I woke up with the delightful certainty that my face resembled an overripe tomato—red, puffy, and utterly unappealing. Which was impressive, considering I hadn't even cried. No tears, just pure, unfiltered misery. A whole night spent tossing, turning, and rereading every text Seth and I had exchanged over the last year like I was conducting a forensic investigation. And after all that analysis, I still landed on the same undeniable truth:
I am not crazy.
No, Seth is the one with a warped perception of reality. Or maybe that was just his version of the truth? Maybe we had both somehow misunderstood each other in the grand tradition of tragic miscommunication. That realization didn't magically lessen the sting, but it did get me to a point of acceptance. Not the kind where I felt like reconciling, or even exchanging polite nods in passing, but at least I had moved beyond the stage where I wanted to curse him into oblivion.
I shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and gulped it down while standing there like an exhausted drama heroine.
Then a door creaked open. I turned my head, and there was Mae, sleep-tousled and dressed in a camisole and shorts, her robe flapping open like she was fresh off a glamorous disaster.
I looked away immediately. Heaven forbid these two sniff out my emotional state and start digging. That would be the worst thing imaginable—right behind running into Seth.
"Hey," Mae said, stretching like a sleepy cat. "You completely disappeared last night."
She moved toward the fridge, and I instinctively edged away, leaning on the kitchen island like I was casually detached from the world and not in full-blown crisis mode.
"Yeah," I muttered, "it was too loud and made me sick."
Mae let out this soft, world-weary sigh like I was a chronic condition she'd just learned to live with. "Only June Ellis would get sick from attending a party."
I gave her the most convincing pretend-smile I could manage. "I did say I wasn't in the party mood yesterday."
She pulled out a carton of milk and started making coffee like this was a normal Tuesday and not the aftermath of emotional implosion.
"You missed a lot," she said, tone casual but baited.
"Why? Did you two win the competition?" I asked, knowing full well that if they had, she wouldn't be easing into it—there'd be a confetti cannon and a slideshow.
Her shoulders went stiff. She turned to glare at me, eyes sharp like she was ready to throw down. "Don't mock us, okay? Who knew Regina would be that unfair? She literally paid off all the guys."
Right. Sure she did. I mean, unless Regina secretly moonlights as a billionaire's brat with a bribe fund… but hey, let her have her villain origin story.
"Right," I said, nodding along like a supportive background character."So you guys didn't win."
And just like that, a little sliver of sunshine broke through my emotional cloud cover. Misery really does love company.
"But don't pity us," she added quickly, straightening up like a plot twist was coming. "A few guys took our numbers last night."
"Sure."
And probably lost them somewhere between the beer pong table and their seventh round of Fortnite. I didn't say that.
"Pretty sure we'll be going on dates very soon."
I nodded, all sweet and agreeable. "Of course."
Let's be real—it would be kind of poetic if Mae and Lyn also didn't get what they wanted. Not that I'm rooting for anyone's downfall… but balance in the universe, right? As long as they didn't sniff out the truth—and I had zero plans of sharing—I could ride out junior year in peace. No more drama. No more heartbreak. Just me, my grades, and my dreams.
Lyn's door creaked open and there she was: blonde hair looking like it lost a fight with a pillow, no makeup, and beauty levels dialed down to something almost… relatable. She would absolutely perish if anyone besides Mae and me ever saw her like this. Her usual porcelain-perfect look was branded as "I woke up like this"—never mind the thirty-minute ritual and three setting sprays involved.
"Good morning," I chirped, oddly cheerful now that I wasn't the only one feeling like a half-crushed soda can.
Lyn reached a hand toward me dramatically—face twisted in what looked like physical and spiritual agony—then made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and chugged it like she'd just crossed the Sahara barefoot.
"Ugh. Why does alcohol have to be so freaking hard on the head?" She groaned, massaging her temple with a set of perfectly manicured fingers that probably cost more than my entire week's groceries.
"That's what happens when you get drunk," I offered helpfully, like a public service announcement.
She shot me a look. You know the kind. If glares could kill, I'd be six feet under in yesterday's pajamas.
