Chapter 7

Ella

The second I walk through the front door, I know something is wrong.

Not bad wrong.

Just… different.

The house isn’t quiet.

Usually when I get home, the silence hits me first. The TV is off. The kitchen is empty. Mom’s car is nowhere in sight.

Today, her purse is sitting on the entry table.

My stomach immediately tightens.

Mom is never home this early.

“Mom?” I call out, setting my backpack down by the door.

“In the living room, honey.”

Yeah.

Definitely something’s up.

I follow her voice and find her sitting on the couch with her laptop open beside her and her phone in her hand. She looks like she’s been waiting for me.

Which somehow makes me even more nervous.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “What’s going on?”

She smiles.

Unfortunately, it’s the smile.

The one parents use right before they ruin your day.

“Nothing bad.”

I immediately don’t believe her.

“You say that every time something bad happens.”

A laugh escapes her.

“I’m serious. You’re not in trouble.”

“Well, that’s reassuring at least.”

She pats the cushion beside her.

“Come sit.”

Reluctantly, I do.

Mom studies me for a second before speaking.

“I got some news today.”

I groan immediately.

“There it is.”

“Ella.”

“I’m sorry. Continue with the life-altering information.”

She rolls her eyes.

“My company is expanding.”

I blink.

“That’s good, right?”

“It is.”

Her smile becomes more genuine.

“Permanently good. Promotion good.”

My eyebrows lift.

“Wait. Really?”

She nods.

For a moment, I forget to be nervous.

Mom works harder than anyone I know. Longer hours. More weekends. More late nights.

She deserves good things.

“I’m happy for you.”

The relief on her face makes me realize she was worried I wouldn’t be.

“Thank you.”

Then her expression shifts.

Just slightly.

And immediately my stomach drops again.

Because here comes the catch.

“There is one complication.”

Of course there is.

“How complicated?”

She winces.

“Two weeks.”

I frown.

“Two weeks of what?”

“Travel.”

The word lands heavily between us.

“Starting this weekend.”

My chest tightens.

“How much travel?”

Another hesitation.

Never a good sign.

“I’ll be gone the full two weeks.”

The room suddenly feels smaller.

“What?”

“Honey—”

“Two weeks?”

“I know.”

“No, seriously. Two weeks?”

She nods.

I look away immediately.

Not because I’m angry.

Because disappointment is harder to hide.

Of course work comes first.

Immediately guilt follows the thought.

That’s not fair.

Mom works this hard because she takes care of us.

Because she’s trying.

Because life is expensive and unfair and complicated.

I know all of that.

It still hurts.

“So I’ll stay here.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I already know they’re wrong.

Mom’s expression confirms it.

“No.”

I close my eyes.

Of course not.

“I’ve already made arrangements.”

The dread arrives instantly.

Slow.

Heavy.

Certain.

“What kind of arrangements?”

Mom hesitates.

That’s all I need.

“No.”

“Ella—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I absolutely do.”

Her expression softens.

Which somehow makes everything worse.

“Honey—”

“No.”

“Beckett’s family offered—”

“Mom.”

“They live right next door.”

“Mom.”

“You’ve known them forever.”

I actually laugh.

A short, disbelieving sound.

“That’s your argument?”

She blinks.

“What’s wrong with the Cross family?”

Everything.

Nothing.

I don’t know.

How am I supposed to explain this?

How do I tell her that the boy she’s trusted my entire life is the same boy who stands in hallways while people laugh at me?

How do I explain something she never sees?

At school, Beckett Cross is one person.

At home, he’s another.

And somehow both versions make me miserable.

“It’s complicated.”

Mom sighs.

“You’re not staying here alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“I’ll lock the doors.”

“No.”

“I’ll call every night.”

“No.”

I slump back against the couch.

We’re both aware this conversation is over.

Mom gets stubborn when she’s worried.

And she’s worried.

Which means I’ve already lost.

“Thursday,” she says gently. “After school.”

I stare at the floor.

Two weeks.

Two weeks living next door.

Two weeks seeing Beckett every day.

Two weeks with no escape.

“Okay,” I whisper.

It’s not agreement.

It’s surrender.

Unfortunately, Mom doesn’t seem to know the difference.

⸻

Later that night, I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling when I hear it.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I freeze.

For one second, I honestly consider pretending I didn’t hear it.

Then it comes again.

Tap.

I already know who it is.

Nobody else would knock on my window.

I roll over with a groan and pull back the curtain.

Of course.

Beckett.

Standing outside like this is completely normal.

Like people regularly show up at bedroom windows.

Like he didn’t spend this morning proving exactly who he is.

I shove the window open.

“What?”

Not hello.

Not hi.

Just what.

His eyebrows lift slightly.

Good.

Let him be surprised.

“I need help.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Not a happy laugh.

Not even close.

“Of course you do.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

The tension feels thick enough to touch.

Finally, he exhales.

“I told you. I need help with English.”

“And I told you no.”

“You never actually said no.”

I stare at him.

The audacity.

“Fine. No.”

That gets his attention.

Good.

For once, I want him uncomfortable.

“Why?”

The question genuinely surprises him.

Like he honestly doesn’t know.

That hurts more than it should.

I stare at him through the open window.

“You really don’t get it.”

His frown deepens.

“Get what?”

I laugh again.

This one sounds tired.

“You stood there today.”

Something flashes across his face.

Gone almost immediately.

But I see it.

Good.

Maybe he does know.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it.

“You stood there while Sean was making fun of me.”

“That’s not—”

“That is exactly what happened.”

The words come out sharper than I intended.

Months of frustration hiding inside them.

Years, maybe.

For once, I don’t try to soften them.

Beckett falls silent.

And suddenly I realize something.

He doesn’t have a defense.

Not a real one.

“You came to my house asking for help,” I continue. “You asked me because you needed something.”

His jaw tightens.

“But the second your friends are around, I’m back to being the girl nobody cares about.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because we both know it is.

The silence stretches.

Uncomfortable.

Heavy.

Necessary.

“You want my help?” I ask quietly.

He nods.

I take a breath.

Then I finally say the thing that’s been sitting in my chest all day.

“Then things change.”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t get both.”

The words come easier now.

Stronger.

“It means you don’t get to need me in private while pretending I don’t exist in public.”

His expression shifts.

For the first time since I’ve known him, Beckett Cross looks unsure.

Not angry.

Not confident.

Unsure.

And somehow that gives me courage.

“I’m not asking you to be my friend,” I say. “I’m not asking you to save me. But if you want my help, then stop acting like I’m worth something only when nobody’s watching.”

Silence.

The longest one yet.

I can practically see him thinking.

Trying to find an argument.

Trying to find a way around it.

There isn’t one.

Finally, I smile.

A small one.

“Think about it.”

His own words.

Thrown right back at him.

Before he can answer, I slide the window shut.

Right in his face.

For a second, I just stand there staring at the glass.

My heart is pounding.

My hands are shaking.

But not from fear.

Not this time.

For the first time in my life, I stood my ground.

And the strange thing is…

It feels good.