I slide into the back seat of the car that’s meant to take us to Ryan’s school.
Ryan sits beside me, eyes glued to his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence—no glance, no greeting, just the cold glow of his screen reflecting off his face.
I settle into the seat, watching him with the corner of my eye.
He’s wearing a very stylish, quality uniform—the kind you’d see kids wearing at overly expensive private schools. Everything about it screams money and privilege.
I desperately want to thank him for yesterday. Because, if not for him, who knows? I might be continuously haunted by what happened.
But, It doesn’t seem like he wants to talk. Not to pressure him I take my eyes of him and I lean my head against the cool window.
As the car begins to move, I feel his eyes on me, starin
