He Called My Name

SELENA POV

News travels fast at NYU. By the time Sasha and I stop running, half my class has already seen the video.  

"You're a legend," Sasha pants beside me, doubled over with her hands on her knees. "I'm serious. They're going to build a statue."  

"They're going to bury me alive is what they're going to do," I mutter, glancing over my shoulder No sign of Trisha Small mercy.  

My phone buzzes, Then buzzes again and again.  

Group chat notifications flood my screen faster than I can read them, Someone's already given the video a caption: URINE FOR A SURPRISE. Someone else has looped just the ten-second countdown into a meme.  

"Delete this," I type into the chat, though I already know it's useless. Sasha's grinning face is visible in three separate reposts.  

"Relax," she says, peering over my shoulder. "This is the best thing that's happened to this school since the football team lost to State."  

"Var almost strangled a girl, Sasha."  

That sobers her for exactly two seconds. "Okay, yeah, that part wasn't great." She winces. "But he stopped Because of you."  

I don't answer that, I don't want to think about what it means that Var Robert, of all people listened to me.  

We make it to my next class with four minutes to spare, I spend the whole fifty minutes pretending to listen to chemistry while my mind keeps going back to his face but not the cruelty but the flicker before he let Trisha go.  

I hate that I noticed it.  

I hate it more that some traitorous part of me wanted to know what would've happened if I hadn't stepped in.  

By the time the bell rings, I've decided I'm overthinking a boy who called me ugly in front of an entire lecture hall four hours ago. Simple,Done, just like that I closed the case in my mind.

Except for the fact the case wasn't closed in the other party's mind because when I walk out of the building, Var is leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed, ankles crossed, looking like he was built specifically to be photographed leaning against things.  

"Took you long enough," he says.  

"I didn't know we had plans."  

"We didn't. I made one." He pushes himself off the wall and took step beside me like it's the most natural thing in the world, like nothing happened this morning, like he didn't throw me into a bush four hours ago. "You're coming with me."  

"I have a life actually”I said loud enough for him to hear me bluntly.

"You have homework and a canteen ban, considering what you did to Trisha." His mouth curls. "Which, for the record, was diabolical. I'm almost impressed."  

"You almost died of urine exposure. I'd say we're even."  

"We are not even close to even, four eyes." His voice drops, and something in it makes my vein stick me. "Not even close? I say my eyes wide."  

I should be scared. I am, a little. But mostly I'm annoyed, because he says things like that and expects me to just absorb them like they don't mean anything, like I'm supposed to know exactly what kind of even he's talking about.  

"Where are we going?" I ask instead, because that's safer than asking what he means.  

"My place, Our place Whatever, Just come."  

"I have a study group."  

"Cancel it."  

"Var—"  

"Cancel it, Selena." He says my name, Selena Not four eyes, Not stepsis Just Selena And something about that stops the protest in my throat before it forms. He never uses my name. Not for once, not in six months, not even when he's furious. Four eyes, stepsis, homewrecker's daughter on his worse days — but never Selena.  

I don't cancel my study group. I text Sasha instead: he used my actual name. should I be worried.  

She responds in under ten seconds: GIRL.  

**VAR POV**  

She's quiet in the car, which should be a relief and somehow isn't. I glance over twice at red lights and catch her chewing the inside of her cheek, staring out the window like the strip malls of downtown are the single most interesting thing she's ever laid eyes on.  

I should feel good about this. Winning, I told her to get in the car and she got in the car. That's how it's supposed to go.  

Instead I keep thinking about this morning. The bush. The way her glasses fell off and she scrambled after them on her knees like they mattered more than her own dignity, and how something ugly and hot twisted in my chest watching her do it — not because it was funny, though I made myself laugh like it was, but because some small, stupid, buried part of me wanted to get out of the car and pick them up for her.  

I didn't, Obviously I didn't That's not who I am.  

"You're staring," she says without turning her head.  

"I'm driving."  

"You've been at a green light for eleven seconds."  

I hit the gas harder than necessary. She grips the door handle, and the tiny gasp she makes does something unfortunate to the base of my spine.  

"Careful," I say. "Wouldn't want you to get carsick all over my seats."  

"Wouldn't want you to actually kill me before I finish my homework."  

"Please. If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you in that bush."  

"You're disgusting."  

"You're still talking to me, so clearly not disgusting enough."  

She goes quiet again, and this time I let her, because I don't trust what comes out of my mouth next if she keeps pushing. I don't tell her why Ethan gets under my skin, I don't even want to think about it. But the way he looks at her bothers me. More than it should.  

I turn up the radio instead.  

**SELENA POV**  

His house — our house, technically, though I've never once thought of it as mine — is empty when we get there. No staff, no stepdad, no mom. Just marble floors that echo too loud and a silence that makes every step I take sound like an accusation.  

"Sit," Var says, nodding at the kitchen island like I'm a dog he's training.  

"I'm not sitting because you told me to."  

"Fine. Stand, then. See how long that lasts."  

I sit. I hate that I sit.  

He moves around the kitchen with the kind of ease that comes from a lifetime of never once doubting he belongs anywhere he stands, pulling two plates down, splitting whatever's in the takeout containers Consuela left in the fridge without asking if I even want any.  

"I'm not hungry," I lie, right as my stomach growls loud enough to be heard across the room.  

He doesn't laugh. He just slides the plate in front of me anyway.  

"Eat," he says. "You skipped breakfast because of me. I'm not letting you skip lunch too."  

I stare at him. He doesn't meet my eyes, suddenly very focused on his own plate, jaw tight like he said more than he meant to.  

"Why do you care?" I ask quietly.  

"I don't."  

"Var."  

"I said I don't." He finally looks up, and his eyes have gone cold again, careful, like he's slamming a door I almost saw through. "Eat your food, four eyes, before I change my mind about feeding you at all."  

I eat without complaining. When I look up, he's still watching me.  

"Why are you looking at me?"  

"I'm not."  

He looks away. He doesn't touch his food until I'm almost done.  

Later, long after I've gone quiet with my textbook open and mostly unread in front of me, my phone buzzes on the counter, it's Ethan.  

Hey, you good? Heard about the cafeteria thing.  

His face changes when he sees Ethan's name.  

"What's he texting you for?"  

I don't even get to type a response before Var's hand closes over the phone, sliding it face-down across the marble, out of my reach.  

"Var—"  

"You're doing homework," he says, voice flat, final. "No distractions."  

"That's not up to you."  

"It is tonight."  

I open my mouth to argue, and then I catch it — just for a second, just a flash before he wipes it clean off his face. For a second, something crosses his face. I can't quite figu

re out what it is before it disappears 

No. There was no way he was jealous.  

I decide, very deliberately, not to say anything about it.  

Not yet.