She’s already mid-rant, legs crossed, blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders in that way that’s supposed to look effortless but isn’t. Her little group of followers sits around her, but they’re not hanging on every word anymore. Not really. One of them is scrolling through her phone, barely pretending to listen. Another keeps glancing toward the other tables, clearly wishing she was anywhere else. The enthusiasm that used tobe there, that desperate need to please their queen, has faded. They’re tired of her shit. Fuck, most of the school is tired of the drama between her and Tia. Of the constant bitching, backstabbing, and manufactured chaos that nobody cares about anymore. Nicole’s hive is crumbling, and she’s too busy talking to notice that no one’s really listening.
Her laugh is loud, forced, and fake as fuck. I fight the urge to tell her to shut the fuck up before she shatters every window in this cafeteria.
The moment I sit down her eyes snap to mine. They linger as if trying to catch something—some sign that I’m still interested, that I still want her.
I don’t.
Her posture changes the moment she notices me watching. She sits up straighter and pushes her chest out just a little more. Always fucking performing.
She refocuses on her group, who appear about as excited to be there as they would be getting a root canal without anaesthesia. One girl is picking at her nail polish with the kind of focus usually reserved for defusing bombs. Another is staring at the ceiling tiles as if they hold the secrets to the universe.
Nicole keeps talking, louder now, performing for an audience that stopped buying tickets months ago. Her voice cuts through the noise of the cafeteria.
“Tia really thinks she can pull that off,” she scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick that probably took her hours to master in front of a mirror. “It’s embarrassing. Honestly, someone should tell her before she makes an even bigger fool of herself.”
Only one pathetic girl giggles on cue. The rest look ready to chew glass just for something to do. One of them even has the audacity to yawn, not bothering to cover her mouth.
Nicole’s eyes flick back to me, checking to see if I’m watching, if she has my attention, if maybe, this performance is working.
I stare right through her. Past the bullshit, the desperation, and the constant need for validation she wears as obviously as that too-tight shirt.
She hesitates for half a second, her smile tightening at the edges, cracks appearing in that perfect facade she works so hard to sustain. But she recovers quickly. Keeps talking. Continues pretending she’s not affected.
But she is bothered and we both fucking know it.
I tune everything out and grab my phone from my pocket, a welcome distraction from the chaos around me.
My thumb hovers for half a second before I send a text to Bells.
Jace:How is he?
The three dots pop up almost straight away.
I picture her sitting in that stiff hospital chair, one leg tucked under her, her phone glowing in her hand. Machines beeping. That smell of disinfectant that clings to her clothes.
Bells:Same.
That word again.
Jace:I’m starting to hate that word.
Bells:Me too.
There’s a pause.
Then.
Bells:Have you eaten?
A slow grin tugs at my mouth.
Jace:I’m at school, not on a deserted island.
Bells:That wasn’t my question.
Jace:I had half of a muffin I found on the floor.
I smirk as I hit send.
