Torn Dresses and secret smiles
1116 Words
CHAPTER THREE – Torn Dresses & Secret Smiles
Fiona’s POV
Setting: Atlanta, Georgia. Month: September. Weather: Chilly, early fall.
The morning air in Atlanta was sharper than usual. Not enough to freeze, but cold enough to make Fiona’s thin blanket feel like a wet tissue. She stayed still for a moment, tucked beneath it, blinking up at the cracked ceiling in her matchbox-sized room. The peeling paint looked like maps of places she could never go.
Her alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.
It didn’t matter. In this house, the walls screamed before clocks did.
From downstairs came the sharp voice of Clara Harris—her aunt, her tyrant, her nightmare.
> “Melissa! Get up now! Your shoot starts at ten and you’ve got a reputation to keep. And where is that girl? Fiona! Don’t make me come up there!”
There it was.
That lovely wake-up call.
The difference between a morning and a warzone was just the volume in the Harris household.
Fiona swung her legs off the bed and sighed. She slipped her cold feet into equally cold slippers, grabbed her robe, and walked across the creaky wooden floor to the bathroom. The mirror greeted her with honesty: puffy eyes, messy braids, and skin that glowed more from stress than light. Her glasses sat crooked on her face—she adjusted them gently and stared.
> “You’ve survived worse,” she whispered to her reflection. “Today is just another act in the horror show.”
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, tied her braids into a bun, and went downstairs quietly, praying not to trip on her own exhaustion.
---
In the living room, chaos was already unfolding like a badly written soap opera. Melissa, Fiona’s 18-year-old cousin and walking i********: filter, was sprawled across the couch like a lioness waiting for her prey.
Long artificial lashes.
Bodycon dress.
Phone clutched in one hand, Starbucks cup in the other.
> “Fiona,” Melissa said, not even looking up, “my white silk dress is in the laundry. I need it ironed. Don’t burn it like you did the blue one last week. I will literally ruin you.”
Fiona didn’t flinch. “Noted, your highness.”
Clara, who had been painting her already over-painted nails, looked up. “And sweep the porch. The neighbors are beginning to think we live in a zoo.”
> “Maybe because we do,” Fiona muttered.
“What did you say?” Clara snapped.
“Nothing,” Fiona lied with a smile. “Just talking to the broom.”
---
One hour. That’s all she had to get ready for school after fulfilling her duties. Fiona scrubbed, ironed, and cleaned while her stomach growled. No breakfast, as usual. Her allowance was cut off “due to her attitude,” and if she ever dared complain, Clara reminded her how “gracious” she was to keep Fiona under her roof.
Roof.
The same roof her parents built.
The same roof Clara stole when the will “magically disappeared” five years ago.
---
At 7:45 a.m., Fiona grabbed her bag, adjusted her scarf, and raced down the street toward North Ridge High.
She hated walking.
She hated the stares from people who remembered her parents.
The pity in their eyes.
The gossip in their whispers.
> “That’s the Elgins’ girl, right? The one whose folks died in that crash?” “She lives with her aunt now. Poor thing.” “Why is she always alone?”
She blocked them out. She’d learned to.
Instead, she pulled out her phone.
> Zane32:
“If I were a poet, I’d write about the sound your silence makes.”
Fiona's lips curved into a smile. Small, almost invisible, but very real.
> Luna:
“If I were braver, I’d read your poetry out loud.”
---
By the time she got to school, the gate was already closing. She slipped in just as the security guard looked away. Inside the hallways, it was loud—music playing from someone’s phone, girls laughing too loud, boys throwing basketballs inside.
North Ridge High wasn’t just a school. It was a kingdom, and every kingdom had its royals.
Melissa Harris was the queen.
And Zayden Cole?
He was the damn emperor.
He walked in through the back entrance like he didn’t need to be on time. Hoodie low, headphones around his neck, basketball shoes squeaking against the tiles. His face looked like it had been hand-crafted by angels with bad intentions—light brown skin, curly hair falling over his forehead, and a jawline that could slice tension in half.
Every girl stopped talking.
Every boy stood straighter.
And Fiona?
She looked once. Just once.
Their eyes met.
And something froze.
Zayden blinked.
His lips parted slightly.
But before anything could happen, Melissa slid right into view, throwing her arm around him like she had rehearsed it in the mirror a thousand times.
> “Morning, Z,” she purred. “I saved you a seat in Chemistry.”
Fiona watched from the back of the hallway.
That same twisting feeling returned.
Not jealousy.
Just… ache.
He didn’t know who she was.
But she knew who he was—Zane32.
The boy she spoke to in her safest place: the internet.
---
Lunch came faster than expected.
Fiona didn’t eat in the cafeteria. She never did.
Instead, she sat under the big oak tree at the back of the library, her legs curled beneath her.
She opened her phone.
> Zane32:
“What would you do if the world gave you one day with no consequences?”
She typed slowly.
> Luna:
“I’d tell the boy I liked that I liked him. And I’d punch my cousin. Hard.”
> Zane32:
“That’s hot.”
She giggled. Out loud.
She never giggled out loud.
At that exact moment, a shadow fell across her notebook.
“Did you just laugh?” came a voice.
Her eyes shot up.
Zayden.
Standing right in front of her. Hoodie off, sleeves rolled up, eyes slightly narrowed. But there was no mockery in his tone. Only curiosity.
Fiona froze. “What?”
“You laughed. I saw it.”
> Play it cool. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
“I laugh sometimes,” she muttered.
“I didn’t think ghosts made noise.”
He smirked and walked off before she could respond.
But her heart didn’t walk away.
It stayed right there, thumping like a drum solo.
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