Saw Me 11

Walking into school felt different. Not like I’d grown wings or discovered superpowers—more like I’d finally stopped apologizing for existing in my own skin. My hoodie still hung loose, my shoes still squeaked against the linoleum like dying mice, but something had clicked into place overnight.

I wasn’t performing confidence. I was just… done pretending to be smaller than I was.

Second period, I laughed without covering my mouth. AP Lit, I answered questions without studying my shoes first. Revolutionary stuff, really. The air didn’t feel hostile anymore—just charged, like it was daring me to keep going.

Chase didn’t look at me in the hallways. But he didn’t look through me either. Different energy now. Like maybe he didn’t trust himself not to care, so he was playing it safe with total avoidance. Hood up, earbuds in, hands buried in pockets like they might betray him.

But every time we passed? Static. Pure electricity.

I didn’t push it. He didn’t pull. We just existed in the same space, pretending the air wasn’t crackling between us.

Miles noticed everything.

Started in second block—caught him staring like I was a math problem he couldn’t solve. Brows furrowed, head tilted, the whole confused-puppy routine. I looked away before he could make eye contact.

Big mistake.

After class, he materialized beside me like a bad decision in expensive jeans. “Zo.”

I kept walking. He kept following.

“You’ve changed,” he said, voice soft, eyes flicking to my hair like he wanted to touch it but didn’t dare.

I shifted out of reach. “Yeah. People do that.”

His smile pulled crooked, that old familiar smirk that used to turn my stomach upside down. “It suits you.”

I kept walking. He followed.

“There’s this… spark now. Like you stopped hiding.”

I turned to face him. “Or maybe you just finally started paying attention.”

That hit him. I saw it. Something in his expression stuttered—just for a second.

“Maybe,” he said, quieter now. “Or maybe I just didn’t get it back then.”

The hallway was all echoes and distance. Everyone else was gone.

He stepped closer, voice low. “But this version of you? The fire, the edge… I think that’s who you’ve always been. I just didn’t know how to see it.”

My chest tightened, but not from what he probably hoped.

“No,” I said. “You liked the version who stayed small. Who didn’t make noise. This me? The real one? She scares you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I just didn’t get it before. Didn’t realize how much of you I was missing until now.”

I smiled. It was all teeth, no warmth. “Funny how you only see me now that someone else does.”

He opened his mouth to argue, hand half-raised like he might tuck my hair behind my ear. Like he still had that right.

He didn’t.

“Zoey—”

The bell rang. Perfect timing.

I turned around and barely made it three steps before I saw her.

Amber Mays. Leaning against the wall outside the library, arms crossed tight over her chest. She straightened when she saw me, like she hadn’t been waiting. Like she wasn’t caught off guard.

But she had been. Her jaw was clenched. Her eyes flicked past me, toward the classroom. Fast. Nervous.

She’d seen it.

Her smile came late. Forced. Not wide enough to mean it.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t give her a second look. Just kept walking.

But I saw it—that flicker in her eyes.

She wasn’t as sure of her place as she wanted to be.

And now she knew I’d seen that, war had been declared.