"Well, I came to know—from others, of course—that you have a crush on Kevin Hart."
How could you? I thought we were friends. Crushing on the person your friend likes is an unspoken rule. A cardinal sin.
OMG, Susan. Welcome to Mean Girls. Regina George would be proud—and furious.
Now what? Forget Kevin? Easier said than done. The heartbreak that comes free with that decision? Absolutely not worth it.
"I wouldn't recommend that boy to you, Anne," Millie said nervously. "Don't you know what Henry did to Anne Boleyn?"
"Millie, no one is beheading anyone in the twenty-first century!" Vanessa snapped. She hated when Millie dragged history into everything—especially the parts that came from her precious books.
***
The bell rings.
RRIIINNNGGGG.
And just like that, the argument dissolves—not because it's resolved, but because school bells have a talent for interrupting emotional disasters at their peak.
Susan stands there, frozen.
Kevin Hart.
The name echoes in her head like someone dropped a microphone inside her brain.
She hadn't planned to like him. It just… happened. The stupid smile. The way he explained algebra like it was common sense. The way he laughed—not loudly, not obnoxiously, just enough to make her notice. And now? Now it was a crime.
Vanessa doesn't look at her.
That's worse than yelling. Worse than insults. Worse than anything.
She grabs her bag and storms off, shoulder bumping past Anne, who looks back at Susan with wide, apologetic eyes.
"Well," Anne says softly, "that escalated."
Millie pushes her glasses up her nose. "Historically speaking, unresolved emotional conflicts often lead to long-term resentment."
"No more history, Millie," Anne mutters.
Susan forces a smile. A weak one. The kind that fools absolutely no one.
The rest of the day passes in fragments.
Teachers talking. Pages turning. Pens scratching. Susan hears all of it, yet none of it stays. Her mind keeps replaying Vanessa's voice—sharp, betrayed, final.
I thought we were friends.
By lunchtime, the rumors have already spread. They always do.
Susan notices the whispers first. Then the looks. Then the sudden silence when she walks past a table. Someone giggles. Someone else stares a little too long.
Teenagers don't need facts. They thrive on assumptions.
Kevin sits three tables away, laughing with his friends, completely unaware that his existence has detonated a friendship like a poorly timed grenade.
Susan does not look at him again.
By the last period, an announcement crackles over the intercom.
"Attention students. Due to rising COVID-19 cases, the school will be closing earlier than expected. Classes are suspended starting tomorrow. Further instructions will be shared online."
For a second, the classroom is silent.
Then—chaos.
Cheers. Gasps. Confusion. Questions shouted at teachers who don't have answers.
Susan doesn't cheer.
She just sits there, staring at her desk.
Funny how the world decides to shut down exactly when your life is already falling apart.
At her locker, Susan finally sees Vanessa again.
She's standing with a group of girls—girls who weren't part of their group before. Girls who laugh a little too loudly and glance at Susan like they already know the story, and have chosen their side.
Susan swallows.
This is it. Now or never.
She walks up. Slowly. Carefully. Like someone approaching a wild animal.
"Vanessa," she says. "Can we talk?"
Vanessa turns.
Her eyes are cold. Not angry. Not sad.
Just distant.
"There's nothing to talk about," she says.
"That's not true," Susan insists. "I didn't even know you liked him until today."
Vanessa scoffs. "That makes it worse."
Silence stretches between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
"I never meant to hurt you," Susan says, her voice barely holding. "You're my best friend."
Vanessa laughs—but there's no humor in it.
Best friend.
"Maybe that's the problem," she says. Then she turns away.
And just like that, she's gone.
Susan walks home alone.
The streets are quieter than usual. Shops closing early. Adults talking in worried tones. The world feels smaller somehow.
She reaches her house, drops her bag, and goes straight to her room.
Her diary lies on the desk.
She opens it.
Her pen hovers for a long moment.
Then she writes:
Maybe growing up isn't about getting taller or smarter.Maybe it's about losing people you thought were permanent.
She closes the diary.
Outside, the world is preparing for lockdown.
Inside, Susan realizes something far scarier.
This isn't just a fight.
This is the beginning of everything changing.