People weren’t staring the same way they were at the party, but they werestillwatching. Just quieter now. Slanted glances over locker doors. A beat too long at the water fountain. And the whispers had evolved into speculation—what happened, who was involved, was it really her and Mathieu, did Jake punch someone, did Archie host a secret trial in his dad’s whiskey lounge?
That last one might’ve been true. But none of it mattered as much as it did Saturday. I’d already lived through the explosion. The aftershocks? I could handle them.
Especially with Rachel at my side.
“People keep staring,” I muttered as we made our way to third period.
Rachel didn’t even blink. “Let them. They’re just upset you had better drama than Netflix this weekend.”
“Pretty sure IwasNetflix this weekend.”
She smirked. “Then start charging subscription fees.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. Mostly because a small part of me liked that she kept walking a step ahead—shoulders back,hair perfect, her aura set to do not cross unless you want your feelings rearranged.
Backup. That’s what she was. Not just snark and fashion. Real backup.
And today? I needed it.
Because somewhere between first bell and lunch, the roses showed up again.
Instead of being on my car, though, they were tucked into the grate of my locker. Same corner. Same folded white card with no name, just the same slanted writing and another simple sentence:
"Still rooting for you."
I stared at it longer than I meant to. For once, I was glad Coop got stuck talking to Mrs. Fajardo. Normally I would have waited, but I needed the break. Even for a couple of minutes, a breather.
Rachel popped up to lean over my shoulder. “Alright, at this point, it’s either a secret admirer or a very emotionally intelligent ghost.”
“Could be both,” I said, taking the card and sliding the rose into my bag. “Friendly poltergeist who follows teen melodrama.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Could also be Archie.”
“Too obvious,” I said automatically.
She raised a brow. “So, not obvious enough tonotconsider it?”
I ignored her.
I didn’t want to think about Archie right now. Not after the way he’d gone full Gatsby at his own party just to reset the narrative. Not after the way he handed me that drink in the study like it was an offering.
Not after the look on his face when I didn’t drink it.
Instead, I focused on the familiar warmth settling at my side—Mathieu, appearing like he always did, hands in his pockets,that soft, slightly crooked smile on his face like I was still a good thing in a very messy world.
“Hey,” he said, easily. He’d gotten a different ride into school this morning, because he had to be in earlier. I hadn’t told Coop that at the time, but he had asked about getting Mathieu coffee and that was big.
“Hey,” I said, trying not to smile too wide.
Rachel took that as her cue to wander toward the caf. Subtle like a wrecking ball.
Mathieu leaned in just slightly. “Can I walk you to lunch?”
“Sure,” I said, bumping my shoulder lightly against his. “Unless it means wading through more people asking who you are and why we made eye contact.”
“I don’t mind the attention,” he said. “As long as I’m standing next to you.”
Okay. That wasn’t fair. That should not have made my pulse skip like that. We walked down the hall, not quite holding hands, not quitenot, and the looks didn’t matter so much anymore.