"As if you'd know about it," she muttered.
Mae chimed in, joining the judgment circle. "Yeah, June. You still not drinking?"
It wasn't that I had a vendetta against alcohol. I just didn't think hangovers worth it. I liked my brain cells unpickled.
But of course—trust Mae and Lyn to find something about me worth dissecting like it was their civic duty.
"No wonder you don't enjoy parties," Mae said, tossing her hair like she was dropping wisdom. "If you stay sober, how can it be any fun for you?"
Yeah, that's definitely the part I don't enjoy. Not the suffocating crowd, the bathroom line that wraps around the building, or the mysterious sticky floor. Nope. Definitely the sobriety.
I pivoted before they could take a full swing at my lifestyle choices. "Mae told me you guys lost the competition?" I asked, letting just a hint of sympathy drip into my voice—like honey laced with vinegar. Inside? I was mentally clinking a champagne glass.
"By a slim margin," Lyn said, already in PR mode, "but at least we got praises from Kai."
Who?
I didn't ask. Asking would mean unleashing a dramatic monologue about a walking Instagram filter with generational wealth. And I had neither the patience nor the caffeine for that conversation.
"Right. Better luck next time," I said, already halfway to retreating into the warm safety of my room-slash-sanity bubble.
But then, Lyn did the unthinkable. She asked a question. A real one.
"Are you okay, June?"
I stopped mid-step, blinked, and turned back like she'd just asked for the square root of emotional vulnerability.
"Why do you ask?"
She gave this tiny shrug as she perched herself on a stool by the island—a surprisingly casual move for someone who usually posed like she was waiting for a Vogue photographer to swing by.
"You look down," she said. "Your eyes are a little red. Did you… cry?"
"What. Why?"
And now both of them were staring at me. Like, really staring. I almost—almost—let myself believe they were concerned. Maybe they were. Or maybe they were just trying to get the gossip straight before someone else beat them to it.
"Just asking," Lyn finally said, all innocent-like, as if she hadn't just emotionally poked me with a stick.
Mae, meanwhile, had no time for subtlety. "Did you have a fight with Seth?" she asked, going straight for the jugular. "Because we went over to him and asked for permission, and he gave us."
Permission. The word alone made my eye twitch.
I opened my mouth to respond, but of course, she wasn't done. Mae rarely stopped when she hit a nerve—she liked to twist the knife just a little first.
"You need to learn to relax, June," she said, as if she were my therapist and not the same girl who thought green juice was the cure for heartbreak. "All this reading and learning is making you tense. Breathe fresh air. Live a little."
It would've been decent advice, honestly—if it hadn't come from someone who thought "living a little" meant dating a guy with a six-pack and a boat, and "fresh air" meant vaping outside the club.
I gave her my best agreeable smile. "Sure, Mae. But Seth and I didn't fight. And for future reference," I added, trying very hard to sound polite, "I'd prefer it if neither of you ever called him again to ask for permission. We are two separate human beings."
They gave each other that look. You know the one. The "here she goes again" look. The "isn't she just so uptight and weird" look. The kind of glance that makes you feel like you're speaking a foreign language In your own kitchen.
And then they laughed.
I wish I could say I didn't care. But I did. Just a little.
"It's not like we did something wrong," Lyn said, in that blameless tone people use right after doing exactly that.
"Yeah, June, you're overthinking," Mae added. "We didn't ask for permission to go partying. We just called to check on him—"
"'Cause he's our friend," Lyn chimed in like it was the chorus of a well-rehearsed pop song.
"And then we found out you didn't have any plans. That was it."
I stared at them with clear disbelief. As if I didn't know them, as if I wasn't aware of their ability to talk someone into doing something they didn't want.
Lyn threw her hands up like she was surrendering to the sheer injustice of being misunderstood, then crossed the kitchen floor and stopped in front of me with all the grace of someone about to deliver a life lesson no one asked for.
"It would be nice, though, if you stopped using him as an excuse not to go out with us."
"That would be nice," Mae echoed, like backup vocals.
