CHAPTER 4 – Not Her Fault. Not Mine Either
1012 Words
Lia Navarro woke to the softest version of morning.
Filtered sun through her sheer curtains. Her legs tangled in the sheets. The faint scent of warm paper, lavender laundry soap, and old markers still clinging to the air. On the wall beside her bed, a half-finished sketch waited—pencil resting just below it, like it had missed her.
She stretched. Blinked at the clock. Let herself pretend for ten seconds that today was just another Monday. No tests. No news. No Jordan.
Then her phone buzzed.
And buzzed.
And buzzed again.
The screen lit up like it had something urgent to say.
12 notifications Group chat: LRC girls
Snap: 3 new mentions
Text from: Nora, Shanti, Mia, Unknown Number
Lia sat up slowly, thumb already unlocking the phone.
The texts weren’t normal.
yo girl what is this??
check AM Snap, you’re in it
is that you with Jordan???
Lia... please tell me that’s not you
Her chest squeezed.
She opened Snapchat.
It was a reposted screen recording. Originally someone’s story at a pep rally. Rio Del Sol High. Chaotic footage—cheerleaders, music, crowd noise. Then a zoom.
There she was.
Not front and center. Not the focus. But clear enough.
Lia.
In Jordan’s hoodie. His hand on her waist. Their bodies curved into each other. Their kiss, brief and easy and real, caught in the middle of someone else’s celebration.
She hadn’t known anyone saw them. She hadn’t known anyone filmed it.
She froze. Watched it again.
This was supposed to be theirs.
Now it was everyone’s.
She opened the Arroyo Mesa Snap group.
Her name wasn’t tagged. But it was everywhere.
"Third one this semester? Damn."
"Why does he always pick girls who don’t know how to act quiet?"
"Is she the side or the main? I need a diagram."
A meme circled her face. A tweet-style caption said: "he got that one manipulator bag and uses it on EVERYONE"
The world tilted.
Lia dropped her phone.
Made it to the bathroom just in time to throw up.
Once her body stopped heaving, she laid down on the floor, her breath uneven. The tile was cold against her skin. She stayed curled on the floor, hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows, fingers pressed to her forehead.
Her stomach was empty. But her chest still hurt. Not because she was surprised. But because this was the moment everything stopped being private. And she didn’t get to control the narrative anymore.
She had met Jordan the summer before senior year.
She was at Arroyo Mesa Valley Community College, taking an early college art class to get ahead. He said he was taking psych. She wasn’t sure if he ever actually went.
But he was always around. Sitting near the cafe. Walking the gravel path like it belonged to him.
He saw her sketching once. Didn’t say anything stupid. Just asked what kind of pencil she used.
She liked that he noticed without asking for anything.
They started meeting after class. Shared snacks from the cafe on campus. Talked about music, weird dreams, families they didn’t mention in public.
She showed him her favorite hideout in the orchard.
He showed her his sketchbook.
It wasn’t clean or structured. Just raw lines and tired ink. Faces he didn’t sign. Thoughts he didn’t say out loud.
He let her read one. Just one.
"I never know where to put the hurt. She said try paper. So I did."
She didn’t speak after that. Just held his wrist for a second. He looked at her like she was the beginning and the end of everything.
There was something sacred about silence with him. The way it filled in what words couldn’t. But even silence has edges. And eventually, she asked the question she’d been trying not to need an answer to.
He didn’t lie. Not about the other girls. He never said their names. Never offered details. But early on he told her, "I’ve messed things up. There’s other people. Not like this. But they exist."
She said, "So I’m one of many."
He said, "You’re the only one who sees it all. That counts for something, right?"
And she let that be enough.
Now she wasn’t the one in the orchard.
She was the girl in the meme.
The joke.
She leaned against the bathroom cabinet. Her hands were shaking. Not because she didn’t expect this. But because she did. And she still stayed.
She told herself it wasn’t cheating if she knew. Told herself being different meant something. But different didn’t stop the world from laughing.
It didn’t matter that she saw it coming. Knowing didn’t soften the blow. It just made her feel stupid for hoping anyway.
She stood up, washed her face. Stared in the mirror.
There she was.
Lia Navarro. Smart. Soft. Good at going unnoticed.
Until today.
Now she couldn’t hide. Not even in her own skin.
Back in her room, she found his sketch.It had fallen off her wall last week. She hadn’t put it back up.
Her, in his style. Eyes half-lidded. Jaw drawn sharp. He always exaggerated the curve of her neck.
She held it for a minute.
Then crumpled it.
Shoved it into the drawer with the broken pencils and snapped-off erasers.
Didn’t throw it away.
She wasn’t ready to let it go all the way.
Then, her phone buzzed again.
She almost didn’t check.
But something in her chest stirred.
It was him.
Jordan.
One text:
I never wanted to hurt you.
That was all.
No apology. No lie. No explanation.
Just that.
Lia stared at it for a long time.
She didn’t reply.
She just turned off her notifications.
Deleted Snapchat.
Logged out of i********:.
Slid her phone under the bed. And curled into her blanket like it might hold something steady.
The ache in her chest didn’t go away. But it settled. Quiet. Honest.
She closed her eyes.
Her last thought before sleep found her again was simple.
He gave me honesty. And I used it to lie to myself.
- Writer
