Chapter 4: The Spill

"Come on, just blend," I breathed, leaning so close to my dorm mirror that my breath fogged up the glass.

I jabbed the concealer stick against my neck again, layering the thick beige cream over the dark, bruised mark Leo had left there last night. It was purple, almost black in the center, and no matter how much makeup I slapped onto it, the edges still peeked through like a neon sign. I yanked the collar of my shirt up, pinning it tight with a small safety pin from the inside, hoping to God it would stay put.

Ten minutes later, I was crossing the main campus courtyard, my hands gripping the straps of my backpack like a shield. The sun was blinding, making my eyes sting after barely getting two hours of sleep.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up for air," a sharp voice cut through the morning air.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Standing right in the middle of the concrete path was Maria Cole, flanked by her usual shadows, Gloria and Meg. Maria was wearing a crisp white designer jacket, a massive, iced coffee held loosely in her manicured hand.

"I'm late for class, Maria. Move," I said, trying to push past her.

"Did I say you could leave?" Maria stepped right into my path, blocking me completely. Gloria and Meg fanned out on either side, cutting off my exit. "Look at you. You look like you slept in a ditch, Ivy. What's wrong? Did your little scholarship check bounce?"

"Get out of my way," I said, my voice rising.

"I don't think I want to," Maria sneered. She tilted her wrist with a slow, deliberate smirk. "Oops. Watch your step."

Before I could jump back, she flipped her hand completely. The freezing, sticky brown iced coffee poured straight out of the plastic cup, splashing directly down the front of my light gray shirt. The cold liquid soaked through the fabric instantly, sticking to my skin and making me gasp.

A loud burst of snickers erupted from the students sitting on the nearby benches. Gloria laughed out loud, pointing at my chest.

"Oh my god, Maria, look at her," Gloria jeered. "She looks like a wet dog."

My face burned with a wave of intense shame. I clamped my jaw shut, my fists clenching so hard my nails dug into my palms. The coffee was dripping down my jeans, cold and humiliating.

"What is going on here?"

The crowd went quiet instantly as a heavy pair of boots crunched against the gravel. Leo walked right into the center of the courtyard, his hands shoved casually in his pockets.

"Leo, babe!" Maria changed her tone in a split second, stepping toward him and wrapping her arms around his middle. "Ivy just ran right into me and made me spill my entire drink. She’s being totally psycho today."

Leo didn't pull away from her. He casually threw his arm around Maria’s waist, pulling her flush against his hip.

I looked straight at him. My eyes were wide, practically pleading with him to say something, to do something, to show even a single spark of the guy who had held me against the brick wall twelve hours ago. Please, I thought, staring into his face. Don't do this.

Leo looked back at me. His eyes were completely dead, flat, and uncaring. There wasn't a single hint of recognition in his face. It was a total daytime freeze, a brutal faceslapping reality check that cut deeper than the cold coffee soaking my skin.

"You look like a mess, freshman," Leo said, his voice loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear. He gave a small, disgusted scoff, looking away from me as if I were a piece of garbage on the sidewalk. "Clean yourself up. You're ruining the view."

The surrounding students broke into another round of loud, mocking laughter. Maria giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"You heard him," Maria snapped at me. "Go wash yourself off."

I didn't say a single word. I held my chin up high, refusing to let a single tear drop, refusing to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing me break down. I turned on my heel and walked straight past the laughing crowds, my wet sneakers squeaking loudly against the concrete as I bolted into the nearest building.

I ran down the hallway toward the locker room, my chest heaving as I tried to control my breathing. The humiliation was a heavy, suffocating weight. I grabbed the handle of my locker and yanked it open, ready to grab my spare gym shirt and hide in a bathroom stall until the day was over.

But when the metal door swung wide, my spare shirt wasn't there.

Instead, sitting right on the top shelf, was a brand-new, expensive black hoodie. The fabric was incredibly thick and soft, the distinct scent of winter air and faint tobacco lifting from the cotton.

Tucked into the front pocket was a small, white square of paper.

I grabbed it, my fingers shaking as I flipped it over. Written in that same rough, heavy dark ink was a short message:

Locker code 24-11-06. Put it on. Don't let anyone else see you look like that.