ELLE’s POV
The rest of the day crawled by. Each class stretched into what felt like hours, the ticking of the clock almost mocking me.
I managed to keep myself sane until it was time to go home, though every time I caught sight of Noah in the hallway, my stomach did that annoying flip thing.
Each glimpse of his dark hair or the sound of his laugh down the corridor sent a jolt through me. Was he still giving me piano lessons? Would he cancel after our awkward cafeteria moment? Should I even go?
I distracted myself by focusing intensely on my notes, copying down every word my teachers said, but nothing stuck. My mind kept drifting back to the image of Megan perched on his lap, his hands resting comfortably on her waist as if they belonged there.
When the final bell rang, I gathered my books quickly. Students poured into the hallway around me, their weekend excitement creating a buzz of energy I couldn't match.
I navigated through the crowd, keeping my head down. I'd call Noah later, make up some excuse about why I couldn't make it today. Or any day. This whole idea was insane. I also avoided Lucas, ducking behind a group of seniors when I spotted him looking for me at the end of the hall.
I reached my locker and leaned my forehead against the cool metal for a moment.
Just get your things and go home. Deal with the Noah situation later. I twirled my combination and pulled open my locker door, only to have several papers flutter to the ground.
I bent to pick them up, thinking I'd just been careless with my organization. But as I gathered the sheets, my blood ran cold.
My music sheets, the ones with my original compositions, had been defaced with cruel drawings and messages scrawled in red marker.
Stick figures with exaggerated features labeled with my name. Words like "pathetic" and "delusional" surrounded my carefully written notes.
And across my newest song, the one I'd been working on for weeks, were the words: "Watch your back, Fluffy. I'm coming for you soon."
My hands began to shake, the papers trembling like leaves in a storm. This wasn't just the usual teasing or bullying. This was a threat. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"No," I whispered, looking around frantically to see if anyone was watching for my reaction. The hallway was emptying quickly, students eager to start their weekend. No one was paying attention to me, but suddenly every passing glance felt sinister.
I stared back at my locker and realized it had been completely vandalized. Nasty words were scratched into the metal, deep grooves that couldn't be erased. Someone had dumped what looked like soda over my textbooks; the pages were stuck together, stained and ruined.
The smell hit me then, sweet and sticky with an undercurrent of something sour. My throat tightened as panic clawed its way up from my stomach.
My chest constricted, each breath becoming more difficult than the last. Black spots danced in front of my eyes, my vision tunneling until all I could see were those red words: "Watch your back, Fluffy."
I scooted backward, trying to get away from the locker, from the threat, from everything.
My back hit something solid—someone—but my mind was too hazy to register who it was. The papers clutched in my grip were crumpling, the hateful words distorting but not disappearing.
I had to get out. Had to run. Had to breathe.
I spun around, mumbling a quick "Sorry" to whoever I'd bumped into, and started moving toward the nearest exit. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment.
"Elle? Wait, arem’t you the Elle Willsmith from New Jersey?"
The voice cut through my panic. Familiar, but not immediately recognizable. I turned slowly, blinking away tears I hadn't realized were forming.
There, standing in front of me with a surprised smile, was a face I hadn't seen in years. Older now, taller, but with the same kind brown eyes and dimple in his right cheek.
Steven Smith. From Grade Four.
Before I had moved. Before everything had changed. Before the bullying started.
"Steven?" My voice came out as a croak, the word barely making it past the tightness in my throat.
His smile widened. "It is you! I thought I recognized you, but I wasn't sure. What are the odds?" He seemed completely oblivious to my distress, his eyes bright with the excitement of reunion.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. The panic was still there, my chest still tight, but his familiar face had thrown me off balance. A lifeline from my past, appearing just when I was drowning.
Before I could say a word of recognition, he pulled me into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around me securely, a gesture so genuine and unexpected that for a moment, I forgot about the vandalized locker and threatening message.
For just a moment, I was back in elementary school, when life was simpler and Steven had been my desk partner and friend.
Over Steven's shoulder, movement caught my eye. Noah walked out of a classroom, his gaze landing directly on us. Our eyes met across the hall. His expression shifted from surprise to something harder, his jaw clenching visibly.
His gaze flicked to Steven's arms around me, then back to my face. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, then I wrapped my hands tighter around Steven and Noah saw it.
His jaws clenched again and then, he turned sharply and strode away in the opposite direction.