CHAPTER 34
I didn’t reply to the message.
I read it three times, though—each word unfolding differently depending on the tilt of my anger.
You don’t know the whole story.
That could mean guilt. Or warning. Or desperation. Maybe all three.
But by morning, I wasn’t thinking about the message. I was thinking about who might need me to believe there was more.
And that made the silence feel like a challenge.
So I pulled my hoodie up, tucked the message into my thoughts, and went back to class.
No confrontation. No escalation.
Just the quiet turning of a page.
⸻
Cynthia sat beside me in Political Theory. Again. Like yesterday was some kind of agreement.
I didn’t mind.
She didn’t ask questions. Just handed me a granola bar before the lecture started and whispered, “You’re still a lit
