Chapter 15

The thing about Rowan’s honesty was that it didn’t fix anything right away.

It made things clearer. Sharper. More dangerous.

Lila felt it the next morning, lying in bed staring at the ceiling while sunlight cut through the blinds. The party replayed in fragments she couldn’t shut off—Rowan in the hallway, voice low and raw, saying you like it was both an apology and a confession.

Lila believed her.

That was the problem.

Believing Rowan meant accepting that this wasn’t just tension or rivalry or mutual irritation sharpened into attraction. It meant admitting there was something real here, something that other people could see and misunderstand and ruin if they got too close.

And Lila had never been good at letting go of things that mattered.

At school on Monday, she didn’t seek Rowan out.

She didn’t avoid her either.

It happened naturally, the way gravity works. Rowan appeared in her peripheral vision more often than usual. In the hallway, Lila found herself walking a half-step closer than necessary. In the cafeteria, she chose a seat with a clear view of the soccer table without consciously deciding to.

She told herself it was coincidence.

It wasn’t.

Rowan noticed. Lila could tell by the way her posture shifted, by the way her eyes flicked up and found Lila’s more quickly now, like she was checking something important was still there.

Good, Lila thought—not unkindly.

During cheer practice, one of the girls mentioned Rowan offhandedly.

“Did you see Hale at the party?” someone said, tying her shoe. “She was with that guy from Westbrook.”

Lila’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she resumed taping a wrist.

“She didn’t look thrilled,” Lila said lightly.

The girl shrugged. “Guys usually line up for her. She could do better than him.”

Lila smiled without showing teeth. “She usually does.”

The comment slipped out before she fully examined it. It wasn’t sharp enough to start anything, not obvious enough to be called territorial but it landed. A couple of girls glanced at her, then away.

Lila didn’t apologize.

She didn’t feel bad about it either.

Later that afternoon, she passed Rowan outside the gym. Rowan was leaning against the brick wall, talking to a girl from the volleyball team, someone tall and pretty and very clearly interested.

Lila slowed her pace.

She watched Rowan listen, nod, smile politely. She also watched the way Rowan’s attention fractured when Lila stepped into view, how her body turned without thinking.

The volleyball girl noticed too.

“Hey,” Rowan said, eyes already on Lila.

“Hey,” Lila replied, calm, familiar. She didn’t rush. Didn’t interrupt. Just stood there like she belonged.

Which, apparently, she did.

The girl excused herself a moment later.

Rowan watched her go, then looked back at Lila with something like amusement. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Lila asked.

“Stand there like you were… waiting.”

Lila tilted her head. “Was I not allowed?”

Rowan smiled despite herself. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” Lila said. “Because I was.”

They walked inside together, not touching, but close enough that Rowan’s arm brushed Lila’s every so often. Neither of them moved away.

Lila wasn’t trying to stake a claim. She didn’t want to cage Rowan in or make her feel watched.

She just wanted people to understand quietly, unmistakably, that Rowan wasn’t unclaimed space.

That she wasn’t just an idea people could project onto.

And if Rowan noticed the shift, she didn’t protest.

In fact, she leaned into it.

At lunch, Rowan sat closer than usual. When someone cracked a joke at Lila’s expense, Rowan shut it down with a look so sharp it ended the conversation immediately. When a guy from another table waved at Rowan, she didn’t wave back—just kept talking to Lila, voice low, intent.

Lila felt something warm settle in her chest.

Not ownership.

Recognition.

Later, when they ended up alone by the lockers, just a pause between classes, nothing dramatic. Rowan glanced at her like she was about to say something and then stopped.

“What?” Lila asked.

Rowan hesitated. “You’ve been… different today.”

Lila shrugged. “So have you.”

Rowan considered that, then nodded. “Fair.”

They stood there, close, the hallway buzzing around them. Lila didn’t reach out. Didn’t touch. She didn’t need to.

“I don’t mind,” Rowan added quietly.

Lila met her eyes. “Mind what?”

“The way you… stay,” Rowan said. “The way you make it obvious you’re here.”

Lila smiled then, slow and deliberate. “Good.”

Rowan’s breath hitched just slightly.

That was enough.

Lila walked away when the bell rang, leaving Rowan watching her go—not confused, not trapped, just aware.

She wasn’t claiming Rowan.

She was choosing her.

And this time, she wasn’t doing it quietly enough to be mistaken for nothing.