CHAPTER SEVEN walls and windows

The rooftop was quieter than anywhere else Maya had found at Ridgeway High. Wind brushed over her cheeks, light but persistent, and she felt a strange calm as she leaned over the railing, watching the clouds shift above the sports field.

She wasn’t supposed to be up here, but she didn’t care.

The door behind her creaked open.

She didn’t need to turn. She already knew.

“Should’ve guessed you’d be up here,” Zane said, his voice low, not smug for once—just… there.

She didn’t move. “Shouldn’t you be tormenting freshmen or skipping class with your groupies?”

He didn’t laugh. Just came to stand beside her, not too close, not too far.

“Do you always assume the worst of everyone?”

Maya turned to him slowly. “Only people who give me every reason to.”

His jaw tightened, but there was no comeback, no clever retort. Just silence.

For a long moment, they stood in it together.

“Look,” Zane said finally, eyes locked on something far off, “I’m not great at the whole… people thing. I mess it up. A lot.”

Maya narrowed her eyes, unsure if it was a trap—another layer of his twisted charisma. But he looked different up here. No audience. No armor.

“I noticed.”

He chuckled, a tired, almost broken sound. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“No,” she said. “I’ve met scarier people.”

“Must’ve had a hell of a life then,” he said, the teasing edge returning, but dulled—more like a reflex than intent.

Maya looked down at her hands gripping the railing. Her knuckles were pale. “You have no idea.”

Zane’s head tilted slightly. “Then tell me.”

She blinked at him.

“Why?” she asked. “So you can use it? Throw it back at me when it’s convenient? Quote my pain like it’s a punchline?”

His face twisted with something like shame. “No. So I can understand. Because… for the first time in a long time, I want to.”

That stopped her. Not the words. The way he said them. Like he meant it. Like he needed it.

She didn’t know what possessed her, but she spoke.

“My dad left when I was six,” she said, voice flat. “My mom spiraled. We moved a lot. I stopped unpacking my boxes after the third house. Then last year… I lost someone. Someone who made it all bearable.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Zane offered her his hoodie sleeve.

She laughed softly, bitter. “Is this your thing? Make girls cry then hand over your overpriced jacket like it’ll fix them?”

He didn’t pull away. “No. Just you.”

She took the sleeve and wiped her cheeks, not looking at him.

“What about you?” she asked, her voice low.

He took a breath.

“I’ve got a dad who buys trophies instead of asking if I’m okay. A mom who stopped looking me in the eye after my first suspension. And a brother who’s more of a ghost than a person these days.”

That caught her off guard. “You have a brother?”

“Had,” Zane corrected. “He left. College. Never came back.”

The way he said it made her chest ache.

“What did you do to make everyone disappear?” she asked, not to hurt, but because the question was sitting between them anyway.

He gave a half-smile, twisted and cracked. “I built walls. Big ones. I thought if I acted like I didn’t care, they’d stop trying to hurt me. But it just made it easier for them to leave.”

Maya let the silence stretch.

“I know that trick,” she whispered.

Their eyes met—truly met—for the first time. And something shifted.

Not pity. Not flirtation. Just recognition. Two people standing in the ruins of different stories, but feeling the same quiet ache.

“I saw you that day,” Zane said suddenly. “Your first day. In the hallway. You looked like you wanted to disappear.”

Maya looked away.

“I still do, most days.”

He leaned on the railing beside her, elbows brushing. “You don’t have to. Not around me.”

She turned sharply. “What does that even mean?”

He hesitated, then looked her in the eye. “I don’t know what this is, Maya. I don’t know what I want from you. But when I see you… I see something real. And it scares the hell out of me.”

She wasn’t ready for that. For him—honest, open, broken.

“You confuse me,” she admitted. “One minute you’re this cocky jerk with a smirk that makes girls melt. The next minute you’re… this.”

“I confuse myself too,” he said quietly.

She laughed despite herself.

“I thought I’d hate you forever.”

“I thought you were stuck-up and cold.”

They both smiled.

Then the wind picked up again, and they both stared out at the field, neither speaking.

Until Maya said, “Maybe we’re not as different as we thought.”

Zane looked at her, and for the first time, there was no barrier. No mask. Just a boy trying to be something more than what the world had made of him.

And a girl trying to feel safe in a world that never was.

“Maybe,” he said.

They didn’t touch. They didn’t kiss. They just stood together, breathing in the same sky, looking out at the same world, hoping—maybe—for the first time—that they didn’t have to face it alone.