The whispering didn't stop.
Every hallway I walked through, every seat I took, every glance exchanged—it was like walking through a hall of mirrors, each reflection twisting into something I didn't recognize. Something I didn't like.
I wasn't just Vanya anymore.
I was that girl.
The one in the photo.
The one Reggie held like something fragile.
The one who looked back at him like she might break.
As the final bell rang, I shot out of my seat like I'd been set free from chains. Nia tried to catch up.
"Vanya! Hey! Wait up—"
But I didn't wait.
I didn't want to talk. Didn't want her questions. Didn't want to explain something I didn't even understand myself.
The hallway thinned out as I slipped into the back stairwell—a quieter route. Fewer eyes.
Or so I thought.
I was halfway down the steps when I heard it.
Click.
The distinct, unmistakable sound of a phone camera.
I froze.
That kind of freeze your body does when instinct overtakes reason—when you just know something is wrong.
I scanned the stairwell.
Empty.
No footsteps. No movement.
But someone had been there.
Someone was watching me.
I walked faster. Not running. Just… faster. Controlled. My fingers clenched around my phone like a lifeline.
When I stepped out into the courtyard, the sky had begun to dim. Early evening light cast long shadows against the school's outer walls. I kept walking—past the gates, past a lingering crowd of seniors by their bikes.
Then—
"Hey! You!"
A voice rang out, sharp and pointed. A girl stepped in front of me, flanked by three or four others. Their eyes swept over me with barely disguised disdain.
"You're the new girl," she said with a mock-sweet smile. "Let me make something clear—Reggie is mine. So do yourself a favor and stay away from him."
I blinked.
"If you're feeling desperate, go find one of your little junior boys to mess with. But keep your filthy paws off my man." Her voice sliced through the air like glass. And with that, she shoved past me, shoulder checking me hard enough to throw me off balance.
Her minions followed, casting smug looks over their shoulders.
I didn't move. I stood there for a moment, absorbing the sting—not of her words, but of how unsurprised I was.
"Vanya."
His voice came minutes later.
Of course.
Reggie.
He jogged up beside me, still in uniform, hair braided like mine, concern simmering just beneath the surface.
"Don't," I said, still facing forward.
"I didn't post it," he said. "I swear. I'd never do that to you."
I stayed quiet. Not because I didn't believe him—but because I did. And that somehow made it worse.
"If it wasn't you," I murmured, "then who?"
"I don't care who posted it," I added, louder now. Colder.
"Yes, you do," he snapped. "You've been jumping all day like someone might stab you in the back."
I stopped. So did he.
I turned to face him. "Why do you care so much?"
He blinked—caught off guard for a second.
"Because you don't," he said quietly. "Not enough."
His words cut deeper than he could've known. They slipped past every wall I'd built, every numb layer I'd learned to wear like armor.
And I hated that he wasn't wrong.
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.
One new message.
From Dad: Can I call?
"Can we go now?" I asked Reggie, dismissing the moment.
"Yeah, come on," he said, leading us toward the parking lot.
As we walked, the stares followed us again—some curious, others judgmental, more than a few laced with envy. I ignored them all.
Reggie, ever the charmer, greeted people with ease. And when we passed a group of guys by their motorbikes, they erupted into whistles and cheers like he'd just scored a winning goal.
I knew why.
It was me.
Their eyes said it all.
Not. My. Business.
We reached his car. Reggie opened the passenger door for me.
"Thanks," I whispered, sliding into the sleek, low-slung seat of his two-seater race car.
As the engine started, I dialed Dad's number.
His voice burst through the speakers. "Hello, dear cupcake!"
I couldn't help it. My lips twitched. "Hi, Daddy. How are you? I miss you. It's been four months already."
"I know, cupcake. I promise I'll make it up to you."
"Mhmm," I mumbled, nodding slightly. "How's everything with work?"
"Same old. How's the new school treating you? Any complaints?"
"I'm fine. School's fine. Please don't make anyone disappear."
He laughed lightly, but I knew the warning beneath his voice was real. "Just say the word and—"
"Dad. Please don't."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."
Reggie leaned in with a grin. "Uncle Shaw! What's up, man!"
Dad's face lit up on the screen. "My boy! Holding things down, I hope?"
The two of them chatted like old friends for a minute or two. I let them. Their banter filled the car like warmth on a cold day.
Eventually, Dad sighed. "Alright, that's my cue. I'll call again soon, cupcake."
"Bye, Dad."
The call ended. And then—another message.
A video.
I hesitated… then tapped play.
There we were—Reggie and I behind the library. The moment he took my hand. The exact moment he turned it over and saw the scar.
His voice echoed through the speaker: "She did this to you."
The video ended before I could pull away. No context. Just enough to stir the pot. Just enough to make it seem like something else.
Attached was a message:
How much more are you hiding, Vanya?
I stared at it, heart clenching. Fingers curling around the phone.
Reggie noticed. "What is it? What's wrong?"
I turned the screen toward him.
He watched. His jaw tightened. Fury flickered in his eyes.
"Who the hell is this?"
"I don't know."
But I had a feeling.
Someone had been watching me.
For a while now.
And now—they wanted me to know it.