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“I did everything by the book. Social services visited, but. . .” I shrug, frustration evident. “The system’s broken. I try to make my classroom the safest place I can.”

When I look up, Callie’s studying me with an intensity that makes my skin heat.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing.” She smiles. “Just wondering when we grew up.”

I laugh, rubbing at the back of my neck. “Tell me about it. My back hurts when I sleep wrong, and I actually bought fiber supplements last week. Voluntarily. But hey, it’s better than teenage angst, though, right?” I offer. “All that drama, uncertainty. Nice to leave those worries behind.”

Her “yeah” sounds hollow, noncommittal. Something’s weighing on her. My mind flits back to this morning, her standing in the hallway staring at her phone, the way she seemed rooted in terror. Before I can probe further, a jagged flash of lightning splits the clouds, thunder cracking almost immediately after and the skies open.

“Shit!” Callie grabs her containers, and I fumble for my lunch bag as rain pours down in sheets.

We sprint toward the building, shoes splashing through rapidly forming puddles. By the time we reach the covered walkway, we’re both soaked. Callie’s laughing, breathless, hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks flushed. Water drips from my nose as I stand there, transfixed by that sound. God, I fucking love her laugh.

Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us that has nothing to do with the storm. I step toward her, my hand reaching for her hip, drawn by a force I couldn’t fight if I wanted to.

“Mr. Williams!” The door bangs open as Tommy races outside. “Did you see that lightning? It was so close!”

The moment shatters. Callie steps back, tucking dripping hair behind her ear while I plaster on my teacher smile. “Sure was, buddy. Better get inside before it strikes again though. It’s dangerous.”

As I usher him back into the building, I catch Callie’s eye over Tommy’s excited chatter. The electricity’s still there, humming beneath my skin.

We might be all grown up now, but some things, the important things, haven’t changed at all. And I’m damn sure going to make sure I get her alone again.

Chapter Eighteen

CALLIE

Summer Festival arrives before I’m ready for it. Between tourists being crammed into our town like sardines and all the familiar faces I’ll see at the event, I’m somewhere between dread and excitement. It helps that Aspen and Lily are going to be with me for most of the night.

I rifle through my closet, pulling out clothing options. For the first time in a long time, there are no hissed insults or vile names rushing through my head. Picking out an outfit is simply deciding what to wear. My fingers hesitate on a flowy yellow sundress, the fabric buttery-soft against my skin. It’s not like I need to impress anyone in my hometown, but I haven’t been to this festival since high school.

“Maybe paired with those boots,” I murmur, setting the dress on the bed.

My phone chimes.

My chest threatens to crack before I even see who it’s from. Lately, the only texts I’ve been getting are threatening ones. I pick up the phone with numb fingers.

UNKNOWN

Come back and we can put this all behind us.

Don’t be stupid, Callie.

I’m getting fucking tired of you not responding.

My stomach hurts like I’ve swallowed broken glass. A tremor works through my hands, and my thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen. Every time I block a new number, Theo gets another. I don’t understand why he won’t leave me alone.

My eyes drift to the open laptop on my desk. There’s a browser tab I can’t bring myself to close with an interview in the New York Arts Quarterly where my ex smiles with perfect teeth, explaining how deeply hurt he was when his “troubled ex-girlfriend” tried to claim his breakthrough collection as her own work.

I scroll through my notifications. There are three emails from people I once thought were friends. They all say things like: I always thought better of you. Theo is a great guy, I can’t believe you’d do this to him. One is a string of expletives.

A scream lodges in my throat. I stuff my fist against my mouth, catching it. It’s been a little over a month, but the wound is as raw as the day I arrived at that gallery opening to find my own work—my soul, practically—on display with his fucking name beneath each piece.

I glance at my phone again, Theo’s message burning through the screen.

He can’t hurt me if he can’t get to me. With a decisive swipe, I block this new number. My hand trembles as I toss the phone onto my bed, and I make a vow to get a new number after all.