Chapter 7

By Monday, pretending nothing was happening had become exhausting.

Rowan Hale moved through the halls of Halecrest like she always did—head up, stride steady, attention forward—but the awareness sat beneath her skin, constant and unwelcome. Every laugh that wasn’t hers felt pointed. Every pause in conversation felt loaded. She told herself it was paranoia. Pressure. Overthinking.

She told herself a lot of things.

Her phone buzzed during third period.

Unknown Number: We need to talk.

Rowan stared at the screen longer than she should have. She didn’t need to ask who it was. She typed back before she could reconsider.

Rowan: About what?

The reply came almost instantly.

Unknown Number: You know exactly what.

Rowan exhaled sharply and slipped her phone back into her bag. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t—not in the middle of class, not when her pulse was already too fast.

She lasted until lunch.

Lila stood near the quad fountain, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her head despite the overcast sky. She looked like she’d been waiting a while. When she saw Rowan, her expression didn’t soften.

Good. Rowan didn’t want it to.

They walked side by side without speaking, far enough apart to look accidental. Rowan hated that she was aware of every inch of space between them, hated that part of her wanted to close it.

“You texted me,” Rowan said once they reached the far end of the quad.

“I asked to talk,” Lila corrected. “You ignored me.”

Rowan stopped. “Because you always want more than a conversation.”

Lila turned to face her fully. “And you always want less.”

The words landed clean, precise.

Rowan crossed her arms. “Say what you want to say.”

Lila studied her for a moment, like she was deciding how much truth to allow. “You don’t get to look at me the way you do and then pretend I’m imagining it.”

Rowan scoffed. “I don’t look at you.”

Lila laughed softly, without humor. “You’re doing it right now.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. She hated how exposed she felt, standing there under an open sky with nothing to shield her.

“This is getting out of hand,” Rowan said. “People are talking.”

“They always do,” Lila replied. “You’re just finally listening.”

Rowan lowered her voice. “I don’t need this.”

Lila’s eyes flicked, sharp. “You don’t need me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

Silence stretched. Students passed by, unaware—or maybe very aware, pretending not to be.

Rowan forced herself to say it. “Whatever this is, it ends here.”

Lila didn’t react right away. When she did, it was with a slow nod that felt worse than anger.

“Fine,” Lila said. “Then let’s be clear.”

She stepped closer, close enough that Rowan could smell her shampoo, could feel the heat of her presence without touching.

“We’re not friends,” Lila continued. “We’re not allies. And I’m done pretending I don’t see you watching me.”

Rowan’s chest tightened. “Good.”

Lila’s mouth curved slightly. “Good.”

They walked away in opposite directions.

Rowan made it halfway across the quad before her hands started shaking.

The rumors didn’t stop. They evolved.

Rowan heard her name paired with words like tension, history, drama. She heard Lila’s name framed as provocation, manipulation, attention-seeking. None of it sat right with her.

She told herself she didn’t care.

That night, her vice-captain pulled her aside after practice. “You okay? You’ve been off.”

Rowan shrugged. “Just tired.”

“You and Moreno have a thing?”

Rowan’s blood ran cold. “No.”

The answer was immediate, sharp. Too sharp.

Her vice-captain raised an eyebrow. “Relax. Just asking.”

Rowan didn’t relax.

Thursday night, the photo surfaced.

Rowan saw it in a group chat she didn’t even realize she was still in—an image snapped from an angle she hadn’t known existed. Her and Lila, standing too close outside the auditorium. Lila mid-sentence. Rowan leaning in, expression unguarded.

Nothing explicit.

Everything implied.

Rowan stared at it until her chest hurt.

The caption underneath read: Enemies, right?

She locked her phone and sat back hard against her bed.

This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. The loss of control. The narrative being decided for her.

She didn’t text Lila.

She didn’t defend herself online.

She didn’t do anything.

The next day was worse.

Teachers pulled Rowan aside with concerned looks. Coaches reminded her about leadership. Responsibility. Optics. She nodded, said all the right things, felt none of them land.

She saw Lila once, across the hall near the music room. Lila’s face was carefully blank, posture perfect. She didn’t look at Rowan.

That hurt more than the rumors.

After practice, Rowan found herself walking toward the equipment shed without fully deciding to. Lila was there already, leaning against the wall, phone in hand.

Of course she was.

“I didn’t post it,” Rowan said immediately.

Lila looked up. “I know.”

That took the wind out of Rowan’s anger. “Then why are you acting like I did?”

Lila pushed off the wall. “Because you’re acting like none of this matters.”

Rowan laughed bitterly. “It shouldn’t.”

“But it does,” Lila said. “To me.”

The words settled heavy between them.

Rowan looked away. “I can’t afford this.”

Lila’s voice softened, just a fraction. “I didn’t ask you to.”

They stood there in the fading light, the space between them thick with things unsaid.

“We should stop,” Rowan said.

Lila nodded slowly. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Rowan met her eyes, heart pounding. “You’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be.”

Lila smiled, sad and sharp all at once. “And you’re not as cold as you want to be.”

Footsteps echoed somewhere nearby. Instinctively, they stepped apart.

“I meant what I said,” Rowan added. “This ends.”

Lila’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then don’t let me catch you watching.”

She walked away.

Rowan stayed where she was long after she’d gone.

That night, she deleted the photo from her phone.

She couldn’t delete the feeling.

Whatever line they’d crossed, they were standing on opposite sides now—and Rowan had the sinking realization that she might have chosen the wrong one.