Until Archie appeared around the corner near the trophy case, flanked by Bubba.
Of course.
They both looked like they were tryingvery hardto be casual. Bubba had a protein bar. Archie had a coke.
“Frankie,” Archie said, slowing. “Got a minute?”
Mathieu glanced at me likeyou good?
I gave him a tiny nod, then turned to face the boys.
“What’s up?”
Archie shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes unusually soft. “Wanted to say I’m sorry. For the way things went down. For not stopping Jake sooner. For getting involved with the interrogation.”
Bubba added, “And for not telling him to shut up about it before he said anything. I was there. I could’ve… I should’ve said something.”
I looked between the two of them. Bubba, sincere and solid. Archie, unreadable but trying—reallytrying—to let the wall down for once.
“Thanks,” I said finally. “For saying that.”
Neither of them pushed it. No guilt-trip. No expectation of forgiveness. They just nodded and stepped aside as I kept walking.
But even then… I saw Jake, further down the hall.
Alone. Sitting on the bench near the counselor’s office, pretending to scroll his phone, looking like someone had kicked him in the chest and he still hadn’t recovered.
He didn’t look up.
Didn’t say a word.
And maybe that was the most honest thing he’d done all week.
If Monday had been about testing the waters, Tuesday felt like wading directly into the current. Stronger. Colder. But not impossible.
Especially not with Coop waiting at my car just like the day before. It wasnormal. But it still didn’t feel normal. The look he gave me said “I’m here,” and I could accept that for now.
We walked into school together. Not quite shoulder to shoulder, but close. A few people noticed. More than a few whispered. But I kept my head up.
Coop stayed with me all the way to the cafeteria. I wasn’t sure if I was really ready to be back at the table. But I also knew if I didn’t show up now, the narrative would keep writing itself without me.
So I walked in.
And stopped short.
Mathieu was already there.
Sitting at our usual table like it washisusual table, an iced tea in hand, posture relaxed but not cocky. Bubba sat beside him, tapping something out on his phone. Rachel was mid-rant about Mrs. Kline’s “butchered syllabus and toxic energy,” and Archie had apparently decided to be normal today—well, normal forhim, which meant classic rock band t-shirt, faded out jeans, and a tray of coffees.
He caught my eye as I approached and held out one like a peace offering.
“Morning, Frankie.”
I raised a brow. “Am I allowed to sit, or do I need a vetting process again?”
Archie smirked, already pulling out the seat beside him. “You passed.”
I took the drink without comment, but my lips twitched.
