Pressure points
1751 Words
I stared at the note in my hand, the words etched into my brain like a warning I didn’t understand.
‘You don’t know what he’s done. But you will.’
The paper trembled slightly between my fingers. Not from the cold. From the sheer weirdness of it all.
No name. No signature. Just shoved inside my locker like it had been waiting for me.
“Nova!” Talia’s voice yanked me back to reality. She was walking toward me with a bag of trail mix and her usual don’t-start-with-me look. “Why do you look like someone just cursed your bloodline?”
I didn’t answer. Just handed her the note.
Her chewing slowed. “Uh, creepy much?”
“Right?”
She scanned it again. “So… who’s ‘he’? Ryder? Jace?”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m worried about right now. I want to know who put this in my locker.”
Talia paused. “Okay, yeah. That’s the real question.”
“Only a few people even know my combo. Or could’ve watched me open it. You think someone’s been spying on me?”
“Probably,” she said, not at all helpfully. “You’re cute. You attract freaks.”
I gave her a flat look. “Talia.”
“Sorry.” She leaned against the locker next to mine and tapped the note. “Seriously though, someone wanted you to read this. Alone. In your space. That’s personal.”
The more I thought about it, the more it creeped me out. This wasn’t some prank. The handwriting was sharp, almost pressed in. There was weight behind those words.
I looked at her. “What do I do?”
“We figure out who wrote it. First step—check for fingerprints.”
I blinked. “You know how to do that?”
She grinned. “Did I mention my dad moonlights as a CSI consultant?”
I gave her a look. “Talia. No.”
Talia already had her phone out. “We just need a place and a brush.”
***
That evening, we sneaked into her dad’s tiny home lab—he’d converted their garage into a workspace for his freelance case reports. Most kids had ping-pong tables or unused treadmills in their garages.Talia had evidence bags and a chemical cabinet.
“This is such a bad idea,” I muttered as she pulled out fingerprint powder.
“You’ll thank me later,” she said.
With latex gloves and way too much confidence, she dabbed at the paper with a soft brush. I held the desk lamp closer as a faint smudge appeared.
“Got something,” she murmured.
She scanned the print using a portable reader her dad had left charging.
A small window popped up: No match found.
I exhaled. “So… not in the system.”
“Either that,” Talia said, “or they wiped the paper and only left a partial.”
I leaned back against the wall, rubbing my temples. “This is insane. Someone watched me. Someone wanted me to read that.”
“Yeah. And whoever it was didn’t want to be identified.”
We sat in silence for a beat.
Then she asked, “You want to guess who might’ve done it?”
I thought of Ryder… but shook my head. Why would he warn me about something that made him look bad?
My thoughts flicked to Jace. He’d been on edge lately. Defensive. But would he go this far?
Maybe. But if he knew something about Ryder, wouldn’t he just tell me?
Unless… he thought I wouldn’t listen.
My grip tightened on the edge of the desk.
Talia watched me spiral for a few seconds before snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Okay, stop. You’re doing that thing where you disappear into your own head.”
“I’m trying to figure this out—”
“By overthinking yourself into a panic attack?” She crossed her arms. “Look, if you really want answers, just ask them.”
I blinked. “Ask who?”
“Jace. Ryder. Whoever you think might know something.” She shrugged. “Walk up and say, ‘Hey, did you leave a cryptic note in my locker?’ Watch their face. You’ll know.”
“That’s your genius plan?”
“It’s direct. And honestly? Maybe it’s not even about them. Maybe it’s some random person who saw something and wants to help but is too scared to come forward.” She tilted her head. “Or maybe it’s just someone messing with you because drama is currency in high school.”
I wanted to argue, but she had a point. I could drive myself crazy trying to decode a note that might mean nothing.
“You know what?” Talia said, pushing off the desk. “Forget the note for a second. Can we talk about the actually important thing happening in your life?”
“What?”
“Ryder Black.” Her grin was wicked. “The way he looked at you today in the hallway? Nova, that boy is into you.”
Heat crept up my neck. “He’s not—”
“He is. And you’re into him too. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“We’re project partners.”
“Project partners who have approximately four thousand watts of s*xual tension between them.” She nudged me. “When are you going to do something about it?”
“Never,” I said automatically. “He’s complicated. I’m complicated. We’d be a disaster.”
“Or,” she countered, “you’d be exactly what each other needs. He sees you, Nova. Like, really sees you. That’s rare.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Because she was right. Ryder did see me—the messy, angry, determined parts I tried to hide from everyone else. And instead of running, he leaned in closer.
“Just think about it,” Talia said softly. “You’ve spent so much time proving you don’t need anyone. Maybe it’s okay to want someone anyway.”
My phone buzzed before I could respond.
I pulled it out, expecting a text from my mom asking when I’d be home.
But it wasn’t Mom.
It was Ryder.
- Writer
