Chapter 34

The next day didn’t feel real.

It felt staged like someone had rearranged the world overnight and forgotten to warn her.

Lila noticed it the moment she walked through the front doors. The way conversations dipped when she passed. The way people pretended not to stare and failed anyway. The way the air itself felt tight, like the building was holding its breath.

She kept walking.

She always did.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, relentless, but she didn’t check it. She already knew what was on it. The picture hadn’t disappeared overnight. If anything, it had multiplied screenshots stacked on screenshots, context stripped away until all that was left was speculation.

What mattered was Rowan.

Rowan had said she wouldn’t deny it.

That thought was the thin thread holding Lila together as she moved through the hallway, backpack slung over one shoulder, chin lifted just enough to look unbothered. Inside, her chest felt bruised. Tender in a way she didn’t know how to protect.

She hadn’t seen Rowan yet.

By second period, the pressure was unbearable. Lila ducked into the bathroom between classes, gripping the edge of the sink and staring at her reflection. Her eyes looked the same—sharp eyeliner, practiced confidence—but something behind them felt frayed.

She wouldn’t deny it, Lila told herself again.

The bell rang. Lila squared her shoulders and stepped back into the hallway.

She was halfway to her locker when she heard Rowan’s laugh.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t distinctive to anyone else. But to Lila, it was immediate, familiar enough that her steps slowed before she could stop herself. Rowan’s voice always did that to her, pulled her attention without permission.

Rowan was a few lockers down, half-leaning against the metal, surrounded by two soccer teammates. She looked normal. Relaxed. Like nothing was wrong.

Lila told herself to keep walking.

She didn’t.

“Okay, but seriously,” one of the girls said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “Is something actually going on between you and Lila, or are people just bored?”

Lila’s stomach dropped.

She stopped short, frozen in place between lockers, heart hammering so hard it made her dizzy. The hallway noise faded into a dull roar, like she’d gone underwater.

Rowan scoffed lightly. “What? No.”

The word hit Lila full force.

No.

She felt it everywhere sharp and sudden, like her chest had cracked open. Her breath stuttered, a quiet, involuntary sound she was grateful no one seemed to hear.

“No?” the girl echoed.

Rowan shrugged, casual, careless. “I mean—we’re not together. People are reading way too much into it.”

Lila’s vision blurred.

She stared at the scuffed tile beneath her feet, willing herself not to sway. Her fingers curled around the strap of her backpack until the pressure hurt, grounding her in something physical.

We’re not together.

Rowan kept talking.

“It was just a picture,” Rowan added, like it was nothing. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Doesn’t mean anything.

The words hollowed her out.

Lila felt heat rush to her face, humiliation mixing with something heavier grief, maybe, or the slow realization that she’d let herself believe something fragile without confirmation. She swallowed hard, jaw locking to keep herself steady.

Then she felt it.

That prickle at the back of her neck. That instinctive awareness.

Rowan saw her.

Lila didn’t look up, but she didn’t need to. She caught Rowan’s reflection in the locker door a few feet away, the exact second Rowan’s posture shifted, the exact second her mouth closed mid-sentence.

Silence fell too abruptly.

Rowan’s gaze locked onto Lila’s reflection.

They both knew.

Lila didn’t wait to hear what Rowan might say next. She turned and walked away, movements deliberate, measured. She refused to run. Refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her unravel in the hallway.

Her chest burned with every step.

She made it into her next class just as the bell rang, sliding into her seat without looking at anyone. The room smelled like dry erase markers and old paper. The teacher started talking, voice a distant hum.

Lila stared straight ahead.

Doesn’t mean anything.

She replayed Rowan’s voice over and over, each repetition stripping something else away. It wasn’t just the denial; it was how easy it had been. How practiced. Like Rowan had already decided what version of the truth was safest and reached for it automatically.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

Once.
Then again.

She didn’t look.

She couldn’t trust herself to.

By lunch, the ache had settled into something heavy and dull, pressing down on her ribs. She sat at the edge of her usual table, poking at food she didn’t taste. Her friends talked around her, glancing at her too often, too carefully.

Someone asked if she was okay.

She nodded.

She wasn’t.

Rowan didn’t come find her.

That hurt worse than the words.

When the final bell rang, Lila packed up slowly, her body moving on autopilot. She could feel tears threatening now, a tight pressure behind her eyes, but she swallowed it down. Crying at school felt like losing control in public and she’d already lost enough for one day.

She made it outside before she finally stopped.

The afternoon sun was warm, the sky impossibly blue, and it felt wrong like the world hadn’t gotten the memo that something inside her had cracked. She stood near the edge of the lot, staring at nothing, breathing shallowly.

“Lila.”

Rowan’s voice.

Careful. Quiet. Not the casual tone from the hallway.

Lila didn’t turn.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Rowan said, stepping closer. “I didn’t see you at first and—”

“You did,” Lila said, her voice steady despite the way her throat burned. “You saw me.”

Rowan fell silent.

Lila turned then, finally facing her.

Rowan looked wrecked.

Not defensive. Not angry. Just shaken eyes too bright, jaw tight, shoulders rigid like she was holding herself together by force. It almost made Lila reach for her.

Almost.

“You said it didn’t mean anything,” Lila said quietly. “You said we weren’t together.”

Rowan opened her mouth. Closed it. Ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching like she didn’t know what to do with them. “I panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Lila said. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“I know,” Rowan said immediately, voice rough. “I know.”

They stood there, the space between them suddenly massive. Cars pulled out of the lot. Someone laughed somewhere behind them. Life went on, completely indifferent.

“I didn’t need you to make some big announcement,” Lila said softly. “I just needed you not to erase me.”

The words landed hard.

Rowan flinched like she’d been struck. “I would never—”

“But you did,” Lila said.

Rowan’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m trying,” she said. “I swear I am. I just… I don’t know how to do this without screwing it up.”

Lila watched her carefully. The fear was real. The regret too. And that made it worse—because it meant Rowan hadn’t meant to hurt her.

“I can’t be the thing you hide when it gets uncomfortable,” Lila said.

Rowan shook her head, eyes glossy. “You’re not.”

The words hung there, fragile and unproven.

Lila didn’t respond right away.

Because wanting to believe them was the scariest part of all.