Chapter 6

Present

I almost don’t go to school.

The thought settles in my chest the moment I open my eyes, heavy and unmoving. My body knows before my mind fully catches up. Yesterday didn’t end when I got home.

Yesterday is still here.

I roll onto my side and grab my phone. The screen lights up immediately.

Star: Are you okay???

Mila: Please tell me you didn’t get murdered.

Pri: Chloe. Say something. I’m actually scared.

I stare at the messages, thumb hovering. I don’t know what to say because I don’t know anything. Not what Owen is thinking. Not what he’s planning. Not whether yesterday was the bravest thing I’ve ever done or the dumbest.

So I don’t reply.

I toss my phone onto the bed and sit up, dragging a hand down my face. Skipping school feels tempting. Easy. My parents wouldn’t notice. They barely notice when I come home late or lock myself in my room for hours. If I disappear for a day, it won’t register.

But skipping won’t undo anything. And if Owen Kyle wants to find me, hiding will probably make it worse. Additionally, hiding does not significantly aid my plan.

I get dressed without thinking. Jeans. Hoodie. Hair pulled back. I don’t look in the mirror. I don’t need to see the fear written all over my face. I grab my backpack and leave the house quietly.

On my way out, I realise I didn’t take my bath, so I go back in to take my bath and then dress up again.

The bus ride feels endless. Every stop tightens the knot in my chest. I sit near the back, staring out the window, my reflection faint against the glass. My knee bounces nonstop.

Please don’t do the worst, I pray silently.

Please don’t hurt me.

Please don’t make an example out of me.

Why are you doing this to yourself? I ask myself.

I hate that my mind immediately goes there. I hate that I know exactly what “the worst” looks like at Briarwood.

Halfway through the ride, I consider pulling the cord and getting off early. Pretending I feel sick. Wandering until the day is over. My heart pounds at the thought.

But the bus doesn’t slow down.

When it finally stops in front of Briarwood High, my stomach drops. I stay seated as students pile out, laughing, shoving, already forgetting yesterday existed. I wait until the bus is nearly empty.

The driver looks at me in the mirror. “You getting off?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, standing.

I step off last, scanning the courtyard before my feet even hit the ground. I half-expect Owen to be there, leaning casually somewhere, watching the buses like he owns them.

He isn’t.

Relief washes over me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.

Maybe he thinks I already went to class. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe yesterday really was nothing.

I move quickly, head down, slipping inside. The hallway noise grounds me just enough to keep my legs moving. I stick close to the lockers, avoiding open spaces, my heart jumping at every laugh that sounds too close.

Almost there.

I can see my classroom door. A few more steps and I’m safe. Invisible again.

Then the energy shifts.

I feel it before I see him. The air tightens, like the hallway inhales all at once. Laughter sharpens. Voices grow louder, more confident.

I look up.

Owen Kyle appears at the far end of the hall, surrounded by his friends. Tall. Relaxed. Untouchable. He walks like he has nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to get there.

They’re heading straight toward me.

My breath catches. I consider ducking into the nearest classroom, but it’s too late. Running would draw attention. Freezing would make it obvious.

So I keep walking.

My heart pounds as the distance closes. I focus on the floor. On my steps. On anything but him.

When we’re close enough that I can smell his cologne, I feel his gaze on me.

I lift my eyes before I can stop myself.

Owen Kyle is looking at me.

Not past me. Not through me.

At me.

For the first time in my entire life at Briarwood High, his attention lands fully on me and doesn’t slide away.

His face shows nothing. No anger. No smirk. No amusement. Just calm, unreadable focus, like he’s committing me to memory.

It terrifies me more than rage ever could.

We pass each other without stopping. His shoulder doesn’t brush mine. His friends don’t say a word.

But I feel his attention on my back long after he walks past.

I don’t look back.

I make it into class and collapse into my seat, hands shaking as I drop my bag. My chest feels tight, like I’ve just escaped something I can’t see.

Star arrives minutes later, her eyes locking onto mine immediately. She crosses the room fast.

“What happened?” she whispers.

“He looked at me,” I say.

Mila and Pri arrive soon after, crowding around me.

“Looked at you, how?” Pri asks.

“Like… like that,” I say helplessly. “Just stared at me, but didn’t do anything.”

Mila swears under her breath. “That’s worse.”

We don’t say anything else, each of us not having anything else to say.

The rest of the day crawls.

We stick together like glue. Walk together. Sit together. Watch our backs. Every laugh behind us makes my shoulders tense. Every passing shadow feels like a threat.

Nothing happens.

By the final bell, my nerves are raw. Owen doesn’t approach me. His friends don’t say a word. No whispers. No confrontation.

And that’s when I know I might have set myself up for something that will end me.

He’s waiting for the right moment.

At home, I make the sign of the cross, thanking God I am still alive.

It feels dramatic, even to me, but I don’t laugh it off. I stand just inside my bedroom, backpack still on my shoulder, listening to the house settle around me. The familiar creaks and hums don’t comfort me the way they usually do.

I walk straight to the window and pull it shut. Then I check the latch. Once. Twice.

I move through my room slowly, closing anything that could be considered an opening. The bathroom window. The door to the hallway. I lock it, then hesitate, unlock it, and lock it again. I don’t know what I’m expecting, or who I think could show up, but my body insists on preparing anyway.

This is what fear does. It makes you irrational.

I drop my bag on the floor and sit on the edge of my bed, finally letting the day catch up with me. My chest feels tight, like I’ve been holding my breath since morning and only just realized it. I replay the hallway scene over and over, his eyes on me, his expression empty.

That look wasn’t anger.

It was assessment.

I grab my phone again. Star has left me a message.

I type, delete, then type again.

I’m home. I’m fine.

It’s a lie, but it’s the easiest one.

I throw the phone onto my bed and stand up, pacing. My parents are both home, I think. I hear the TV downstairs, low and indistinct. Knowing they’re here doesn’t help. If something were wrong, they wouldn’t know until it was already happening anyway.

I press my back against the door and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor.

Nothing happened today, I tell myself. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t do anything.

And yet, that’s exactly what scares me.

I hug my knees to my chest, staring at the opposite wall. The room feels smaller than usual. Too quiet. Every sound outside my window makes my pulse jump.

I don’t cry. I don’t panic.

I just wait.

Because deep down, I know this isn’t over.

It’s only the pause before something worse, and while I thought I was ready for it. I’m not.