Slow Burn

Chapter Nine

Charlie’s laugh carries faintly from the kitchen, and I know Lila is somewhere nearby, probably fussing over her notebook, making sure everything is in order. Her meticulousness is infuriating if you look at it the wrong way, but I don’t. I mostly just watch. I’ve decided long ago that observing other people is easier than interacting with them. Less messy. Less… disappointing.

I grab my laptop from the side of my bed and flop back against the pillows. Blogging feels safer than talking. Even Ethan can’t argue with that. Not really.

Yesterday still lingers like a shadow I can’t shake. Ethan noticing everything—the way I walked, how I frowned at Natalie, how I tried to ignore him but failed—is still echoing in my chest. I know it’s ridiculous, but I also know that I wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Not Natalie, not Lila, not Charlie. And definitely not Ethan.

I open my blog, fingers hovering over the keys. I start typing, not really sure what words will make sense, only that they have to leave some mark of today:

Ethan notices too much. He smiles at things no one else sees. Charlie thinks he’s insane. Lila thinks he’s gentle. Natalie thinks he’s impossible. And I… I care too much about noticing.

I stop. Read it again. It’s honest enough to make me uncomfortable, which is the point.

By the time I finally drag myself to the kitchen, the smell of burnt toast has dissipated, replaced with eggs and coffee. Natalie’s rambling about how she wants to add a city skyline to her next drawing. Lila’s meticulously arranging fruit on her plate. Charlie is laughing at something I don’t understand, leaning too close to Lila as if she’s a fragile ornament.

I sit with my toast, silent, mostly ignoring them. Lila glances at me briefly, then goes back to arranging her fork and knife in perfect parallel lines. I wonder if she notices that I notice. Probably not.

After breakfast, we meet outside, because apparently the only way to survive high school is to walk somewhere. Natalie talks the whole way, mostly at me, mostly about nothing I care about, but I let her. It’s easier than correcting her, and easier than being honest.

Ethan’s already there when we reach the park near the bus stop. Leaning against a lamp post, phone in hand, headphones in, he looks unbothered by the world. It’s infuriating.

“Late,” he says, though he doesn’t bother with a greeting.

“I am not late,” I mutter, pulling my hoodie tighter.

“You’re always late in spirit,” he replies, smirking.

I glare. I don’t glare often, but it’s satisfying.

Charlie strolls up behind, waving at Ethan like he’s addressing a royal. “Yeah, this one’s late in every way that matters.”

Lila rolls her eyes, tugging at Charlie’s sleeve. “Stop teasing him,” she mutters.

Ethan doesn’t even react. I notice him studying Lila, though. Watching her scribble in her notebook, pencil tapping in precise rhythm, hair falling over her face. He notices everything. I know he does.

“Why are you always so quiet?” he asks me eventually, voice low enough that Natalie doesn’t hear.

“I’m not quiet,” I reply.

“You are,” he insists.

I want to say shut up, but instead, I just shrug. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. You’ll never know.”

“That’s the problem,” he says, with a faint smirk.

The bus ride is long and miserable, and Natalie talks non-stop, describing every detail of a series she’s obsessed with. Charlie is making Lila laugh by pointing out ridiculous things outside the window, like pigeons that look like tiny monsters. I stare out at the blur of houses, feeling like nothing I see matters at all.

Ethan sits beside me quietly, leaning back, phone in hand. The proximity is uncomfortable. My brain decides to make it worse by noticing the small things: the way his sleeve scrunches over his wrist, the faint scratch near his jaw, the almost imperceptible twitch when Natalie squeals about something.

I catch him glancing at me once, and I look away immediately. I don’t want him to see that it affects me, even though it does. I know it does.

After school, we end up at the small café near the park again. Lila drags Charlie along; he complains loudly. Natalie flops onto a bench, scrolling through her phone, still talking to herself. Ethan sits beside me, silent, as always.

“You two should hang out more,” he says suddenly, not looking at me.

“Who?” I ask, feigning confusion.

“Charlie and Lila,” he clarifies.

“They do hang out,” I mutter.

“Barely,” he says, tone casual but pointed. “And I notice everything.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide the faint flutter in my chest.

Charlie snorts. “You notice a lot. Too much. It’s scary.”

“I notice the things that matter,” Ethan replies evenly.

Later, walking back, Lila confides quietly to me about her night before. Her voice is soft, almost fragile. “Charlie tried to make me laugh,” she admits, “but I couldn’t. I feel… weird about a lot of things.”

I want to say something useful, but I don’t. I just nod, because nodding is safe. It shows acknowledgment without overstepping. Lila seems to appreciate it.

Natalie bounces ahead, happy as usual. Charlie walks beside Lila, muttering jokes that make her laugh softly, just the tiniest bit. Ethan walks beside me, and for some reason, the world feels like it’s shifting, just slightly.

I notice, of course.

By the time I reach home, the sky is deep orange, fading to purple. The house is quiet. My laptop waits for me like a lifeline. I open it, fingers hovering. I start typing:

Lila is sweet but fragile. Charlie is loud and stupid in a good way. Natalie is loud in an unbearable way. Ethan… Ethan notices everything, and I can’t stop noticing him. And I hate that I do.

I pause. I type another line