Chapter Three: Cracks in the Ice
947 Words
The whispers started the next morning.
They followed Emery through the corridors like a shadow, subtle at first—just glances and half-covered smirks. Then came the giggles behind her back, the not-so-quiet murmurs in the lecture halls, and the group of girls at the café counter who suddenly weren’t taking her coffee order anymore.
By the time she finished her last shift at the library, her phone buzzed with a text from Natalie:
You need to see this. Now. Twitter. Halston Confessions.
Emery opened the app, heart already dropping.
The post was simple. Just a photo. Grainy and taken from a distance, but unmistakable: her and Luca talking in the student café yesterday, his body leaned in, eyes on her like nothing else mattered.
CAPTION: Guess our campus prince has a new charity project. Wonder how long this one lasts? #CaldwellCollection #SmallTownFlavor
The comments were worse.
@halstonhoneybee: “Luca’s into that? Guess even rich boys have a phase.”
@briellesburner: “Don’t worry. She’ll be gone in a week.”
@puckbunny13: “She doesn’t even wear makeup. Can we crowdsource her a mirror?”
Her stomach twisted.
Charity project. Phase. Gone in a week.
Natalie found her that night in their shared dorm room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes blank, phone tossed aside.
“Hey,” Natalie said gently, sliding down next to her. “I’m sorry. This is brutal.”
Emery didn’t answer.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Natalie continued. “You like a guy. So what?”
“He’s not just a guy,” Emery said. “He’s Luca Caldwell. And I’m the poor girl with a punch-card at the campus laundry.”
Natalie frowned. “You think that’s all he sees?”
“I think I don’t know what he sees. I think I don’t know why he’s doing this.”
There was a knock at the door.
Natalie opened it—and Luca stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, dark hoodie damp from the misting rain outside.
“I need to talk to her,” he said softly.
Natalie glanced back at Emery. “Your call.”
Emery nodded. Just once.
Natalie slipped out and closed the door behind her.
Luca stepped in, but didn’t come closer. He looked wrecked—tired in a way that had nothing to do with classes or practice.
“I saw it,” he said.
“Which part?” Emery asked flatly. “The comments? The photo? The public humiliation?”
“All of it.” He exhaled. “I should’ve stopped this before it started.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He hesitated, then looked her dead in the eye. “Because I didn’t think it would get this bad. And because I’ve been selfish.”
Emery crossed her arms. “Go on.”
“I liked having you to myself. I liked finally talking to the girl I’ve been watching from a distance for two years. But I forgot what this world is like. And how cruel it gets when someone doesn’t fit their idea of perfect.”
“I’m not ashamed of who I am.”
“You shouldn’t be. I’m ashamed of them. And the part of me that used to be like them.”
He stepped forward, voice quieter.
“I can’t change what people say. But I can tell you this: I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”
Emery’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What about Brielle?”
His jaw tightened. “Brielle wants a version of me I buried years ago. The parties, the chaos, the image. But she’s never seen me like you do.”
Emery looked at him for a long moment. Her chest ached.
“You have no idea how much this complicates my life,” she said.
He smiled faintly. “Yeah. You kind of complicate mine too.”
Then, slowly, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a little, wrinkled notebook. He handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“My freshman psych journal,” he said. “We had to keep one for Professor Klein. I didn’t turn mine in. But you should read it.”
He left without saying anything else.
It wasn’t until hours later that Emery opened the first page. And there, in Luca’s messy scrawl, were the first lines:
“Day One: There’s this girl in my lecture. She asked a question about memory systems and fidgeted with her sleeve the whole time. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s the only real thing in this entire school.”
She didn’t sleep that night.
⸻
Across campus, in a sleek off-campus apartment lined with designer furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows, Brielle sat with her legs crossed, scrolling through her phone.
Her roommate, Lila, walked in with two wine glasses.
“Cheers to the storm, babe,” Lila said. “Twitter is savage today. You really set that fire.”
Brielle took the glass but didn’t drink.
“She’s not going away,” Brielle said coolly.
Lila raised an eyebrow. “Then push harder.”
“I don’t want to just push her,” Brielle murmured, eyes fixed on a photo of Emery from the post. “I want to shatter her.”
Lila laughed. “You’re terrifying.”
“Thank you,” Brielle said with a smile. Then she tapped her phone and sent a message to an anonymous account.
HalstonConfessions: Want something juicier? I’ve got pictures of our campus sweetheart’s “mystery job” off-campus. Cash under the table. Definitely not part of her scholarship terms. Interested?
She smiled, leaned back in her chair, and waited.
- Writer
