Chapter 6

Ella

I should’ve known better.

That’s the thought that follows me out of the hallway and down the sidewalk behind the school.

I should’ve known better than to expect anything from Beckett Cross.

The frustrating part isn’t that he disappointed me.

It’s that some small, stupid part of me expected him not to.

The morning air feels cooler outside, but it does nothing to clear my head. I tighten my grip on my books and keep walking until the noise of the school fades into the background. Students are scattered across the courtyard, eating lunch and talking with friends, but I head toward the quieter edge of campus where hardly anyone goes.

I need a minute.

A real minute.

Not the kind where I smile and pretend I’m fine.

The kind where I can actually think.

The second I’m alone, everything comes rushing back.

Sean’s voice.

The laughter.

The crowd watching.

And Beckett standing right there.

Doing absolutely nothing.

I sink onto a bench beneath an old oak tree and stare across the empty athletic fields.

One word.

That’s all it would’ve taken.

Leave her alone.

Cut it out.

Knock it off.

Anything.

Beckett Cross has more influence in this school than half the teachers. When he talks, people listen. When he laughs, everyone joins in. If he wanted something to stop, it would stop.

But he didn’t.

My chest tightens.

Because the truth is, that shouldn’t surprise me.

He’s been standing there for years.

Watching.

Never starting it most of the time.

Never ending it either.

Somehow that almost feels worse.

I rest my elbows on my knees and press my palms against my eyes.

Why does this bother me so much?

The answer comes immediately.

Because I know him.

Or at least I used to.

That’s the problem.

If Beckett were just another jerk in the hallway, none of this would matter. I’d be upset, sure. Embarrassed. Angry.

But it wouldn’t sit under my skin like this.

I know things about Beckett that most people don’t.

I know his dad misses more dinners than he makes.

I know he pretends not to care when people bring it up.

I know his bedroom light stays on late some nights because I’ve seen it through my own window when I can’t sleep.

I know he leaves for school without breakfast more often than not.

I know he isn’t as effortless as everyone thinks he is.

I’ve spent years living next door to him.

Years watching him become someone I barely recognize.

That’s what hurts.

Not that Beckett acted like Beckett.

That part is expected.

What hurts is remembering there was a time when he wasn’t.

A memory flashes through my mind before I can stop it.

Summer.

Middle school.

The two of us racing our bikes down the street while his dad yelled at us to slow down.

I immediately shove the memory away.

No.

That doesn’t matter anymore.

People change.

Beckett certainly did.

And maybe that’s what I need to accept.

Because every time he does something halfway decent, I start building stories around it.

The spitball in my hair.

The way he looked at me in the kitchen.

The fact that he asked for my help.

I turned all of those things into something they weren’t.

I made them important because I wanted them to be.

Because for one brief second, Beckett needed something from me.

Not the other way around.

Me.

And maybe that’s the real reason I’m upset.

Not because he stood there today.

Because I let myself believe his opinion mattered.

I stare down at my hands.

The realization stings.

But it also feels honest.

When he came to my house, part of me felt… chosen.

The thought makes me cringe immediately.

Chosen?

Seriously?

But it was true.

For one stupid moment, it felt good to be the person with something valuable to offer.

To be the person somebody needed.

Especially somebody like him.

Then this morning happened.

And suddenly I was right back where I’d always been.

The girl people laughed at.

The girl nobody defended.

The girl standing alone while everyone else decided her worth.

A lump forms in my throat.

“He needed me,” I whisper.

The words sound pathetic out loud.

Maybe they are.

But I can’t deny them.

Beckett came to me because he needed help.

He looked me in the eye.

He asked.

And for a little while, I thought maybe he saw something everyone else missed.

Then today he stood there while Sean made jokes at my expense.

Like none of that mattered.

Like I didn’t matter.

I let out a shaky laugh.

The answer is so obvious it almost makes me angry.

He wasn’t confused.

I was.

I’ve spent days trying to figure him out.

Trying to explain the contradictions.

Trying to convince myself there was more to him than what he showed me.

Meanwhile Beckett has been perfectly clear.

His reputation matters.

His friends matter.

His place at the top of the social ladder matters.

And me?

I don’t.

At least not enough.

The thought hurts.

But not as much as it did ten minutes ago.

Because hurt is slowly giving way to something else.

Something harder.

Something steadier.

I’m tired.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Tired of waiting for people to decide I’m worth defending.

Tired of hoping someone will finally choose me.

Tired of giving other people the power to determine how I feel about myself.

A breeze lifts a few strands of hair from my face.

I stare across the football field.

Then I think about Beckett sitting in my kitchen.

Asking for help.

And something clicks.

If he wants my help, then things can’t stay the way they are.

He doesn’t get both.

He doesn’t get to need me in private and ignore me in public.

He doesn’t get to ask for my time while standing silently beside people who make my life miserable.

He doesn’t get to keep his reputation and use me when it’s convenient.

Not anymore.

I sit a little straighter.

The feeling isn’t confidence exactly.

Not yet.

It’s smaller than that.

Quieter.

But it’s there.

A boundary.

Maybe the first real one I’ve ever had.

For years I’ve let people decide what I deserve.

Today I’m deciding something for myself.

If Beckett wants my help, he’s going to have to earn it.

And for once, the thought doesn’t scare me.

It feels right.