FIXING WOUNDS

SECOND CHANCE

Ivy said yes.

But not out loud. Not to Dylan’s face.

She typed it at 11:42 p.m. on a Tuesday, lying in bed with her blanket pulled up to her chin: _“Okay. We can be best friends.”_

That was it. No voice note. No eye contact. No “we should hang out after school.” Just words on a screen.

Because face to face, Ivy froze.

With Zara, it had been easy at first. But now? Now Ivy couldn’t handle the idea of losing someone else in person. If Dylan walked away like Zara did, she didn’t think she’d survive it. So online felt safer. Online felt controlled. Online felt like she could breathe.

When they passed each other in the hallway, Ivy would look down and walk faster. Not because she was angry. Not because she was sad. Just because she couldn’t face him.

For weeks, it stayed like that. Messages at night. Silence during the day.

Her older sister Jasmine noticed.

“This isn’t going to end well, Ivy,” Jasmine said one night while folding laundry. “You’re doing the same thing you did with Zara. You’re running. You’re hiding. And in the end, you’re going to lose him too.”

Ivy didn’t answer. She just scrolled through her messages with Dylan — the late-night talks about music, the memes he sent her when she was quiet in class, the way he never asked why she was sad, he just _stayed_.

“He’s different,” Ivy said quietly. “He’s a real friend. I have nothing else.”

Jasmine shook her head. “That’s what you said about Zara.”

Ivy hated that she was right. But she didn’t listen.

---

Then Priscilla showed up.

Priscilla was the kind of girl who walked into a room and made sure everyone looked at her. Bright red nails. Loud laugh. Perfect uniform. The “pick-me” girl who needed attention like she needed oxygen.

Priscilla also had a boyfriend. Darius. Tall, quiet, sat two rows behind Dylan in math.

One morning, Priscilla stood up in the middle of English class and pointed straight at Ivy.

“You’ve been messaging my boyfriend,” she said, voice shaking with fake tears. “I saw the messages, Ivy. Don’t act innocent.”

The room went silent.

Ivy’s blood ran cold. “I didn’t—”

“You think because you’re quiet nobody notices you?” Priscilla cut her off. “You’re a liar, Ivy. You’re sending him flirty messages.”

Ivy hadn’t. She hadn’t even talked to Darius once. The messages were from Dylan. _Dylan Oga._ Not Darius.

But nobody cared about the truth.

Nobody asked for proof.

By lunch, the whole class had picked a side.

“Ivy’s a snake.”

“Ivy’s desperate.”

“Ivy’s a liar.”

The same kids who ignored her before now stared. The same kids who whispered about her now shouted.

Ivy became the outcast. Again.

Lunchroom tables went quiet when she walked past. Group projects suddenly had “no room.” Even the teachers looked at her differently, like she was trouble now.

Zara didn’t defend her. Zara was in Section A, laughing with Mira and Tina like nothing had happened.

Dylan didn’t defend her either. He sat in the front row, staring at his desk, hands clenched. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to fix it.

And Ivy? Ivy sat alone at the back of the cafeteria, eating a sandwich she couldn’t taste, wondering how she’d gone from having one real friend to having no one at all in under a month.

Her sister’s words echoed in her head: _We’re just going to end the way it did._

Ivy walked home that day with her hood pulled over her head, tears burning behind her eyes but not falling. She wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

At home, her mom was waiting.

“What’s this I hear about you causing trouble at school?”

Ivy didn’t answer. She just went to her room and locked the door.

The crying came later. Quiet. Silent. The kind that hurts your chest more than your throat.

She lay on her bed, staring at her phone. Dylan had sent her a message two hours ago: _“Are you okay?”_

Ivy didn’t reply.

Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be her friend anymore.