LAYLA

CHAPTER 2

"Wait a minute… is that Layla?”

Simon’s voice cut through the quiet, pulling me out of wherever my head had drifted while I lay on the grass. I didn’t move at first. For a second, I considered pretending I hadn’t heard him.

Simon. One of my friends… if that’s what we were calling it. After Rachel—after everything—labels like that felt fake. He was just… tolerable. That was the nicest thing I could say.

I pushed myself up anyway, brushing dry grass from my jeans, already gathering my bag like I had somewhere better to be.

“What are you staring at?” I asked, not even looking at him as I stood.

He hesitated. “Your hair. I didn’t recognize you at first.” A pause. “Why’d you change it?”

I rolled my eyes, already irritated. I hadn’t even wanted to come to school today, but staying home would’ve meant questions. My mom hovering. That look on her face. The word therapist hanging in the air like a threat.

I knew I wasn’t okay. I just didn’t need someone pretending to care about it.

“Why not?” I muttered.

I turned slightly and realized he’d fallen into step beside me. I hadn’t even noticed. “I changed it because I can.”

He exhaled through his nose, like he was holding back something smarter. “Yeah, sure. It’s just—Marcus is… you know.”

I stopped walking just long enough to look at him. “Marcus is what? Into blondes?” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Why the hell would I care what he likes?”

Simon didn’t answer. He just sighed, that same tired sound, like he’d been having this conversation with me in his head all morning.

“It’s just that—”

The bell rang, cutting him off. Perfect timing.

We didn’t speak again as we headed to class.

Science was the same as always. Same seats, same dull hum of fluorescent lights, same window I sat by so I could pretend I was anywhere else. I barely paid attention. My thoughts kept circling, dragging me back to everything I didn’t want to think about.

Senior year was supposed to mean something.

Now it didn’t feel like anything.

A tap on my shoulder pulled me back.

“The class is over.”

Simon again.

I blinked, glancing around as people packed up. Forty-five minutes gone, just like that.

The next class passed the same way—fast, empty, pointless.

Then lunch.

Time to sit with people who smiled too much and meant too little. I decided to use the restroom first.

The bathroom was empty when I slipped inside. Good.

I locked the door behind me and slid down against it, the cold tile pressing through my clothes. My hands moved automatically, digging into my bag until I found the bottle.

Anxiety pills.

I was supposed to take one.

I shook three into my palm.

For a second, I just stared at them. Then I shoved them under my tongue.

I leaned my head back against the door and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, the world felt… lighter.

Not better. Just quieter.

Like someone had turned the volume down on everything inside me.

I stood, a little unsteady, and made my way to the cafeteria.

By the time I got there, I felt almost calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that didn’t ask questions.

I grabbed a salad, barely looking at what was on the tray, and headed to the usual table. My usual seat. My usual fake people.

I dropped into the chair, not caring who I landed next to.

I smiled.

That alone should’ve told me something was off.

“The hell are you smiling about?”

Janice. I turned to her. She looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

I just took a bite of my food.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t care.

“Hold on—Angel, is your hair black now?”

Derek, he was too close. Of course.

Before I could respond, Janice cut in from across the table.

“What is wrong with all of you? Yes, her hair is black. She dyed it. Get over it.”

“Who’s hair is black?”

Marcus.

Of course, this day just got worse.

His voice carried before he even reached the table. Then the footsteps. Then him.

“Oooh, I like this,” Lauren added, leaning forward like this was entertainment.

Marcus stepped closer, eyes fixed on me.

“Layla…?" I didn’t even bother hiding my annoyance.

“Why?”

“I wanted to.”

Simple. Clean. Conversation over.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

His hand slammed down on the table hard enough to make the trays rattle.

“What do you mean you wanted to?” His voice dropped, sharper now. “Or is that your way of saying you’re done with me?”

I stared at him.

“Done with you?” I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “How can I be done with something that never started?”

For a second, he just looked at me like I’d said something in another language.

Then—

“What the hell does that mean? You knew I was going to ask you out. You had to know. We were—” he gestured vaguely, frustrated, “—we were something last year.”

My head spun slightly, the room tilting just enough to notice.

Something. That’s what he thought we were?

I laughed.

Too loud.

Louder than I meant to.

And then I couldn’t stop.

It slipped into something lighter—messier. A giggle.

“Why are you laughing?”

Across from me, someone cleared their throat.

“Um… I think ‘Miss Pretty Face’ has officially lost it,” Janice said, her tone dry but her eyes sharp, watching me too closely. “I mean, look at her.”

Weird.

Why did her voice sound… nice?

“I need to use the restroom,” I said suddenly, pushing my chair back.

I stood too fast. The room dipped.

Still smiling.

I turned and started walking.

But I didn’t get far.

Something—someone—caught my arm.

Pulled me back just enough to stop me.

A body close behind me.

Then a voice, low against my ear— “Are you high?” It was Marcus. Of course it was, it was always him.

I let out a small laugh, pulling my arm free.

“No. Why would you think that?” I said lightly. “I just need to go.”

I didn’t wait for a response this time.

I walked out.

Behind me, something crashed—loud, sharp.

I knew it was probably him.

Figures.