MARCUS
The streets were quiet that night, like even the city knew I was wrecked. I walked aimlessly, hoodie pulled low, trying to disappear into the dark. Every few blocks, someone’s phone buzzed with the same video. My voice. My father’s. That disgusting line: You don’t need to be in love with her.
I didn’t blame Betty for walking away. I blamed me. Because she wasn’t wrong.
It started as a manipulation. My dad’s plan. My desperation to keep my scouts, my scholarship dreams, my damn reputation. And yeah, I went along with it. But somewhere in the middle of all the lies, I started falling for the girl I was supposed to use. And now she was gone.
I ended up at the old basketball court. The one I showed her. The one that still smelled like pine and concrete and sweat.
I sat at center court with my phone propped on my gym bag.
“Hey,” I said into the lens. “I don’t know who’s going to see this, or if I’ll even post it. But if you’re watching this… I messed up. Bad. And this isn’t a defense. This is a confession.”
I told the camera everything. From the moment Harry Mitchell pushed me to get close to Betty. The pressure. The expectations. The fear. And then I told the part that mattered most — how she changed me. How it stopped being a plan and started being the one real thing I ever had.
“I fell in love with the girl I was supposed to use. And I’ll regret that forever. Not loving her — using her. But if there’s even a sliver of a chance that she’ll hear this and believe any part of it… then it’s worth saying.”
I ended the video with a whisper. “I’m sorry, Betty. For all of it. And I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
BETTY
The next morning, the classroom was full. Lights dimmed. Laptop open. Students murmuring as they waited. Everyone was there — except me.
Marcus stood at the front, palms sweating, staring at the screen. Our slides were ready. Our project was solid. But I wasn’t beside him.
The teacher glanced at the clock. “Mr. Mitchell, will you be presenting solo?”
He opened his mouth — and then the door creaked open.
Every head turned.
There I was.
Still in last night’s clothes. No makeup. Hair in a messy bun. But my eyes? Clear. Sharp. Unshaken.
I walked straight to the front and stood beside Marcus without looking at him.
“Let’s begin,” I said.
And the room went silent.