Ximena's POV
The final bell rang out like a battle cry, releasing students from their classroom prisons.
Bodies surged toward every available exit, backpacks bouncing against shoulders as voices ricocheted off metal lockers. Sneakers squeaked against polished floors in a symphony of escape that usually included me. Today, though, I remained frozen beside my locker, staring at the combination lock as if it held answers to questions I couldn't even form.
Bone-deep weariness had settled into every muscle, every joint. This wasn't ordinary tiredness that sleep could cure. This was the kind of exhaustion that came from pretending everything was normal when your world had been quietly dismantled piece by piece.
The weight of stares pressed against my shoulders, accompanied by whispers that seemed to follow me down every hallway. It had been this way since Friday night. Since the football game. Since Ezekiel Enzo's lips touched mine and everything exploded into chaos.
