Chapter 16
Jul 18, 2025
People were watching now—really watching. It wasn’t whispers anymore. It was stares held just a second too long, like every hallway became a runway and we were the main act no one wanted to admit they liked.
Some students looked curious, others annoyed, but most of them just looked shocked that I had stopped shrinking and Chase Donovan was the one holding my hand like it meant something.
He didn’t hide it. In the quad, his arm draped casually over my shoulders like it belonged there. Between classes, he pulled me closer just to see who flinched. He kissed my cheek in front of Amber like he was daring her to do something about it.
Everything was supposed to feel better. I had Chase now, didn’t I? He walked me to class. He made sure my locker didn’t get slammed. He squeezed my hand when teachers gave me that “are you spiraling?” look.
And still—underneath all of it—something inside me buzzed with the quiet warning that this wouldn’t last.
Not because of him. Because of me.
Because every time I caught my reflection, I didn’t recognize the girl who stared back with kohl on her eyelids and fire in her eyes.
When I walked into the house, the lights were on.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
The second was the silence—too still, too heavy. Like everyone was waiting for a bomb to go off.
“Zoey.” My mom’s voice cut from the living room. “Sit.”
I did. Automatically. Like my body knew better than to argue.
She didn’t look up. Just turned her phone toward me. A photo filled the screen—big red letters sprayed across the school hallway floor.
FUCK MILES.
“Is this you?” Her voice was flat, but her eyes were sharp.
My stomach dropped. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Then tell me what it is. Because it looks like my daughter broke into her own school in the middle of the night and left a message the entire student body saw before third period.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“They didn’t think it was you at first,” she went on, voice low. “But then the cameras showed someone wearing your jacket near the back entrance. And your name came up. Again and again. People saying you’ve been acting different. Angry. Messy.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself. Nothing came out.
“I’ve defended you,” she said. “To other parents. To your teachers. I told them you were just overwhelmed. Just tired. But this?” Her voice cracked. “This isn’t tired. This is reckless. This is throwing everything away.”
I looked at the floor.
“You don’t get it.”
“Try me.”
“I’m tired of being perfect. I’m tired of following rules that never protected me.”
Her hand curled tighter around the phone. “So you destroy things?”
“I create things,” I snapped. “That moment—whatever it was—it made me feel alive.”
She stood. Paced. “You’re grounded. No going out.”
“That’s not a solution,” I said, standing too.
“It’s parenting,” she snapped back. “And it starts now.”
I didn’t argue. Not out loud. I went upstairs. Closed my door. Sat on the bed with fists clenched so tight my knuckles ached. She didn’t understand. No one did. Not really. Not the version of me that had crawled out of heartbreak and humiliation just to be seen for something other than being good.
I waited ten minutes before pulling out my phone. I typed fast. One message. No punctuation.
Pick me up?
Five minutes later, I was slipping out the window.
Chase didn’t ask questions when I got in the car. He just drove. His room was dark when we entered. Familiar. Quiet. The posters on his walls curled at the corners. The blanket on his bed smelled like detergent and spearmint.
We lay side by side, not touching, not speaking. Just breathing.
The ceiling fan spun slow above us. My fingers traced the smudged star on my wrist—the one I’d drawn earlier in Sharpie. A fake tattoo. One of the things on my new list.
I’d even made a real appointment. Picked the shop. Chose the design.
But when the day came, I bailed.
Sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes and then drove home.
The Sharpie bled into my skin like it belonged there anyway.
“Why me?” I asked, voice quiet but sharp. “Out of all the girls at this school. Why pick the one everyone’s trying to break?”
His arm reached across the blanket. Found mine. His thumb brushed over the star without a word.
Then, slowly, “Because you scare the hell out of me now.”
My breath caught. “Good,” I whispered.
And for the first time that day, I smiled and meant it.
