back toward Sam and Aubrey, prepared to pick up where I left off.
But they are not there.
I scan the hallway more slowly this time, thinking it’s possible I missed them somehow and they might show up again if I look hard enough. But there’s nothing.
They’re gone as if they never existed there at all.
