The graduation party was already in full hormonal meltdown by the time I got to the bar. Lights flashing like a seizure warning, bass shaking the ground like the apocalypse was coming in dubstep form. I leaned against the bar, sipping my overly sweet drink—cranberry something—and tried to make sense of the swarm of sweaty teens pretending to be adults. Anne sat beside me, quieter than usual, her eyes locked on Victor. He was across the room surrounded by a fresh pack of wannabe predators dressed like influencers on a clearance budget. "Why is Aureliano so popular?" I asked, mostly to myself, but loud enough that Anne glanced over at the small harem forming around my boyfriend. "Unfortunately," Anne muttered, her voice flat, "it's the downside of them being so handsome." I snorted. "Yeah, but Aureliano isn't Victor handsome. He's—what? Budget magazine cover handsome. So what gives?" Anne shrugged, but the line of her jaw was sharp. "Can't be helped, I guess." That was a lie. Ever
"It's time to go inside," Victor said, practically dragging me past Yesenia, who was still trying to tame the one cowlick in his hair like it was a matter of national security. "Are you ready to go inside?""Yeah—with all that extra security," I muttered, eyeing the two armed guards by the entrance.Walking into the auditorium felt like stepping into a crime scene disguised as a celebration. The metal detectors were new, so were the sniffer dogs, and the uniformed officers lining the walls like we were all one wrong move away from being tackled. When I passed through, my cane set off the alarm, of course. That stupid alarm that blared like I was smuggling in a weapon instead of a titanium rod in my leg. I told Dad not to splurge on the fancy cane. He thought it would make me feel dignified. It didn't."I'll meet you at the end," Victor said, giving my hand a quick squeeze."I'll see you then," I murmured, letting go, even though I didn't want to. Even though everything in me wanted to
I watched Anne get ready, each quiet movement slicing at my nerves. She was going to leave. Said it was for tutoring. Tutoring. As if that made any fucking sense. Anne, of all people—my sweet Anne, who could sleep through a test and still walk out with an almost perfect score—telling me she had to give up our weekend to sit through some half-assed review session? Bullshit. "You're telling me you, the top student, have to go to extra tutoring?" I asked, my voice lower than I meant it to be. She didn't even flinch. Just pulled on her jacket like I wasn't sitting there fighting the urge to punch a hole through the wall. "Argh. What kind of bullshit is that?" I snapped. She barely blinked. She was so good at pretending now. So good at acting like she didn't notice the way I was shaking. Why wasn't she anxious anymore? "Come on, our precious weekend..." I muttered, venom and resentment bleeding into my tone. She just kept tying her shoelaces. I stared at her hands. Those soft, perfe
I used to be considered a prodigy. As a baby, I was quiet. I hit every milestone early. The pediatrician said I had focus beyond my age—my mother said it was divine. Everyone said so, really. Teachers, priests, neighbors. They called me special, chosen, and I believed them. How could I not? I was adored for just existing. I was a gift from God. That's what people told me. That's what I learned to be. My brother got things easier, though. Always. Naturally gifted without trying. And worse, he was soft. He didn't even want the spotlight. I hated him for that. I made it my mission to be better than him, louder than him, brighter. And everyone believed I was. My mother was thrilled. My father wasn't. He never praised me. Never smiled. Never said I was smart, or beautiful, or good. He said I was a problem. A manipulator. A demon. Once he looked me straight in the face and said, "God doesn't make girls like you." And maybe he was right, but not in the way he meant. That's why I never ne
The car ride home was the kind of awkward that made my skin itch. Not the silence-between-strangers kind. The heavier kind. Like if I opened my mouth wrong, everything might crack open and spill out. So instead, I stared out the taxi window like I was auditioning for a sad indie film, watching the city pass in streaks of light and shadow. But I wasn't really looking at anything. My mind was somewhere else—limping slightly behind the rest of me. How the hell was I supposed to adjust outside of the hospital? Was everything going to be just as terrifying as it had been in there, or worse? At least in a hospital, the worst had already happened. Everyone expects you to look like hell and smell like rubbing alcohol. "Hey, Victor..." I said softly, hoping to ease into conversation. Something normal. Something not about trauma and blood loss and... this weird tension hanging between us like a bad smell. "Mmh," he muttered, not even turning his head. Cool. Awesome. Love that. His face was
I was so bored it hurt. Like, actual physical pain. Probably because lying in a hospital bed with a useless leg and nothing but your own thoughts will do that to a person. That, and Yesenia confiscated my phone. Something about "protecting my mental state." Which, to be fair, she probably had a point—unfortunately. The internet was foaming at the mouth. Everyone was calling me a hero and reposting my face like I was some kind of teenage martyr. Someone filmed the hallway—right when I tackled Jessica—and that clip of me getting shot went viral. Viral like a dog playing the piano. Viral like a meme. Except it wasn't funny, and I wasn't performing. My phone had practically melted down from interview requests. The school hadn't even cleaned the blood off the floor yet, and already producers were asking for a soundbite. People from school shared my photo with captions like "Pray for Anne 🕊️" even though some of them had laughed when I got shoved into lockers a year ago. Somehow, getti