Chapter 7

By Wednesday, I start to wonder if I imagined everything.

The bump.

The looks.

The way my chest nearly collapsed in on itself when his shoulder brushed mine, and I didn’t dare turn around.

Because nothing happens.

No whispers follow me down the halls. No sudden laughter when I pass. No notes shoved into my locker. No confrontation. No retaliation. Owen Kyle doesn’t say a word to me.

But he looks at me.

And somehow, that’s worse.

The first time it happens again, I’m at my locker, fumbling with the stubborn dial, already late for class. My damn water bottle falls, and I bend to puck it up, but when I stand up, I notice him passing by, and he gives me that same look that holds no emotions.

His eyes are on me, not curious, not angry, not amused, just… there.

I drop my gaze instantly, my fingers slipping on the lock. When I risk another look, he’s still watching me even as he goes. Not openly enough that anyone else notices, but deliberately enough that I do. Like he wants me to know.

By Thursday, it’s happening everywhere.

In the cafeteria, when I laugh too loudly at something Star says and feel stupid for it.

On the stairs, when I’m halfway up and glance down and see him below, looking up like he already knew I’d be there.

Outside the science wing, when I’m waiting for Pri and swear I feel eyes on me, only to find his, steady and unreadable.

It’s like he’s making up for two years of never seeing me.

And the thing is, I can’t read him.

There’s no anger in his face. No threat. No smirk. No warning. He doesn’t look like someone plotting revenge.

He looks like someone keeping count, and it scares the shit out of me.

I want to tell myself I love the fact that he sees me, but not this way. It’s scary how he sees me.

By Friday morning, my nerves are shot.

I wake up already tense, my body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from constant anticipation. The kind where you’re always bracing, always waiting for impact.

I stare at the ceiling longer than usual, listening to the house breathe around me. My parents are already awake, moving in separate rhythms that never intersect. A door closes. Footsteps pass my room and don’t stop.

I get dressed mechanically, my hands shaking just enough that I have to redo the buttons on my shirt twice.

If he doesn’t do anything today, I tell myself, then I will.

I don’t know what that means yet, only that I can’t live like this, caught in the space between fear and silence. Waiting for something invisible to fall on me.

On the bus, I sit alone, my backpack wedged between my feet, my knee bouncing nonstop. Every bump in the road feeling too loud.

By the time the final bell rings that afternoon, nothing has happened.

Again.

My friends have spent the entire day glued to me like we’re sharing a single nervous system. Star keeps glancing over her shoulder. Pri jumps every time someone says my name. Milla keeps asking if I’m okay in that careful way that means she knows I’m not.

I lie. Constantly.

“I’m fine.”

“He hasn’t done anything, we’re literally together all day, you would know if he did anything.”

“It’s probably over.”

By the time we pack up for the day, I almost believe it.

At the lockers, they hug me quickly, like they are running away, and I don’t blame them.

“I will,” I promise.

They leave through the front gates, hurriedly, although they look like they are already decompressing from the week. I watch them go before going back to class to grab my backpack from my desk.

Only it’s not there.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

I check under the desk. On the chair. The floor around it. My heart stutters, then picks up speed.

I must have moved it, I tell myself. Maybe I left it in the library. Or the bathroom. Or outside during lunch.

I did fall asleep in class earlier. Just for a few minutes. Long enough for the room to blur and my thoughts to drift.

Long enough for someone to notice and maybe hide my fucking backpack.

Maybe it was him, maybe he is already getting revenge, I think to myself.

I retrace my steps through the school as it slowly empties. The halls grow quieter with every passing minute, the echo of my footsteps too loud, too lonely. Classrooms close. Lights shut off. The custodian nods at me as he passes, already pushing his cart.

I can't find it.

By the time I make it back to my classroom, my chest feels tight, my breathing shallow. The sun is lower now, stretching long shadows across the windows.

I push the door open.

And stop.

Owen is there.

He’s leaning against the teacher’s desk like he owns it, his friends spread around the room, Devin is sitting on a front desk, Caleb standing by the windows, and Luke blocks the exit as soon as I step in. I turn behind and stare as he stands not so far behind me. The room feels smaller instantly, like the walls have shifted inward. 

My body freezes.

I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.

Owen straightens slowly, his movements unhurried, deliberate. His gaze lands on me, steady and cold in a way that finally makes sense.

So this is it.

“So,” he says, calm, almost bored. “You just shove people now?”

No one laughs.

“That was rude,” Luke adds from behind me. “Real disrespectful.”

I try to speak. Nothing comes out.

Owen takes a step closer. Not aggressive. Not threatening.

“I don’t know who you are, or why you did what you did, but don’t do that again,” he says. “To me. Or to anyone in my circle. We’ll let you go now, but not another time.”

His eyes don’t leave mine.

“We’re watching you.”

Caleb tosses something at me.

My backpack hits my chest, knocking the air out of me. I barely catch it before it falls.

They don’t wait for a response.

They walk past me like I’m furniture, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft, final click.

The room is silent.

I stand there for a full minute before my legs give out and I sink into the nearest chair, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. My hands shake uncontrollably, my vision tunneling.

Breathe.

In. Out.

In. Out.

I force myself to open my bag with trembling fingers.

Everything is there. My books. My notebook. My pencil case.

And something else.

A folded piece of paper.

I pull it out slowly, unfolding it with care I don’t feel.

It’s a sketch.

Black ink. Sharp lines. A familiar grin.

The Joker.

I stare at it until my hands stop shaking.

And for the first time all week, I understand.

He wasn’t ignoring me.

He was waiting.

Maybe that’s it, I tell myself.

Maybe he looked into me and didn’t find anything worth keeping.

Maybe he searched my bag out of boredom, flipped through my notebooks, my mess of scribbles and half-finished thoughts, and realized there was nothing there he could use. No secrets. No leverage. Nothing fragile enough to break.

Maybe I wasn’t interesting.

The thought should comfort me, but it doesn’t.

Because if Owen Kyle is anything, it’s thorough. And people like him don’t let go unless they’re done, or unless they’re planning something else. Still, I cling to the idea like it’s a lifeline. Maybe he decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Maybe the bump to him was just that. A moment. A mistake. Something already forgotten.

I replay his face in my head, the way his expression never changed. No anger. No satisfaction. Just calm. Like he’d already won something I didn’t even know we were competing over.

That scares me more than if he’d yelled.

If he was angry, I could understand that. Anger has edges. Anger burns out. But indifference? Indifference lingers. It watches. It waits.

I tell myself this is over.

That this was his warning and nothing more. That he did what he needed to do to reassert himself and moved on. That tomorrow, he’ll stop looking at me. That next week, I’ll blend back into the background where I belong.

I fold the sketch carefully and tuck it back into my bag, like if I don’t look at it, it won’t exist.

He didn’t find anything interesting about me, I repeat silently. That thought hurt, so I changed my thought.

He didn’t find anything he could use.

So he let me go.

I stand up, legs still weak, and sling my bag over my shoulder.

While this shook me, at least I have started step one, he noticed me. But I have to give it another dimension now, so that he is on my tail. 

I’m going to do this, and do it right.