invisible to irresistible

CHAPTER 4:Silence Has a New Owner

The school cafeteria never actually settled down. Even during its most raucous times, there was a rhythm—the clatter of trays, chairs rubbing against the floor, laughter echoing like waves that didn’t give a damn who ended up submerged.

At present, however, a particular vibe seemed strange.

Every one of those waves collided in the direction of one solitary table.

Bee’s table.

There she sat alongside Mia, her tray neatly arranged, her fingers gently placed on the spoon. She did not look up even once, but it was unnecessary for her to. She could feel it.

Eyes.

Hundreds of them.

Mia leaned in, talking low, like she was spilling some secret.

“They are still watching,” she whispered.

Bee shrugged. “Let them.”

Mia blinked. “Seriously? That’s your answer?”

Bee stuffed a mouthful in her mouth. “What more should I do? Initiate fees for people who stare?”

Mia chuckled, but it had an uneasy tone. “You’ve… changed.”

Bee tilted her head slightly. “People keep saying that.”

“Because that’s the truth,” Mia pressed. “You didn’t just grow up, Bee. You really changed.”

Bee didn’t jump to reply. She was not fully convinced. Deep down, she seemed like the very same girl who once hid at the rear of the classroom, hoping no one noticed she was breathing too loud.

But the room suggested the opposite.

Murmurs wafted over the cafeteria.

“She is seated next to Mia as though they are close friends.”

“Mia didn’t even recognize her at first.”

“Did she perform any action while she was gone?”

“No way, it’s definitely surgery or something.”

Bee grabbed the entire thing.

She always did.

Even so, she kept on eating.

At a different table, Eva sat motionless.

She didn’t even touch the food on her plate.

Her eating fork rested next to the tray she had, left unattended.

Her companions spoke, but she wasn’t paying attention.

Her stare kept darting back toward Bee. Again and again, like a sharp blade targeting the same area.

Finally, one friend leaned toward her.

“Eva, are you okay?”

Eva blinked, shaken out of her thoughts. “What?”

“You’ve been really quiet.”

Eva forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

But her eyes disagreed.

“Fine” didn’t cover how everything in the room had shifted.

For years, Eva was the center—she didn’t have to try. People laughed when she laughed. They paid attention when she spoke. Even silence belonged to her.

Now, it belonged to Bee.

And Eva hated sharing.

Over by the drinks, Floyd stood pretending to pour juice.

He’d been stuck there for a while.

Ever since he saw Bee.

Ever since she looked at him like he was just air.

His fingers clenched around his cup.

A friend nudged him.

“Dude, you alright?”

Floyd blinked. “Yeah.”

But his eyes were back on Bee.

“Does’nt she look familiar or something?” his friend asked.

Floyd paused.

Yeah. “Something like that.”

—

Later that day, the halls buzzed louder than usual.

Not with noise—with rumors.

Bee walked alongside Mia to their next class, each step feeling like a question was brushing past.

Mia finally broke the silence.

“So,” she asked, picking her words, “you’re seriously not gonna tell me what happened during those two years?”

Bee looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You disappeared,” Mia said. “For real. No messages, no social media, nothing. Then you show up looking like… this.”

Bee sighed. “I didn’t disappear. I just left.”

“For two years?”

Bee nodded. “Yeah.”

Mia slowed, worried. “Bee, that’s not normal.”

Bee stopped and turned toward her, calm.

“Nothing about that time was normal,” she said.

Mia fell quiet.

She didn’t push this time.

A few seconds before she spoke again, softer.

“Did leaving help?”

Bee thought about it.

Quiet mornings. Books stacked around her like a fortress. Walks where no one watched her. Therapy sessions teaching her how to breathe without apologizing.

It was healing. Not magic. Not dramatic.

Just slow. Steady.

“Yeah,” Bee said. “It helped.”

Mia nodded. “Good.”

A pause, then, “People are gonna talk, you know?”

Bee gave her half a smile. “They already are.”

Mia exhaled. “Eva isn’t going to be happy.”

Bee looked over. “Happy about what?”

Mia hesitated. “You know… not being the most noticed person anymore.”

Bee didn’t reply.

No need. She knew that, too.

—

Down the hall, Eva stood at her locker with her two closest friends.

Her voice stayed cool, but her words were hot.

“She’s not special,” Eva said.

One friend tilted her head. “Who?”

Eva slammed her locker harder than necessary. “Bee.”

Silence.

The friend said warily, “People seem to think she is.”

Eva scoffed. “People believe anything.”

The second friend frowned. “Even teachers noticed her today. Everyone’s talking.”

Eva turned fast. “And?”

They both shut up.

Her voice dropped.

“I’ve been here longer,” Eva said. “I worked harder. I built my spot.”

“No one’s saying you didn’t,” her friend replied, careful.

Eva smoothed her expression, forced herself to control it.

“Good,” she said. “Because things don’t change just because someone returns looking different.”

Yet her grip on her locker told a different story.

