Chapter Thirteen: Homecoming
1446 Words
The gym shimmered with too much light. Strings of white bulbs zigzagged above the basketball court, their glow bouncing off glossy banners that read Homecoming 20XX. The bass of the rented speakers made the bleachers hum, kids pressed together in sweaty circles, shouting over music that rattled ribs.
Aris stood just inside the doors, her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t in the mood to be here—none of them were—but skipping would’ve been its own kind of surrender. Mimi had practically dragged her, Axel trailing as backup. And Tobe… well, Tobe had shown up too, hovering just behind them, as if waiting for the signal to either leave or fight.
The stares started almost immediately. Some were curious, some pitying, others sharp as knives. Aris held her head high, chin tilted, even as the back of her neck prickled. She wouldn’t let them see the nerves. Not tonight.
Mimi leaned close, voice sharp in her ear. “Ignore them. Half of these kids thrive on drama they don’t even understand.”
“I know,” Aris muttered. She glanced at Tobe, who looked like he’d rather punch through the wall than stand under these lights. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes scanning the room for threats invisible to anyone else.
He shouldn’t have been here. She knew that. But the truth was, she didn’t want to face it alone.
Across the room, Gabe saw her.
He sat slouched against the wall near the bleachers, red plastic cup dangling in his hand. The sight of Aris walking in with Tobe made something bitter churn in his chest. She looked different when she was near him—more at ease, like the weight of the world had shifted to someone else’s shoulders. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Beside him, Akari smoothed the skirt of her dress, her hair falling in soft waves that brushed her shoulders. She was smiling—too brightly, too stiff—but no one else seemed to notice.
“They’re here,” Gabe murmured.
“I see them.” Her fingers tightened around her cup.
He studied her profile, the way her eyes flinched whenever they landed on her sister. She was close—so close—to snapping, and part of him thrilled at it. She had the kind of raw emotion he could mold, twist, use.
“Remember,” he said, voice low, “all we need is one mistake. In front of everyone. Tobe screws up, and he’s done. And if Aris jumps to defend him?” He smirked. “She burns with him and I'll be the one to pick up her pieces.”
Akari nodded, though her stomach twisted. Her uncles thought she was healing, that she was moving forward. No one knew she was standing here, complicit in Gabe’s plan. But it was the only way. If Aris was the problem—if she always had to be the strong one, the chosen one—then maybe tonight that would finally break.
The night wore on in a blur of music and sweat. Games in the corner, kids sneaking soda spiked from flasks, teachers pretending not to notice. Then came the inevitable: the DJ shouting over the speakers about a dance-off.
A roar went up. The circle formed in the middle of the gym, kids jostling for space, phones held high.
Aris felt her stomach drop. She already knew what was coming.
“Don’t,” she hissed at Tobe as a chant started—his name, pushed forward by voices she recognized from the team Gabe used to run with. Too loud, too insistent to be coincidence.
Tobe’s fists curled at his sides. His pride burned in his eyes, that stubborn refusal to back down. “If I don’t, they win,” he muttered.
“Maybe not everything has to be a fight,” she tried. But he was already stepping forward.
The circle erupted.
At first, it wasn’t bad. Tobe moved with that same coiled grace he carried everywhere, sharp steps that made people whistle and clap. For a beat, Aris thought maybe—maybe—it would be fine.
Then two boys cut in, mocking him. Their movements were exaggerated parodies, laughter spilling behind them. The crowd picked it up instantly, roaring with cruel delight.
Aris’s chest constricted. She could see the tension ripple through Tobe’s shoulders. He was holding it together, but barely.
Gabe smirked from across the circle. Perfect.
He nodded at one of his planted friends, who shouted, “C’mon, Tobe, don’t choke now!”
Phones tilted. Red dots blinked.
Aris pushed forward, heart pounding. “Stop it! This isn’t—”
But the noise swallowed her voice.
And then Akari snapped.
Her voice cracked through the chaos like glass shattering. “Stop!”
The music stuttered. The crowd froze.
Every head turned toward her.
Aris blinked at her twin, stunned. Akari stood just beyond the circle, her hands shaking but her chin lifted, eyes glittering with unshed tears.
“Why is it always her?” Akari’s voice rose, raw and trembling. “Why does she always get to be the strong one? The one everyone listens to? You don’t even see me—you never did!”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Aris’s throat closed. “Akari…”
Her twin’s words spilled faster, sharper, like knives she couldn’t stop throwing. “You think you’re some kind of hero, but you’re not. You take everything—you always have. You take Gabe, you take the spotlight, you take all of it and leave nothing for me!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones zoomed in.
Gabe’s smirk faltered. This wasn’t the plan.
“Akari,” he hissed under his breath, grabbing her wrist. “Not like this—”
She yanked away, louder now, voice breaking. “Don’t touch me! I’m not your game anymore.”
Murmurs spread. Kids whispered, pointed. The story had already twisted: Gabe using her, Akari breaking down, Aris caught in the crossfire.
Aris’s body moved before her brain did. She crossed the circle, ignoring the phones, ignoring the whispers. She reached for her sister, who was shaking so hard she looked like she might splinter.
“Don’t touch me!” Akari shoved her back, voice raw.
Aris steadied herself, pain burning behind her ribs. “I’m not letting them do this to you. Not him, not anyone.”
Tears streaked Akari’s face, her mascara smudged into shadows. “You don’t get it—you never did. You don’t know what it’s like to be the shadow. To never be enough when you’re standing next to you.”
Aris’s throat ached. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, but the truth was there—ugly and undeniable. She had always been the strong one. She had always been seen first.
Her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
Akari froze.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough,” Aris pressed on, her hands trembling. “But you are. You’re my sister. You’re my other half. I don’t care what anyone says, I don’t care what he promised you—you’re mine, Akari. And I’m yours.”
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then Akari sobbed. The sound ripped out of her, raw and unguarded. She stumbled into Aris’s arms, clutching her like she was the only solid thing left.
The crowd didn’t cheer. They whispered, filmed, speculated—but the story had changed. Gabe’s name hissed on their lips now, not Tobe’s. The manipulator. The liar.
Gabe stood alone at the edge of the circle, fury twisting his face as the weight of every eye fell on him. He clenched his fists so tight his nails cut skin. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Tobe stepped forward then, placing himself between the twins and the circling eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to—the silent promise in his stance was enough. Anyone who wanted to laugh now would have to go through him.
Slowly, the music cut. Teachers wove into the crowd, ushering kids toward the doors. The spell of the night broke into fragments of gossip that would last weeks.
Outside, the air was cool, the stars muted by streetlights. Aris kept her arm around Akari, who leaned into her, hollow but lighter, as
if spilling her rage had loosened something long buried.
Tobe walked a step behind, quiet. Guarded.
Behind them, Gabe lingered in the doorway, eyes burning holes into their backs.
The plan had fractured. But the pieces left behind were still sharp—and he wasn’t finished cutting.
- Writer
