Unlabeled 🌈

After School

Chapter Five

The final bell rings like a mercy killing. I shove my books into my bag and slip through the crowd before anyone can corner me. The hallways are too loud, too tight, too full of faces that see me without really seeing me.

Outside, the air is sharp with the smell of wet asphalt. I’m halfway down the block when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Ay, wait up!”

Mariah jogs to catch me, her hoodie pulled low over her face. She’s grinning again, like she always is, like the world hasn’t noticed her enough to beat it out of her.

“Why’d you ditch?” she asks, falling into step with me.

I keep my eyes on the sidewalk. “Didn’t want to be late.”

“For what?”

I don’t answer. My boots scuff the pavement. The note in my pocket feels like it’s burning through the fabric.

Mariah bumps my shoulder with hers. “You’re weird, you know that?”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“It’s not an insult,” she says quickly. “Weird is good. Means you’re not boring.”

We walk in silence for a few blocks. My heartbeat’s too loud, too fast. Every step feels like a choice I don’t know how to make.

Finally, she stops in front of a little corner café. The windows are fogged, and a neon sign buzzes faintly overhead.

“Come on,” she says, tugging the door open. “My treat.”

Inside, the café smells like cinnamon and burnt coffee. The kind of place nobody cool ever goes, which makes it perfect. We slide into a booth in the back, the cracked vinyl squeaking under us.

Mariah orders hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. I just ask for water, because ordering anything else feels like admitting I want to be here.

She stirs her drink with the straw, watching me. “So… what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah. You’re always, like… here but not here, you know? Like you’re hiding in plain sight.”

The words hit harder than I want them to. I laugh, sharp and too loud. “Maybe I just don’t like people.”

She smirks. “Yeah, right. You like me.”

I don’t answer. My throat’s too tight. The truth sits heavy on my tongue, tangled with fear and hope and everything in between.

Mariah leans across the table, close enough that I can smell her vanilla lip gloss. “You should stop hiding,” she says softly.

And just like that, I feel seen. Too seen. It’s terrifying.