As soon as my foot hit the campus, the tension hit me like a wave. Their eyes felt like daggers, and the whispers were almost deafening.
I could hear the muffled laughs, covered up by fake coughs and hands, but they only made everything feel worse—like I couldn’t breathe.
Everywhere I went, they knew. Every hallway I walked down, their eyes followed me.
Some pretended not to look, casting only quick glances before turning away. Others didn’t bother hiding it—watching me like I was some kind of spectacle, like I was something to be entertained by.
I gripped the straps of my backpack tighter, forcing myself to keep walking. Just keep walking.
Through the whispers. Through the eyes that burned into me.
Through the realization that no one had forgotten what happened last night.
The diary. The bet. The humiliation.
I keep my head down, counting tiles as I walk. One, two, three... anything to avoid seeing the faces of people who now know every pathetic detail of my crush on Marcus Archibald.
God, even thinking his name makes my stomach turn.
My hands clenched at my sides as I pushed open the doors to the cafeteria.
Just get through today.
I scan the room, mapping escape routes and safe zones with the desperate precision of prey. There – a corner table, partially hidden behind a pillar.
Perfect for someone trying to disappear.
I slide into the seat, hunching over my sad excuse for lunch. Maybe if I make myself small enough, they'll forget I exist. But the whispers follow me even here, carried on currents of cruel laughter.
"Is this seat taken?"
The voice startles me, soft but clear. I look up to find a girl standing there, her dark-rimmed glasses and oversized sweater a stark contrast to the polished perfection that seems to be the uniform around here.
She wasn’t smirking or watching me like I was pathetic entertainment. She was just… there.
Her eyes were kind, her presence cautious, like she knew I might bolt at any second.
"Hey," she said softly, sitting down before I could respond. "I’m Lucy."
I blinked, thrown off. I had seen her in a few classes—always quiet, always alone. We had never spoken before. Not once.
I swallowed, barely finding my voice. "Hi, I’m Betty."
Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her tray before she looked up again. "I heard about what happened last night."
Of course she had.
I braced myself, waiting for mockery, waiting for her to twist the knife.
But instead—she sighed. "I’m really sorry, Betty. That was… cruel."
There's something careful in her movements, like someone who knows what it's like to take up space in a world that wants you to shrink.
I wait for the other shoe to drop, for this to be another elaborate setup. But Lucy's eyes hold no hidden agenda, just a familiar pain.
I stared at her, unsure of how to react.
"You know, she did something similar to me," Lucy continues, pushing her food around her plate. "Last year, during cheerleading tryouts. She made sure everyone was there to watch me fail. Made it into some kind of twisted entertainment."
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I wish someone had told me I wasn't alone." She offers a small smile. "And because maybe we both could use a friend who understands."
Something warm and fragile blooms in my chest – hope, maybe. Or just relief at finding someone who sees me as more than a punchline.
For the first time since last night, the tightness in my chest loosened just a little.
She wasn’t here to pity me. She was here because she got it. Because she had been through something similar, and she wanted to help.
I let out a shaky breath, nodding. "Thanks, Lucy."
Her smile widened slightly. "Do you… maybe want to hang out sometime?"
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. "Yeah. That would be nice."
We exchanged numbers before finishing our lunch. It wasn’t much. But for the first time after a long time, I didn’t feel completely alone.
But the universe isn't done with me yet.
I shouldn’t have gone. I should have just worked on the project in my room or anywhere else but the library.
Because, of course, the second I walked in, I saw him. Marcus.
He was sitting at one of the long wooden tables, arms crossed, staring blankly at the textbook in front of him. He looked… tired. Like he hadn’t slept.
I turned to walk in the opposite direction, but the moment I moved, he looked up and saw me. His entire body tensed. And before I could slip away, his voice cut through the silence.
"Betty."
I froze. For a second, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, I turned back to face him.
His expression was unreadable, but there was something behind his eyes. Something I didn’t want to see.
"Where did you go?" His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. "After the party… after…"
His gaze flickered for a moment, landing on my lips, before he forced himself to look away.
Like he was remembering it. Like he was remembering the way he kissed me.
"After what?" I cut him off, anger rising like bile in my throat. "After you kissed me? After you turned my first kiss into just another part of your sick game?"
His face twists with something that might be regret, but I'm done trying to read him. Done trying to find humanity in someone who saw my feelings as a bet to be won.
I swallowed hard, willing my voice to stay steady. "Why do you even care?"
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I just—"
"Because you didn’t care last night," I cut him off, voice sharper than I intended. "You didn’t care when they laughed at me. When they read my diary in front of everyone. When they—" My voice cracked, and I quickly looked away, biting down hard on my lip.
Marcus’s jaw tightened. "I wasn’t—"
"Don’t," I snapped, eyes burning as I glared at him. "Just don’t."
The tension between us was suffocating.
"The project," he starts again, but I'm already shaking my head.
"I'll do it myself." My voice is steady even as my hands shake.
His brows furrowed. "Betty—"
"You don't have to pretend to be nice anymore," I interrupted, turning toward the exit. "You don't have to pretend anything. You won. Congratulations. Now leave me alone."
And before he could say another word—I walked out.