—

Class went on like nothing was wrong.

But everything felt off.

Bee sat by the window, listening to the teacher ramble about assignments, projects, deadlines.

Half the class wasn’t paying attention.

They were watching her.

Whispering. Glancing. Waiting.

The teacher clapped her hands.

“Alright, paired presentations this term. I’m assigning partners.”

Instant buzz.

Mia leaned over. “Don’t let them split us up.”

Bee smiled quietly. “Wait and see.”

Name after name, the teacher called them out.

“Daniel and Sara.”

“Mark and Tessa.”

“Eva and Chloe.”

Eva straightened up at her name, her partner looked nervous.

Then—

“Bee and Floyd.”

The room didn’t settle after that.

It shifted. Like someone dropped a secret right on the floor and everyone pretended not to notice.

“Bee and Floyd.”

The words hung, even as everyone scooted their chairs and shuffled around.

Mia eyed Bee. “Bee… Floyd?”

Bee ignored her, picked up her pen.

Across the room, Floyd watched her.

The teacher clapped again. “Alright, pair up and get started. This is a big grade.”

Floyd stood. Each step careful, like the floor could cave in if he moved wrong.

He reached her desk.

“Hey,” he said.

Bee looked up once, gave a tiny nod.

“Hey.”

That was it.

No warmth, no smile, no hint of anything deeper than politeness.

Just a word.

Floyd pulled out the chair, sat down. “So… looks like we’re partners.”

Bee nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that makes your chest tight.

Floyd rubbed his neck, checked for an easier conversation, found nothing.

“So… uh… guess we should start.”

Bee slid the assignment sheet toward him quietly.

He picked it up, scanned it. Not really focused.

His attention kept drifting. Back to her.

“You look—” he tried.

Bee didn’t meet his eyes.

“Different?” she said plainly.

Floyd paused. “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Everybody says that.”

Silence.

He tapped the desk once, swallowed.

Then, almost too quietly—

“Are you… angry at me?”

The question hit like a stone.

But Bee barely moved.

Inside, she felt a burst. Sharp, fast.

Angry?

Her mind snapped through a reel:

No, of course not.

I’m thrilled. I'm so happy.

You called me ugly in front of everyone.

You laughed.

You went with her.

You kissed her like I was invisible.

Her chest tightened. Her face didn’t show it.

She smiled.

Perfect. Controlled. Warm.

“No,” she said gently. “Why would I be?”

Floyd blinked. Definitely not the answer he expected.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Guess…”

He trailed off.

Her smile never looked like forgiveness.

More like shutting a door. One he hadn’t noticed closing.

He tried again.

“Bee… I—”

“Hello?”

Her voice cut in. Not harsh. Just enough to pull him back.

“Yeah?”

“You were saying something?” she asked, tilting her head.

He hesitated, sighed.

“Do you ever think about—”

“No.”

She didn’t say it loud, but it was hard-edged.

Final.

Bee didn’t let him finish.

She flipped the paper between them, tapped the topic list.

“We should focus,” she said. “On the project.”

Her tone: calm, professional, distant. Like the past wasn’t even worth a second thought.

Floyd paused, staring for a second.

Then nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

He leaned in, trying to concentrate.

But the space between them wasn’t tense or emotional.

Just shut.

Bee pointed to a topic on the sheet. “This one’s straightforward.”

Floyd agreed. “Works for me.”

“We’ll split research and presentation,” she said.

“Alright. I can—”

“I’ll send the outline,” she cut in, already packing up.

Floyd blinked. “Wait—you’re leaving?”

Bee stood.

“Class is basically over,” she said.

It wasn’t—but she didn’t care.

She picked up her bag, slid her chair back.

Floyd stood, halfway stopping her.

Didn’t manage.

“Bee,” he called softly.

She paused. Turned just a little.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated.

So many things stuck behind his teeth.

None made it out.

“Nothing,” he finally said.

Bee nodded once.

Then she walked away.

No hesitation. No looking back.

—

Across the room—

Eva watched the whole thing.

Not casually.

Intensely.

Eyes fixed from the second Floyd walked over, watched Bee’s reaction, saw Floyd lean in like he was reaching for someone already gone.

Eva’s grip tightened on her pen.

Her jaw set.

This wasn’t the scene she expected.

Bee wasn’t trying.

She wasn’t chasing.

She barely reacted.

That made her more dangerous.

Eva’s gaze followed Bee out of the classroom.

Shifted to Floyd, still staring at the place Bee had been.

Something cold flickered behind Eva’s eyes.

Not jealousy—not exactly.

Something sharper.

Strategy.

One thing was clear—

Bee wasn’t the same girl anymore.

That made her unpredictable.

Eva leaned back, lips pressed in a thin smile.

If Bee thought she could just waltz back in, grab attention, act like nothing mattered—

She was wrong.

Very wrong.

Because Eva never just lost her place.

She fought for it.

And Bee?

Bee was her next target.