Chapter Six: Cracks in the Game
372 Words
Monday came with grey clouds and the smell of rain lingering in the air.
Max walked into class five minutes late, soaked at the edges, earbuds still tucked into his collar.
Mr. Balogun barely glanced up.
“Take a seat, Max,” he muttered, scribbling equations across the board.
Max slid into the only open chair — right between Hazel and Isabella.
Perfect.
Hazel leaned over immediately, whispering, “Late and dripping. Bold fashion choice.”
Max smirked. “Was aiming for dramatic entrance.”
Hazel chuckled, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Worked.”
Isabella said nothing, but Max could feel her eyes flick toward him, just once.
Quiet, thoughtful, watching.
It unsettled him more than he expected.
---
After class...
Hazel caught up with Max near the lockers, twirling her lanyard lazily around her finger.
“So… is it true?” she asked casually.
Max raised a brow. “What?”
“That there's a bet. You and your little squad.”
Max stiffened.
She grinned. “Relax. I’m not mad. I’m… intrigued.”
He laughed nervously. “People talk too much.”
“Don’t they?” Hazel said, stepping closer. “Well — just so you know… If this is a game, you’re already losing.”
She turned and walked away, her braid swinging behind her.
Max stood there, heartbeat thudding.
She knew.
Or at least, she thought she did.
And worse — Isabella had been right there, hearing everything.
---
Later that day…
Isabella sat in the library, half-reading, half-thinking. Her book was open, but her mind wasn’t on it.
Max had tried to catch up with her in the hallway, but she’d walked right past him.
Not in anger.
In silence.
Because silence, for Isabella, spoke more than words.
---
That night…
Max lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Jay had texted about the bet.
Kingsley had dropped a new joke in the group chat.
Victor had sent a meme with Hazel’s face photoshopped on a queen’s throne.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he opened his notebook.
No drawings. No lyrics. No math homework.
Just two names scribbled in the corner.
Hazel.
Isabella.
And beneath them, one question:
“What if I actually care?”
- Writer
