Chapter 17
Jul 18, 2025
The hallway buzzed like something was about to blow. Not a fire drill or a fight—something quieter. More radioactive. Measured. Judged.
The stares weren’t curious anymore. They were calculating. And loud. Like everyone was waiting for the collapse they were sure would come.
The new girl, ruined by the bad boy. The broken boy, baited by the rebound girl. A disaster disguised as a love story.
Chase wove his fingers through mine as we passed the vending machines. Stood behind me at my locker with that same easy slouch, like his spine never learned tension. He kissed me just below my ear, once, slow and defiant. Right in front of Amber. And even when I saw her eyes narrow and her nails dig into her own palm, he didn’t let go.
I did my best not to let the pressure show. Not the teachers pulling me aside with tight smiles and veiled warnings. Not the counselor who casually asked if “everything at home felt stable.” Not the looks from my friends, who hadn’t said much since the fake list broke the internet.
Not even when Amber whispered just loud enough for me to hear, “She’s one breakdown away from ruining him.”
But I saw the cracks. Not just in me— in Chase, too. His laugh had an edge now. His shoulders stayed a little too tense. His jaw clenched every time his phone buzzed. Once, I caught him staring at the screen like it might explode. And he didn’t tell me what was on it.
At home, it all snapped. My mom caught me sneaking back in at 11:43. She didn’t yell at first. Just showed me the app she’d downloaded—the new tracking software blinking red across the map.
“Next time,” she said, “I’m calling the cops. Or the admissions office at Saint Helena’s. Maybe they can teach you boundaries.”
I just stared at her and said, “Try me.”
She locked the windows after that. Changed the Wi-Fi password. Counted the charger cords and spoon handles like I was planning an escape.
She wasn’t wrong.
By the next afternoon, I had a change of clothes in my tote and my backup phone charged. When Chase texted, I was already halfway out the window.
He didn’t speak when I got in the car. Just drove. Past the city line. Past the broken signs and boarded-up gas stations. We passed a stretch of trees that looked like they’d forgotten summer ever happened. And finally, we stopped—at the abandoned overpass.
I knew the place. Everyone did. It was the kind of landmark small towns whispered about—where kids drank, where legends were born, where hearts broke in slow motion. I followed him through the chain-link gap in the fence, the sound of our shoes crunching gravel louder than either of us cared to admit.
He didn’t wait for me. Just walked until the concrete crumbled into open sky and sat. Right on the edge. Legs swinging over the drop like he didn’t care if the world pulled him down.
My feet hesitated. Just for a second. But then I sat too. Our knees bumped. I didn’t move away.
“Why here?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me. “Because you can’t fake anything when you’re this close to falling.”
His voice was low. Real. The kind of tone people use when they’ve been quiet too long. A beat passed. Then another. I looked at his hands. How tightly they gripped the edge. How white his knuckles had gone.
“Is that what this is?” I whispered. “Fake?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “That’s the problem.”
I didn’t answer. I just leaned in, rested my head on his shoulder. The wind moved around us, but we stayed still, watching the blur of headlights far below.
After a while, I spoke again, quieter this time.
“My mom’s making me play at some stupid recital next week. Violin.” I forced out a dry laugh. “She says I need to prove I still care about something.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Will you come?” I asked. Not demanding. Just hoping.
His breath caught.
And then he kissed me.
Not like the others. Not fast or cocky or messy. This one tasted like everything he couldn’t say. His lips trembled against mine, unsure but deep. My hands slid up his chest and curled into his jacket, and I kissed him back like it was the last time. Because somewhere inside me, I felt it.
There was something else in it. Something off.
Something that tasted like goodbye.
