What We Never Said

My mother says she’ll disown me if I fail my Calculus final today.

She didn’t yell or cry when she said it. She spoke calmly, like she was reminding me to take out the trash or lock the door before bed. Like cutting me off would be an inconvenience—not a breaking point.

When my dad died, so did her will to be a loving parent. The house changed overnight. Gone were Sunday morning breakfasts with the radio humming softly while my father flipped pancakes. Gone were fishing trips at the creek behind our trailer, Friday night game nights, and the warmth I used to feel the moment I stepped through the door of our double-wide.

Now the house is quiet in a way that feels deliberate. My mom and I stay in opposite corners of the mobile home whenever we’re there at the same time, careful not to cross paths—like strangers forced to coexist.

I think about the night I told her my grades were slipping. Her face tightened into something sharp and unfamiliar, deep lines carved by anger instead of worry. She didn’t hesitate. If I didn’t graduate, I’d be out. No compassion. No encouragement. No we’ll figure this out.

She wasn’t about to house a failure.

I used to think being her only child would count for something. It doesn’t. If anything, I think she longs for an empty house and uninterrupted silence. Some days, I wouldn’t even be surprised if a part of her wants me to fail.

The only reason I’m not already packing my bags is because she promised—begrudgingly—to pay for community college if I graduate. She even agreed to let me stay with her while I’m there. If I absolutely have to.

If I make it that far, at least I won’t be alone. My four best friends will be there too—Lilian, Hunter, Taylor, and Gemma. The best friends a girl could ask for. We all live in the town’s “best” trailer park. I say best because everyone has a double-wide, and double-wide trailers mean you’ve got decent money.

“Yo, Lexi!”

I lift my head from my scuffed sneakers and lock eyes with Hunter Vega.

Hunter is tall, sun-kissed, with straight black hair and eyes so dark they’re almost black. Out of all my friends, I’m closest to him. He’s the one who introduced me to the others when we were five, lining up for our first day of kindergarten. Hunter’s never met a stranger—he talks so easily that friendship just happens around him.

“What’s up?” I ask. “If you’re here to make jokes about me failing senior year, don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

“Nope,” he says easily. “I’m sure Mommy Dearest already handled that.”

“You wanna ditch after lunch and eat at Timmy’s?”

“My mom would kill me.” I roll my eyes as we climb the concrete steps into school.

“Please? It’s our last day. You only have Calc after lunch—and that’s before lunch. The rest are blow-off classes.” His eyes linger on my face a beat longer than necessary. “Come eat the world’s best tacos with me.”

“I know they’re blow-off classes, but does my mom care? No. The school will call her, and then I’ll be grounded until the end of time.”

“Nice try, Lexi Lovelight,” he says, perfectly imitating my mom’s shrill voice. “She blocked the school’s number because of all those damn fundraisers.”

“For the love of God, don’t say my last name,” I hiss, glancing around. “Together it sounds like a stripper name.”

He grins. “Well,” he says lightly, “stripping is always an option if you fail.”

Before I can smack him, the rest of our friends appear at the top of the stairs.

“You’re just in time,” Taylor announces. “We’re planning tonight’s bonfire at Sweet Creek’s sketchiest campground.”

Taylor Reed is six-foot-one and built like a linebacker—because he is one. He’s popular for being both a colossal class clown and the best linebacker our school has ever seen. His short blond hair sticks up in every direction, making him look like a human golden retriever.

I wait for Hunter to invite everyone to Timmy’s.

He doesn’t.

Our eyes meet—just for a second—before he looks away, jaw tightening like he’s made a decision I wasn’t part of.

***

By the time I sit down for my Calculus final, sweat is already sliding down my spine. Ms. Vasquez’s classroom feels like an oven.

Everyone around me is doodling on the backs of their exams. The detail in their drawings tells me they’ve been done for a while.

My stomach twists. Two problems left.

Relief hits first, then panic. The test is hard, but… I think I’m doing okay. I might actually pass. My mom won’t disown me. I’ll get to stay with my friends for at least two more years.

My eyes burn.

Across the room, Lilian catches my gaze and gives me a thumbs-up.

A second later, Hunter leans back in his chair two rows ahead and gives me a quick nod, small and almost unnoticeable, before facing forward again.

I finish the last problem just as the bell rings.

I place my test face-down on Ms. Vasquez’s desk and exhale.

***

At lunch, I barely get one bite of my salad before Hunter reaches across the table, plucks it straight from my hands, and tosses it into the trash.

“What the hell?” I shout, staring at my empty fork.

“We’re eating at Timmy’s,” he says calmly. “Remember?”

His hand was warm where it brushed mine. I ignore that.

Lilian won’t meet my eyes. Gemma’s face is unreadable.

I don’t push it.

Hunter reaches for my hand without asking, his fingers lacing through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I barely have time to register it before he’s pulling me down a hallway I’ve never been down before.

My heart kicks, but I tell myself it’s just nerves.

Then I hear voices.

Hunter yanks me under the stairwell and clamps a hand over my mouth, his other hand firm around my forearm. His chest rises and falls fast.

“I’m telling you, I’ll pay you after,” one voice says.

“This door isn’t monitored,” another replies. “It’ll be unlocked.”

Hunter’s eyes flick to my mouth, just once, before the voices stop. He doesn’t move right away. The exit door slams. He drops his hands like he’s been burned.

“Come on,” he says too quickly. “We don’t have much time.”

Outside, the sun is blinding. We stop at the curb, and Hunter bends to tie his shoe. I watch him without really knowing why—the familiar curve of his shoulders, the way he always double-knots his laces.

“You ready?” he asks, glancing up at me.

I nod.

Then there's a flash of light. I turn my head to look for where the light came from. The roar comes next. Then glass shattering, smoke, and heat follow.

The world tilts, pain explodes through my skull and then everything goes black.