It's official: I've entered Hermit mode.
After The Great Almost-Confession Ruining of my birthday . I did what any emotionally overwhelmed teenage girl would do:
I AVOIDED. EVERYONE.
I zigzagged through hallways like I was playing stealth mode in a spy movie. No Aeron? No Damian? No eye contact? Check, check, CHECK.
Mina was not impressed.
"Are you seriously hiding behind a vending machine?" she asked as I crouched behind one near the music room.
"I'm... inspecting it. For... science," I lied, holding up a bag of Skittles like it was evidence.
"You haven't talked to either of them since the party."
"YEP," I said too loudly. "Because nothing says 'emotional maturity' like complete and total radio silence."
She crossed her arms. "Lira. You ghosted both your love triangle options and then hid in the art room for three straight days."
"I'm fine!" I said, stress-eating the purple Skittles. "Totally stable! Zero thoughts, just vibes!"
She rolled her eyes. "You are not vibes. You're a spiral in a dress."
Fair.
Lunchtime. The Ghosting Continues.
I sat in the library with a sandwich and a sketchbook, pretending I didn't notice that Aeron wasn't at his usual table…
…or that Damian didn't try to sit with me like he usually did.
They were avoiding me back.
Which felt weirdly illegal, since I started it.
Like... you can't just uno-reverse ghost me, okay???
My phone buzzed. One text.
From Damian:
Happy Belated Birthday. Sorry if I ruined anything. Still meant what I said.
I stared at it like it was written in hieroglyphics.
What did he mean, exactly?
And why did I feel like crying?
Art Room. After School. Silence.
Just me, the smell of turpentine, and a million messy feelings I didn't want to think about.
I pulled out my sketchbook and tried to draw something—anything—but all that came out were half-drawn eyes.
His eyes.
Storm-gray. Tired. Hurt.
I groaned and dropped my pencil.
Then I noticed it.
Sitting on the windowsill.
A small, folded piece of paper. Not mine.
It was folded into a messy square. My name scribbled on the front. In his handwriting.
Aeron.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
I was going to say it. I swear I was. But I saw the way you looked at him. And I got scared you'd never look at me like that.
Still… if you're reading this, maybe there's a chance.
–A.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Tears threatened to happen. Real ones. Not cute ones. The ugly kind that leave you red-eyed and emotionally compromised.
Before I could process, I heard footsteps outside the art room door.
And then—Damian's voice.
"Lira? You in there?"
Oh no.
And behind him?
A softer voice. Aeron's.
Double oh no.
Both of them. At the same time.
I looked at the note.
Then at the door.
Then at the panic rising in my chest like a tidal wave.
Who do I open the door for?
Who do I face?
Who do I want?
End of Chapter 8