By lunch, I was sitting alone.

I picked at my salad like it might bite back, even though I wasn’t fooling anyone — least of all myself. I wasn’t eating. I was existing. Barely.

Across the cafeteria, Leah looked over once. She caught my eye. She even texted, a single lifeline tossed across a chasm.

LEAH: You good?

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know what to say.
I’m surviving felt too dramatic.
I’m fine felt like a lie.

By the time I decided on something safe, she’d already turned back to her group, her tray sliding easily into the rhythm of the conversation I wasn’t part of anymore.

Jamie didn’t even glance at me when he passed. Hoodie up. AirPods jammed into his ears like armor. He walked by like I was a ghost.

And Macy?

Macy posted a story five minutes into lunch. A smiling, sun-drenched photo of Maddie and Liam outside the gym doors, captioned:

At least some people know how to stay loyal ❤️.

The ache that bloomed in my chest wasn’t new. But it still found fresh places to hurt.

I stared at my phone for a long time.

The voice memo from Liam, his smug little confession, sat there, still. Untouched. Ready.

I could post it. I should post it.

It would blow up Liam’s fake redemption arc, scatter the narrative Maddie was spinning, remind everyone that whatever else I was guilty of, it wasn’t being the liar in this story.

But I didn’t move.

Because right now?

I didn’t want revenge.

I just wanted Jaxon.

I scrolled through our texts, thumb hesitating over the last one I’d sent him.

ZOE: I miss you.

No reply.

Not even a read receipt.

I dropped the phone onto my bed like it had burned me, the hollow thud way too loud in the stillness of my room.

The rest of the day passed in a haze.

I wore my oldest pair of sweatpants — the ones with the faded lettering from eighth-grade volleyball — and curled into my comforter like it could shield me from reality. Half a tub of Ben & Jerry’s disappeared without me really tasting it. Netflix autoloaded episodes I didn’t watch. The light outside changed from afternoon to evening without permission.

I didn’t open my curtains.

I didn’t open my messages.

The only thing I opened was another carton of ice cream.

For the first time since this whole thing started, I wondered if maybe I wasn’t built for chaos after all. Maybe the version of me who dared to say let’s burn it down wasn’t the real me — just a flash fire, temporary and stupid and bright enough to burn her own house down with no idea how to rebuild.

Maybe I wasn’t brave.

Maybe I was just reckless.

***

Tuesday morning didn’t feel like a reset. It felt like walking into a dystopia.

Same lockers. Same beige linoleum. Same ugly trophy cases.

None of the warmth.

I made it about four steps past the front stairwell before the whispers started.

“She’s here.”

“Ballsy, honestly.”

“Did you see the flyer Maddie posted?”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my backpack. My palms were slick with sweat. I focused on breathing. On walking. On not running like every molecule in my body wanted to.

Leah passed by without slowing down. Jamie zipped past next, hood up, AirPods still firmly in place. I told myself he didn’t see me. It was a lie, but it was one I needed to believe.

And Macy, Macy wasn’t even pretending anymore. She was draped against Madison’s locker like she belonged there, laughing so hard she almost slipped off it. The sound of her laugh echoed down the hallways like a bad joke.

I kept walking.

Head high. Jaw locked. Heart breaking.

The hallway buzzed around me, little flinches and side glances following me like a rip current. I caught the edges of conversations, all versions of the same story: betrayal, scandal, Zoe Torres falling from grace in slow motion.

Of course it was Madison who found me.

Of course she was waiting — like a heat-seeking missile wrapped in designer lip gloss and perfectly manicured malice.

She stepped right into my path near the junior hallway lockers, blocking the way with a slow, deliberate move. Her arms crossed over her chest, hip cocked to the side like she was posing for a magazine cover.

The hallway noise dipped into a low hum, the crowd slowing around us. Not stopping. Just… waiting.

Waiting for the explosion.