Chapter 36

Rowan stayed exactly where Lila had left her.

The hallway moved around her like she was standing in the center of a river, students brushing past, voices overlapping, lockers slamming shut but she felt pinned in place, like the air itself had thickened around her. Her ears rang. She barely registered the bell until it screamed overhead, sharp and unforgiving.

Lila’s words replayed on a loop, each one landing harder than the last.

How did you know I wouldn’t be enough?
When will I ever be enough?

Rowan’s chest tightened until breathing felt optional. She had seen Lila hurt before, frustrated, sarcastic, guarded but never like that. Never raw. Never trembling in a way that felt private, like something Rowan hadn’t earned the right to witness.

And then Lila had cried.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just that small, devastating break in her voice before she’d turned away, shoulders stiff, head held high like she refused to let the hallway take anything else from her.

Rowan dragged a hand through her hair and finally forced her legs to move. Each step felt delayed, like her body was catching up to something her mind had already lost. She walked past classrooms without seeing them, past people she vaguely recognized, until instinct guided her to the far bathroom near the gym, the quiet one no one used unless they were desperate.

She locked herself into a stall and pressed her back against the door.

Her hands were shaking.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered, voice cracking under the weight of the empty space. “I didn’t mean any of it like that.”

But intent didn’t matter. Not really. Lila hadn’t asked her what she meant. She’d asked her what she’d done. And Rowan knew, deep down, that this wasn’t the first time she’d chosen silence over truth.

Rowan slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to her chest. Her phone buzzed once in her pocket. She didn’t check it. The only message she wanted wouldn’t be there.

She replayed the moment again, slower this time.

Someone leaning against a locker, smirking.
“So… you and Lila. Is that a thing?”

Rowan remembered the way her heart had jumped, how for a split second she’d felt exposed and seen and terrified all at once. She remembered the heat that crept up her neck, the dozens of eyes she suddenly imagined on her. She remembered Lila standing just a few feet away, pretending to scroll on her phone while absolutely listening.

Rowan had felt the answer rise up in her chest, bright and undeniable.

Yes.

And she’d swallowed it.

It’s not like that, she’d said instead. Easy. Casual. Cowardly.

The word tasted bitter now.

Rowan pressed her forehead to her knees and let out a shaky breath. She thought about all the ways Lila had shown up for her without hesitation. Waiting after practice, even when it was cold. Sitting through games she didn’t understand just to watch Rowan play. The way Lila always looked at her like Rowan was worth the risk.

Rowan had been so afraid of choosing out loud that she’d let Lila feel unchosen at all.

“I would’ve picked you,” Rowan said quietly, like saying it now might rewrite the past. “I pick you. Every time.”

The words echoed uselessly in the stall.

Eventually, the bell rang again, signaling the end of passing time. Rowan stayed where she was until the bathroom fell silent, until she was sure no one would walk in and catch her looking like this: eyes red, face tight, someone stripped of the armor she wore so well.

When she finally stood, she barely recognized herself in the mirror.

She looked smaller. Not physically, but in the way someone looks after they’ve disappointed themselves.

Practice that afternoon was a blur of missed passes and sharp whistles. Rowan ran harder than necessary, pushed her body past exhaustion like she could outrun the ache in her chest. Coach shouted her name more than once, frustration bleeding into his voice, but Rowan barely heard it.

She kept glancing toward the sidelines without meaning to.

Lila wasn’t there.

The empty spot felt louder than the crowd ever had.

After practice, Rowan sat alone on the bleachers, legs dangling, cleats heavy on her feet. The sky above the field had softened into pink and gray, clouds streaked thin like something fragile pulled too far. She stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Lila’s name.

She typed. Deleted. Typed again.

I’m sorry.
You are enough.
I was scared and I shouldn’t have been.
Please don’t give up on me.

None of it felt sufficient. None of it felt like it could undo the way Lila’s voice had broken.

Rowan finally settled on the simplest truth she had.

I should’ve stood up for us. I should’ve stood up for you. I’m so sorry.

She stared at the message until the words blurred, then hit send.

Delivered.

No response.

Rowan leaned back against the cold metal of the bleachers and closed her eyes. For the first time, she let herself imagine what it would mean to actually lose Lila. Not in the dramatic, movie-ending way, but in the quiet, permanent sense. Passing her in hallways without speaking. Seeing her laugh with someone else. Knowing it was Rowan’s silence that had taught Lila to walk away.

Her chest tightened painfully.

“I won’t let that be it,” Rowan murmured, more to herself than anything. Saying it felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she deserved to make but one she meant anyway.

Because liking Lila had been easy. Falling for her had been inevitable.

Standing up for her, standing up for them, was the part Rowan was finally learning she couldn’t avoid.

And next time, she wouldn’t.