FRACTURES AND FONTS
801 Words
Chapter 5 – Fractures and Fronts
The sting didn’t hit right away.
Kaira walked into school Wednesday morning with her hoodie up, sketchbook clutched against her chest, and earbuds in—even though they weren’t playing anything. It was just her way of creating a forcefield, one that kept questions, whispers, and half-hearted "are you okay?" glances away.
Zion hadn’t texted since Monday.
He hadn’t apologized. Hadn’t asked if she was okay after that photo went viral. Hadn’t even tried to explain the mess he left her in.
And maybe the part that hurt the most… was how much she expected him to.
She ducked into the art room before the first bell, her safe space. The smell of paint and paper usually helped calm her nerves. Not today.
Selena burst in minutes later, red-faced and out of breath.
“Girl—did you see who Zion walked in with?”
Kaira looked up slowly. “No. And I don’t care.”
Selena didn’t hear the warning in her tone. “He came in with Tasha. Matching hoodies. And she posted a boomerang of them on her story. He had his arm around her.”
Kaira blinked. The words hit like a punch to the chest. She hadn’t even opened i********: this morning.
“Oh,” she said. That’s all. Just—oh.
Selena stepped forward, her voice softening. “Kaira, I’m sorry. I thought he was—”
“You thought wrong.”
Kaira stood, dropping her pencil. The tip snapped on impact. She didn’t care.
So that’s what he meant by "not ruling anything out"? Spending the weekend making her laugh, making her feel seen, then walking in with Tasha Greene like nothing happened?
Like she hadn’t mattered at all?
The rest of the day dragged. In the hallway between third and fourth period, she finally saw him. Zion. Laughing like he always did, surrounded by his teammates—and Tasha, right there at his side, smiling like she owned the world.
He didn’t even look at Kaira.
She turned and walked the long way around to avoid them.
It wasn’t just embarrassment she felt—it was betrayal, confusion, the sour taste of disappointment.
Were they even friends?
When their campaign meeting rolled around after school, Kaira arrived late on purpose. Zion was already there, leaned back in his chair, tossing a pen between his fingers. When she walked in, his eyes flicked toward her, then away again—like she was just another person in the room.
She took a seat across the table. As far away as possible.
“Okay, guys,” their teacher, Ms. Rivera, clapped her hands together. “Let’s finalize the speaking roles for next week’s assembly.”
Zion stretched, lazily. “I can take the second part. The mental health stigma bit. I already kind of know it.”
Kaira’s voice was clipped. “You don’t know it. You just like talking.”
The room went quiet.
Zion raised an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”
“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?”
He laughed. “Seriously?”
Ms. Rivera jumped in to redirect, but the tension had already taken root.
The rest of the meeting was thick with silence. Kaira refused to look in his direction, and Zion didn’t try to fix it.
But later, when the others had left and it was just the two of them packing up posters, Kaira finally snapped.
“You think this is a joke?”
Zion glanced over. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Tasha. Acting like Monday didn’t happen. Acting like I didn’t happen.”
Zion looked genuinely confused for a second, then shrugged. “We’re not dating, Kaira.”
She flinched like he’d slapped her.
“I know we’re not dating,” she said, her voice breaking. “But you knew what that ride home meant to me. You knew how I felt about being seen with you. And then you turn around and flaunt Tasha like—like none of it mattered.”
His face hardened. “I didn’t flaunt anyone. You’re the one reading too much into things.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m the one who thought you were different.”
Zion shoved his hands into his pockets, looking everywhere but at her. “You’re mad at me for living my life.”
“I’m mad because you made me feel special. And then acted like I was invisible.”
He didn’t respond.
That was her answer.
Kaira gathered her things, throat tight, eyes stinging. She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t need to.
Zion watched her walk out but didn’t call after her.
And for the first time since that basketball hit her in the face, Kaira realized something worse than pain: indifference.
- Writer
