CHAPTER 10: DISTANCE
1367 Words
The hallway on the second floor of the main building is always crowded right after fourth period—lockers banging, voices overlapping, the smell of instant noodles from someone’s hidden snack mixing with the faint scent of floor polish. It’s the kind of chaos I usually navigate on autopilot, head down, backpack slung over one shoulder, weaving through bodies like it’s a game of avoidance.
Today, though, I’m not avoiding.
I’m looking.
Reagan usually waits for me near the stairwell after physics, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking at nothing in particular until I appear. We walk to the next class together. Sometimes we don’t talk. Sometimes he brushes my fingers with his. Small things. Quiet things. Things that still make my stomach flip every time.
But today, he’s not alone.
She’s standing in front of him—tall, long black hair in a perfect braid, uniform skirt pressed crisp, the kind of girl who looks like she stepped out of a yearbook ad. I don’t know her name right away. I’ve seen her around—senior, debate team alternate, always carrying a leather portfolio like she’s already working in a law firm. Her name is Sofia Aquino. I remember now because Andra once pointed her out and said, “That girl’s going to Harvard or something. Scary smart.”
Sofia is talking to Reagan. Close. Closer than necessary. Her hand rests lightly on his forearm while she speaks, animated, laughing at something he said—or didn’t say. Reagan’s expression is neutral, the way it always is in public. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t step back. Just listens. Nods once.
My steps slow.
The hallway noise fades to a dull roar in my ears.
I stop behind a group of juniors blocking the path. Watch.
Sofia leans in. Says something low. Reagan tilts his head slightly—listening. Then he says something back. Short. She laughs again. Her hand stays on his arm.
My chest tightens. Not jealousy—not yet. Just confusion. Sharp and sudden.
He hasn’t looked up. Hasn’t seen me.
I turn. Walk the other way. Fast. Toward the side stairs.
I don’t run. I don’t want anyone to see me running from anything.
But I move.
The side stairs are empty. I climb to the third floor. Duck into an unused classroom—old storage for broken chairs and dusty blackboards. I close the door behind me. Lean against it. Breathe.
My phone buzzes.
Andra.
Where r u? Lunch soon.
I don’t reply.
Another buzz.
Reagan.
Roof deck? Or gate?
I stare at the message.
Then I type.
Busy. See you later.
I hit send before I can overthink it.
No explanation. No excuse. Just gone.
The rest of the day is a blur.
I skip lunch. Sit in the library corner with a book I don’t read. Andra texts three times. I answer once: Stomach ache. Going home early.
Lie.
I leave after fifth period. Tell the guard I’m not feeling well. He nods. Signs me out.
The tricycle ride home is quiet. Rain starts—light at first, then heavier. I don’t mind. Let the drops hit my face through the open side.
At home, Mom is at work. House empty. I go to my room. Lie on the bed. Stare at the ceiling fan.
Replay the scene in the hallway.
Sofia’s hand on his arm.
His head tilted.
The way he didn’t move away.
I’m not angry. Not really.
I’m scared.
Because everything was finally balancing—slow, careful, real—and now there’s this. A girl. A touch. A laugh. And he didn’t step back.
My phone buzzes again.
Reagan.
You okay?
I don’t answer.
Another message.
Zhyra.
I turn the phone face-down.
Let it buzz twice more.
Then silence.
I don’t cry. I just lie there. Chest tight. Thoughts spinning.
Monday morning.
I arrive late on purpose. Avoid the usual spots. Go straight to homeroom through the back entrance.
Andra corners me during break.
“You disappeared Friday. And you’re avoiding everyone. What happened?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Just tired.”
She doesn’t buy it. “Reagan’s been looking for you. He asked me where you were.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were sick. But you’re not sick. You’re hiding.”
I look away. “I saw him with Sofia Aquino on Friday. In the hallway. She was… close. Touching his arm. Laughing. He didn’t pull away.”
Andra’s eyes widen. “Sofia? Debate alternate Sofia?”
“Yeah.”
She exhales. “Okay. That looks bad. But… maybe it’s nothing. Sofia’s like that with everyone. Touchy. Friendly. She probably just wanted something—debate notes, recommendation letter, whatever.”
“Maybe.”
“But you didn’t ask him.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m scared the answer will break what we have. Because I finally got close and now I’m remembering how easy it is to lose.
I don’t say that.
I just say, “I needed space.”
Andra hugs me. “Talk to him. Before it gets bigger in your head.”
I nod.
But I don’t.
All day I avoid him.
I take different stairs. Sit in different rows. Leave class early. Skip library.
He doesn’t chase. Doesn’t text during school hours. But I feel him watching—from across classrooms, from the end of hallways, from the corner of my eye.
After last period, I head to the gate fast. Head down.
He’s there.
Waiting by the tricycle line. Hands in pockets. Looking straight at me.
I stop.
He walks over. Slow.
“Zhyra.”
His voice is quiet. Controlled. But there’s something underneath—something tight.
I look up. “Hi.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
I don’t deny it.
“Can we talk?”
I glance around. People everywhere. Watching.
“Not here.”
He nods. “Walk with me. Just to the cathedral steps.”
I hesitate.
Then nod.
We walk. Side by side. No hand-holding. No touching. The silence is heavy.
At the cathedral steps—empty because it’s not Sunday—we sit on the third step from the bottom.
He turns to me.
“What happened Friday?”
I look at my hands. “I saw you with Sofia.”
He doesn’t flinch. “And?”
“She was touching your arm. Laughing. Close. You didn’t move away.”
He exhales. Slow.
“She asked for help with her college essay. Harvard supplement. Wanted advice on how I wrote mine last year. That’s all.”
I look at him. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“She was leaning in.”
“She always leans in. It’s how she talks. I didn’t notice because I was thinking about you. About how I was going to wait for you after class.”
I feel the knot in my chest loosen. Just a little.
“Why didn’t you step back?”
“Because I didn’t think it meant anything. And because I wasn’t hiding anything.”
I swallow. “It looked like something.”
He reaches over. Takes my hand. Gentle.
“It wasn’t.”
I let him hold it.
“I got scared,” I admit. Quiet. “Everything was good. Finally. And then I saw that and thought… maybe I misread everything. Maybe I’m just the girl who chased too hard.”
He turns my hand over. Traces my palm with his thumb.
“You didn’t misread anything. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I look at him. Really look.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that and doubt.”
We sit in silence.
Then he says, “No more space. If something feels off, tell me. Even if it’s small.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He pulls me closer. Arm around my shoulders.
We sit until the sun lowers. Cathedral bells ring—soft, echoing.
He kisses my temple.
“Let’s go home.”
We stand. Walk back slowly. Hand in hand this time.
No more hiding.
No more misunderstanding.
Just balance.
A little shaken.
But still holding.
- Writer
