Betty
I hadn’t left the house in days.
Not since the party. Not since the text. Not since my world split open and dumped me into the kind of shame that clings like a second skin. The kind you can’t scrub off. My dad tried to get me to talk. Kate sent check-in messages. Even my teachers emailed, asking if I was okay. I ignored them all.
But the gala was coming. School wasn’t optional forever.
I woke up that morning and stared at my closet for twenty minutes before grabbing the baggiest hoodie I owned. It was navy and shapeless and hung past my hips. I threw it over a loose tank and black yoga pants. Hair tied in a messy bun. No makeup. Just concealer under my eyes so people wouldn’t ask if I’d been crying.
I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the girl staring back.
She looked small. Faded.
I didn’t eat. I barely spoke to my dad. I just nodded when he offered a ride and muttered “fine” when he asked how I was.
When we pulled up to school, I stepped out like I was walking into a courtroom. Guilty until proven innocent. And everyone was on the jury.
Whispers followed me. Heads turned. The halls were a minefield of people I used to ignore and people who used to ignore me.
Some looked at me with pity.
Some with amusement.
Most with curiosity, like I was some social experiment gone wrong.
I avoided them all. Took side hallways. I skipped lunch. Stayed in the bathroom longer than necessary, just to avoid crowds. In class, I stared at my notebook, not really seeing the words. Didn’t raise my hand. Didn’t answer when called.
Every sound felt too loud. Every laugh felt like it was about me.
My hands wouldn’t stop sweating.
And beneath it all, one question looped in my mind like poison:
What if I see him?
Because I knew it would happen. Sooner or later.
And when it did, I didn’t expect it to be behind the science building, halfway between periods, where barely anyone walked.
He came out of nowhere.
“Betty.”
I froze. My heart jumped straight into my throat.
Marcus.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
I turned around. I walked the other way.
“Wait—please.”
I kept walking.
Then he said it. Out of nowhere. Like a gut punch.
“I love you.”
I stopped.
“I don’t care about basketball,” he said, stepping closer. “Or the draft. Or anything else. Just you.”
My hands were shaking. My breath caught in my chest. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to collapse into him. I wanted to disappear.
“I told my dad to get out of my life,” he continued. “I’m done pretending. I just want to be with you. Please.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t that easy.
“You don’t get it,” I said, finally turning around to face him. “You hurt me more than anyone ever has.”
His face twisted. “I know.”
“No, you don’t. Not really.” I took a shaky breath. “You know what Stacey is. You know what Vel is. I expected it from them. But you? I let you in. I believed you. I gave you pieces of me I don’t even give myself.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did,” I cut him off, voice rising. “You let it happen. You didn’t protect me. You didn’t even try. You just watched while everything I was afraid of came true.”
He looked broken. Really broken.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I swear, I never meant for any of this. I didn’t plan to fall for you. But I did.”
I swallowed hard.
“You don’t get to love me now,” I said, barely audible. “Not after all this.”
I turned to walk away.
“Betty, please.”
But I didn’t stop.
Because I couldn’t risk falling for the same lie twice.