Chapter 1
The hallway was a meat locker—AC on full blast—nothing like the FL Keys where I’d spent the summer barefoot and sun-stupid. I hooked my thumbs on my backpack straps as I navigated the crowded halls of Sugar Ridge High. The air reeked with the clash of fruity body splashes and musky body sprays. It was nauseating.
I pushed and edged my way through the crowded hallway and found my assigned locker. As I fished out my combination lock from my bag, the freeze-frame moment happened.
“Harper.”
Dylan hadn’t wasted any time seeking me out. He was average height, clean-cut, and just so damn arrogant. One might even say conceited. A total peacock. The sight of him in his varsity letterman’s jacket was almost enough to stimulate my gag reflex. What the heck did I ever see in this guy?
He leaned on the locker next to mine, an arm stretched out overhead.
“You’re tan,” he observed, trying to sound casual.
I fiddled with the lock in my hand, dialing the combo, pretending that the dial mattered more than him, and tried to sound nonchalant. “It was summer. Tans happen.”
Dylan’s eyes scanned me—inventory mode, like he was trying to get a read on me. “You look... good. Different.”
Why the hell was he trying to make small talk with me?
I stared at him for a beat, then snapped, “What do you want, Dylan?”
The smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered. “Relax. I’m just saying, hey. Can’t I be nice?”
I raised an eyebrow, something I had mastered back in third grade. Now he wanted to be... nice?
He shrugged, eyes flicking down the hallway behind me, like this was just a random run-in. “You disappeared this summer”
I said nothing as I tossed my brown bag lunch into the locker and snapped the lock closed.
He kept talking. His voice dropped slightly, just enough to sound like he was trying to care. “It’s cool. I just didn’t think you would disappear like that. I thought I would see you around, but then I figured maybe you were probably lying low.”
Lying low? My jaw tightened. “Guess I’ve got more going on than you thought.”
He paused for a beat, slow and measured. “No offense. I just figured, after everything, you know, I’d check in with you. You know, make sure you’re doing alright.”
I turned to face him with every intention of letting him know that he did not need to concern himself with my well-being, and that’s when I saw it.
As he glanced over my shoulder again, the collar of his jacket shifted slightly, and I saw a thin, delicate gold chain resting against his shirt.
It caught the light. Just enough for my breath to catch, too.
I knew that necklace.
It was Zoey’s necklace.
From it hung a tiny gold star charm with a small diamond in the middle. It had been a gift from her parents for her sweet sixteen. She also claimed it was lucky and her favorite.
Now it hung around Dylan’s neck.
My stomach dropped.
Zoey. My best friend since elementary school. The one who’d held my hand during the science fair meltdown. The one who’d been by my side in the principal’s office when we threw pretzels in the cafeteria. The one who disappeared on me completely when Dylan dumped me.
Now, it all started to make sense.
The silence. The sideways glances. The gnawing feeling that everyone knows something you don’t. It was a hell of an “aha” moment. However or whenever it happened, they were together.
It wasn’t a hunch. Dylan was wearing the proof.
“I’m great,” I said, sharper now. “Enjoy your first day, Dylan.”
I walked away, pulse thudding in my ears.
Behind me, I heard his voice again. I didn’t catch the words. Didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there.
My legs kept moving, but it felt like my feet weren’t touching the ground anymore.
This wasn’t heartbreak. This was something colder. Quieter.
The veil had lifted, and reality came into focus.
And it sucked.
But at least now, I knew.
Turns out, the sting didn’t come from the breakup itself—not really. This wasn’t about Dylan. He’s just a walking ego in distressed jeans. I should’ve seen it coming.
But Zoey? My best friend?
That’s the bucket of ice water.
Her silence.
It wasn’t just that she took his side; what killed me was how easily she abandoned mine. No text, no explanation, not even a half-hearted excuse. Just gone. Years of friendship could be tossed out like last season’s homecoming dress.
And maybe the betrayal wouldn’t feel so sharp if she had just been honest. If she’d said anything, made any attempt at a conversation.
But she didn’t.
And somehow, that feels worse than anything Dylan ever did.
Still, the guessing was over. No more wondering what went wrong with us. The truth is right in front of me, and as much as it sucks, it’s something I can work with.
Because knowing where you stand, even if it’s alone, is better than standing in the dark.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of teachers’ opening monologues, syllabi, and icebreakers. Desks still smelled faintly like Lysol.
Some teachers smiled too much and were overly enthusiastic about their plans for the year, while others looked like they were still mourning their summer break.
As I navigated the day, I saw familiar faces that I used to sit with at lunch and spend weekends with. Now, they barely made eye contact. And when they did, it came with a tight-lipped smile, like politeness stretched too thin.
