Chapter 2

The journal was gone.

Megan didn’t notice it at first—not right after the team dance review, not even after the long shower where she let herself think too much again. It was only when she dropped her towel onto her chair and looked at her bed—bare, too bare—that her heart caught.

The pillow was crooked.

Her journal was missing.

She turned in slow, dread-heavy steps. Her dresser. Nothing. Under the blanket? Empty. She knelt and checked under the bed. Panic was blooming now, full-force, and her breath caught short in her throat.

Then—click.

The door opened behind her.

Lara.

Megan stood too quickly, her head spinning with the rush of blood. She saw it instantly—the book in Lara’s hand. Dark cover. Faint crease in the middle from how often Megan opened it.

No.

Lara looked unsure of herself, a rare expression on a face that was usually built for smirks and chaos.

“Megs,” she started softly, “can we talk?”

“Why do you have that?” Megan’s voice was sharp, way too loud for the quiet room.

Lara took a breath and stepped in, closing the door behind her. “Look, I wasn’t trying to read it, okay? I was just messing with you—like always—and then… I saw your handwriting. And then I saw—” Her eyes flicked down. “Her name.”

Megan froze.

It was like her spine locked into place. Her mouth opened but nothing came out, and all she could hear was her own pulse pounding behind her ears.

“You read it?” she said finally. But her voice cracked on the word read.

Lara looked away, guilty. “Not all of it. Just… enough.”

The silence that followed was brutal. Megan didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Everything was rushing through her all at once—shame, fear, betrayal, years of keeping things buried suddenly dragged out into the open.

“Give it back,” she whispered.

Lara stepped forward slowly, offering the journal like a fragile thing. “Megan, I didn’t mean—”

“I said give it back!” Megan snapped, grabbing it from her hands and hugging it to her chest like it could shield her from everything Lara now knew.

Lara’s expression crumpled, but she didn’t try to stop her. She just stayed there, standing by the closet with her hands at her sides.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said after a beat. “I’m not going to tell anyone. Especially not Daniela.”

At that name—Daniela—Megan’s throat tightened so much it hurt.

“You had no right,” she said quietly, venom laced through every syllable. “It’s not a joke. That journal—it’s the only place I let myself say things I can’t even admit out loud.”

“I know,” Lara said softly. “That’s why I’m not laughing. I’m not judging you. I just—Megan, you’ve been holding this in for how long?”

“Too long,” Megan said bitterly. “And now it’s ruined.”

Lara shook her head. “It’s not. I swear, it’s not.”

“You think it’s not ruined because you found out. What happens when someone else does? What if Dani finds out? She’ll hate me. She’ll think I’ve been lying to her—like I’m some creep who’s been staring at her behind her back.”

“She won’t think that,” Lara insisted, stepping closer. “She wouldn’t—”

“She’s straight, Lara.” Megan’s voice cracked on the word. “She’s said it, like, a hundred times. You think I don’t hear it every time she flirts with some random guy during rehearsals? I’ve seen the way she rolls her eyes when Manon makes a gay joke. You think I’d risk everything just for a crush?”

The word crush felt like an insult to what she was feeling. It was more than that. It had always been more.

Lara was quiet for a while.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice so soft it barely reached. “I should never have touched your stuff. I was just being stupid. I didn’t know how personal it was. But Megan—what I read? It wasn’t pathetic. It was beautiful. And… painful. And so you.”

Megan blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity.

“I’m not gonna push you,” Lara continued. “And I’m definitely not gonna tell her. But I think… maybe someday, you deserve to say those things out loud. Even if not to her.”

Megan sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, still holding the journal close. Her hands were shaking.

She didn’t say thank you. She couldn’t—not yet.

But when Lara reached down and gently squeezed her shoulder, Megan didn’t pull away.

Down the hall, laughter echoed faintly.

Daniela was in the kitchen with Manon, rinsing fruit and singing the wrong lyrics to a Dua Lipa song. She was wearing one of Megan’s old hoodies, totally unaware.

She tossed a strawberry at Manon’s head and laughed as it bounced off.

“So, who’s your type again?” Manon asked casually.

Daniela didn’t hesitate. “Tall, probably a soccer player. I don’t know. A guy with nice hands.”

She smiled like it was a fact.

She didn’t notice the way her stomach dropped for no reason after saying it. Not yet.