Hours and hours of work, gone at the hands of a cruel joke.
“Are you sad?” I look up at the sound of a small voice, finding a boy, maybe four or five, with messy blonde hair and blue eyes too big for his face, studying me with an innocent curiosity.
“I’m fine.”
He tilts his head, unconvinced. “You don’t look it.”
Digging in his pocket, he pulls out a melty piece of chocolate and holds it out for me to take. “Candy always makes me feel better.” He says, like it’s the answer to all my problems.
I melt a little at that, but before I can answer, a taller shadow falls over us, and that voice—
“Alex, what’re you doing?”
I look up to find none other than NateWesley standing there, football jacket gone, stupid muscular arms on display.
The boy beams up at him. “I was jus’ makin’ him feel better.”
Nate smiles down at him. “Alright, buddy, why don’t you go play?” he ruffles the kid’s hair, then looks past him at me. “Hey, I know you. You’re the artist, right?”
I know he can tell I was crying. I want to disappear. “Not anymore.”
He frowns. “What d’you mean?”
“They destroyed it,” I snap. “Your friends. They took my art, and they ripped it up. Months of work,gone.” My voice cracks, but I don’t even care.
“I’m sure you think this whole thing is hilarious,” I accuse, my blood suddenly boiling. Quarterback Nate Wesley, looking unreasonably handsome, talking to me like his friends didn’t destroy everything.
His brows furrow, “I— Wha—”
“You’re all the same,” I cut him off, “Big, stupid, assholes that don’t care about anyone but yourselves.”
His mouth opens as he might argue, but I don’t give him the chance.
I stand up from the table and walk away quickly, before he can see the fresh tears falling down my cheeks. I don’t see Nate’s reaction or hear what he has to say.
I don’t care.
The last thing I hear is “Catch me, Nate,” before I round the corner.
Now
Nate is completely still, staring at my graduation photo. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his breath hitches in surprise. He’s staring, unblinking, frozen in place.
He remembers me.
Panic claws at my chest as I try to explain, to say something, anything, but the words die before they even reach my tongue.
He remembers me.
Everything I did to become who I am feels like it’s crumbling away. He won’t see me anymore. All he’ll see is Kavi.
It runs through my head on a loop.
He’ll look at me differently.
He’ll hate himself for what we did.
The silence stretches, unbearable, as he keeps staring at the photo, terror flooding every inch of me.