No one stopped to talk to me. No one asked how I was or invited me to sit at a desk near them. It was like I’d been edited out of the frame. Still there, but no longer part of the picture.
And that look.
You know the one.
The kind of expression people give to someone who’s been dumped and clearly hasn’t “bounced back.”
Except it wasn’t just pity.
I could see now that it was loaded. Like they were all in on something.
Like I’d missed a group chat, or been silently booted from it, actually—and now they were all actors in the same quiet drama, just waiting to see how long it would take for me to realize the plot twist.
Well, the joke is on them. I figured it out due to Dylan’s unsubtle relationship product placement.
I know my ex-boyfriend is with my former best friend in some capacity, and it seems plausible he dumped me for her.
Well, I will continue to play dumb and numb because I refuse to give them the satisfaction or the entertainment. I’m not playing into it.
Let them think I’m clueless. Heartbroken. Still piecing it together.
However, by the third period, I was exhausted from pretending not to notice.
From pretending I didn’t care.
I wandered down the hall, already wondering if it was too soon to feign an illness or severe period cramps to get out of here. My brain felt numb from making what felt like a million micro decisions - should I sit here? Should I sit there? Evaluating my chosen classroom real estate and its proximity to certain individuals I used to talk to.
As I approached my English class, Ms. Talbot stood by the door, half-heartedly monitoring the hallway traffic and greeting students as they entered her classroom. She was on the younger side of the teaching staff, though not exactly a “spring chicken”. She had stylish layers, streaked with blonde highlights, big brown eyes, and a super sweet smile. Her distinct blue-rimmed glasses were perched high on her nose, and she had an observant look—as nothing gets by her, even while multitasking. Ms. Talbot also happens to be the sponsor of the school paper, and I haven’t been exactly upfront about the fact that I won’t be returning to the writing staff this year.
“Miss Rossi,” she said, catching sight of me. “We missed you at the summer staff workshop.”
I fiddled with the strap on my backpack and tried for a small smile. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, fumbling my words slightly. “I was away in the Keys visiting with family for the summer.”
She looked at me in that direct, familiar way that she does when she knows there is more to the story, or she is about to push you to dig deeper.
I wasn’t planning on returning to The Horn, our school paper, this year, and I feel bad for not telling Ms. Talbot sooner.
Truth is, I’m just looking for a clean slate. A chance to maybe cut back slightly on the academic demands (where possible), and try out something new, like a job. In a bookstore, maybe. I just wanted to find something to do that was independent from school and my former social scene.
“Well, then I’m glad you’re back,” She said in her matter-of-fact, no-nonsense tone. “Will we be seeing you at our first press huddle? I’d love to have you back on staff this year.”
“I’m, uh...honestly, I’m not sure. I’m planning on looking for an after-school job, and I don’t know if I will have time for the school paper this year.”
“Well, that’s an unfortunate loss for the paper and our staff,” she said simply, stepping aside to let me into the classroom. “Your voice matters more than you realize. I’d encourage you to reconsider”
“Thank you. I promise, I’ll think about it and let you know.”
I was not going to think about it.
As I entered the classroom, she added over her shoulder, “You know the door’s always open. There’s still a place for you on the paper whenever you’d like to come back.”
I didn’t say anything, but gave her a small smile. I walked in, scanning the room for where I wanted to park myself for the year.
Her words followed me to my desk—warm, but unsettling.
I had every right to drop an extracurricular and take an after-school job. Still, I couldn’t shake the icky feeling that maybe, without meaning to, she was calling me a quitter.
I slid into an empty seat in the back of the room and stared out the window while Ms. Talbot stood in the doorway, ushering kids into class and trying to manage the bustling hallway traffic.
I turned my head to look out the window. Out on the quad, a few upperclassmen were hanging near the lunch tables, already ignoring the impending late bell.
One of them laughed—loud and unbothered—and the sound carried through the open window.
Tall.
Dark hair.
T-shirt.
Wide grin.
I didn’t recognize him.
Sugar Ridge is a big school, but still—
There was something about the way he leaned back against the table.
Carefree.
Unfazed.
Like he wasn’t just in the scene—he was somehow above it.
I looked away before he had the chance to catch me looking.
Not that it mattered. I took a slow survey of the classroom, then looked back out the window, but he was gone by then.
The bell rang, and there was a hurried shuffle of backpacks in the hall as the stragglers rushed to their next class. As Ms. Talbot began her opening monologue and reviewed what was written on the whiteboard, I resolved quietly to myself:
Just get through the year.
One day at a time. There’d be plenty to keep me busy—and if not, I’d find something to keep me busy. To keep me moving. I have a life to somewhat reinvent, and it’s not going to happen by sitting still.
Let the rest of them enjoy their drama. I’m opting out and keeping my eyes on the horizon.
Even if I have to fake it until I make it.
