chapter 13
1371 Words
chapter 13
By the time Sandra and Monica left the dorm, it had spread beyond screens.
They saw the first poster near the cafeteria doors.
Sandra stopped walking.
It was printed on bright pink paper, taped crookedly to the wall.
A screenshot from the match — her mid-swing, face tense, eyes half-shut in concentration. But someone had paused it at the worst possible frame, her expression twisted into something awkward and exaggerated.
Across the top, in bold black letters:
“QUEEN OF ALMOST”
Monica sucked in a breath. “Oh my—”
Sandra didn’t move.
More posters lined the hallway. Lockers. Notice boards. Even the glass near the stairwell.
Different pictures. Different captions.
“TRYING HARD ISN’T THE SAME AS BEING GOOD”
“FROM STREAK TO WEAK”
Laughter drifted from down the corridor.
Students weren’t even pretending not to look.
They stared openly. Whispered behind hands. Phones lifted slightly, like she was something to record, not a person walking past.
Sandra’s skin felt too tight.
Every step forward felt like walking through heat.
Monica moved closer to her side, shoulder brushing hers. “Don’t look at them,” she murmured. “Just keep walking.”
Sandra kept her face straight, eyes forward.
This was a feeling she knew.
Being watched. Judged. Reduced to a version of herself she didn’t recognize.
Except before, it had been quieter. Behind doors. In adult voices she wasn’t supposed to hear.
Now it was neon. Public. Pinned to walls.
Someone snickered as they passed. “That’s her.”
“Thought she was all that.”
Sandra’s hands curled into fists, nails pressing into her palms.
Don’t react.
Don’t give them the show.
Monica stopped suddenly in front of a locker and started ripping a poster down.
“Mon—”
“I don’t care,” Monica snapped, crumpling the paper. “This is bullying.”
Another student walked by, filming. Monica shot them a glare so sharp they lowered the phone immediately.
Sandra exhaled slowly through her nose.
“It’s fine,” she said, voice flat.
“It’s not fine!”
Sandra turned her head slightly. “If we fight every wall, we’ll never reach class.”
Monica’s eyes softened, hurt mixing with anger. She dropped the torn poster into a trash can but stayed close, almost like she was bracing Sandra from impact.
They turned the corner.
Emily stood near the water fountain with two girls from the committee, phone in hand, watching the hallway like she was waiting for a performance.
Her gaze landed on Sandra.
A slow smile spread across her face.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Satisfied.
Sandra held her gaze as she walked past.
Didn’t speed up. Didn’t look away.
Her heart pounded so hard she was sure Monica could hear it, but her expression stayed calm — the same mask she’d worn through worse days than this.
Emily tilted her head slightly, like she was disappointed there was no meltdown.
“Cute walk,” she called lightly. “Confidence is everything, right?”
Monica bristled, but Sandra touched her arm briefly.
Not here.
Not like this.
They kept walking.
Only when they reached the stairwell, out of sight, did Sandra’s shoulders drop a fraction.
Monica turned to her. “Say the word and I will drag her to the principal’s office myself.”
Sandra stared at the concrete steps.
Humiliation burned, but beneath it something harder was forming. Colder.
“She wants me loud,” Sandra said quietly. “She wants tears. Anger. A scene.”
Monica’s voice softened. “What do you want?”
Sandra lifted her chin slightly.
“I want to win where she can’t photoshop it.”
Monica blinked. “Sandra…”
Sandra started up the stairs.
“She can hang pictures,” she said. “I’ll hang results.”
Her chest still hurt. Her stomach still twisted when she pictured those posters.
But step by step, something else walked beside the hurt now.
Resolve.
And this time, it wasn’t just about tennis.
Sandra saw him before he saw her.
Or at least, she thought he hadn’t.
Tim stood near the main notice board where three of the worst posters were taped side by side. A small crowd lingered nearby, pretending to scroll on their phones while clearly watching.
His jaw was tight.
Not amused.
Not impressed.
Tight.
For one fragile second, something in Sandra loosened.
Then Emily stepped into his space.
Too close.
She said something Sandra couldn’t hear, smiling up at him like they shared a private joke. She reached up — casual, practiced — and peeled one of the posters off the wall.
Sandra’s heart jumped.
But instead of crumpling it or throwing it away…
Emily handed it to him.
Tim looked down at it.
And didn’t immediately drop it.
That was all it took.
Sandra’s chest went hollow.
Monica muttered, “Unbelievable.”
Tim said something — short, unreadable — and Emily laughed, touching his arm lightly. He didn’t move away fast enough.
To Sandra, it felt like confirmation.
Of course.
Why wouldn’t he be over there? Emily was polished, powerful, socially untouchable. Standing next to her meant safety. Status.
Standing next to Sandra meant becoming a target.
She looked away before the sting in her eyes could turn into something worse.
“I need air,” she said quietly.
Monica glanced between her and the scene down the hall. “You want me to—”
“No. Go to class. I’ll be fine.”
She wasn’t fine.
But she walked anyway.
Outside, the air felt too bright, too open. She sat on the low wall near the sports field, elbows on her knees, staring at the ground.
Her throat hurt.
Not because of Emily.
Because she had almost believed—
Footsteps approached.
“Sandra?”
Harvey.
Of course.
He sat beside her without asking, close but not touching. “I saw the posters. This place can be so stupid.”
She gave a small shrug. “It’s whatever.”
“It’s not whatever.” His voice softened. “You don’t deserve that.”
The words were kind. Easy. Safe.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Harvey hesitated, then bumped his shoulder gently against hers. “You know you’re still amazing, right? One game doesn’t change that.”
She gave him a faint smile. “Thanks.”
Silence stretched.
Not heavy — just quiet.
He turned slightly toward her. “I hate seeing you like this.”
She didn’t look at him. “Like what?”
“Like you’re carrying everything alone.”
That hit closer than she expected.
Before she could respond, he reached for her hand.
She froze.
His fingers were warm, steady. Familiar.
Safe.
But her heart didn’t react.
Didn’t race. Didn’t stumble.
It just… stayed quiet.
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until his face was close enough that she could see the nervous hope in his eyes.
And suddenly—
It felt wrong.
Not bad.
Not disgusting.
Just… not right.
Her body leaned back before her brain caught up.
“Harvey—” she said softly, pulling her hand free.
He stopped immediately. Blinked. “Sorry. I just thought— I mean—”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I just… I can’t. Not right now.”
His shoulders fell, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Bad timing.”
But it wasn’t timing.
That was the part she couldn’t explain.
Because as she sat there, heart aching, humiliated, overwhelmed…
The face that kept flashing in her mind wasn’t Harvey’s.
It was Tim’s.
Standing in that hallway.
Looking at that poster.
Standing next to Emily.
And hating that it hurt.
Harvey gave her a small, sad smile. “Still friends?”
She nodded immediately. “Always.”
He stood after a moment. “I’ll walk you back later if you want.”
“Okay.”
When he left, Sandra exhaled shakily.
Her emotions felt tangled, knotted in ways she couldn’t separate.
Embarrassment. Anger. Guilt.
And underneath it all…
Disappointment.
Not in Harvey.
In Tim.
Because she didn’t know what she’d expected.
But it hadn’t been that.
- Writer