I'll admit—they weren't wrong. Not totally. I had been using Seth as a social shield. A human excuse. A get-out-of-partying-free card. But since that option had officially self-destructed, I'd have to start getting creative. Maybe adopt a mysterious illness. Or claim a sudden addiction to puzzles.
"That's fine," I said. "Just know I won't be doing any bikini party. Ever."
"Of course," Lyn said sweetly. "We know you're shy and embarrassed about your body."
"And if you'd just stop eating so much ramen," Mae added like she was offering the cure to all my problems.
Yup. Time to eject.
"Alright," I said, already backing toward my room. "Nice talking to you guys. I'll be in my room—"where the emotional manipulation is slightly more subtle.
And with that, I made my escape.
The next few days saw me avoiding the dorm like it had been cursed by a very lazy witch—no hexes, just enough bad vibes to make me sprint in the opposite direction. I didn't want to risk bumping into Mae and Lyn, not when I was freshly wounded and they were still high on lip gloss and delusion.
They were partying, of course. As if heartbreak wasn't even a thing people went through unless it could be posted with a crying selfie and a filter. And as for the much-hyped dates? One attempt. Just one. And it flopped harder than a B-movie on opening night.
"No bodies," Lyn had scoffed with a hair flip so aggressive I was surprised her extensions didn't fly out.
"How could they even look at us?" Mae had added, practically clutching her pearls. "They can't even afford our breakfast bills. Pathetic."
I didn't know those poor guys, but I wish I did. I would've bought them a coffee and given them a supportive nod. Going on a date with Mae and Lyn sounded like walking into a glittery buzzsaw.
After that, it was back to their regularly scheduled programming: weekend parties and weekday worship of the elite girls—Helen and Regina. The hierarchy in this school was exhausting. Apparently, it's not enough to be pretty and popular. You also have to beg for table scraps from girls who think "charity" means letting you tag them in an Instagram story.
I couldn't even enjoy their failure. Not really. I was too busy doing what I do best—avoiding involvement. I'd become an expert in the fine art of ghosting my own life.
At one point, I even hid out in a pub. A pub, of all places. Me. Voluntarily subjecting myself to sticky floors, deafening music, and a guy in the corner trying to perform slam poetry. But I knew they'd never think to look for me there, which made it the perfect hideout.
When I spotted them loitering just outside the pub, I nearly choked on my fries. I stayed rooted to that uncomfortable barstool until they left—thirty minutes of pretending I wasn't slowly losing my hearing and possibly my will to live.
I knew eventually I'd run out of places to hide. That was fine. I just needed a little more time. A little more distance. Enough to rebuild the emotional buffer that Mae and Lyn had bulldozed with glitter and unsolicited advice.
Two weeks after the party, it finally happened—they caught me.
I knew they would, eventually. Avoidance could only work for so long before the forces of chaos found me again.
"June, we're going to the club tonight! Adam Bennett is going to be there," Mae declared with the kind of excitement usually reserved for lottery wins.
"And with Adam Bennett—" Lyn chimed in.
"There would be..." Mae paused dramatically.
"Kai Prescott!"
Cue collective squealing.
Apparently, they had expanded their ranks. At some point, they'd managed to recruit a few groupies, so now I was *officially* surrounded—four overly excited girls shrieking and grasping hands like kids at their first boy band concert.
Yeah. I had no idea who these people were, and I wasn't about to ask. That would just encourage them.
Instead, I took the safest route. "You guys have fun, then."
"June, for god's sake, breathe!" Mae threw her hands up in exasperation. "Are you planning to die a virgin?"
Ah, yes. The age-old concern.
No matter how they dressed, spoke, and carried themselves, we were all virgins. There had been a time when I thought I'd be the first to cross that particular threshold, and I'd planned to lord it over them forever. But that ship had sailed—drifted off into the horizon without me, never to be seen again.
Still, maybe they had a point. If I kept avoiding the social scene, no one would ever notice me. I could very well die a virgin.
And that disturbing thought?
It hit like peer pressure had hands—actual, physical ones—that grabbed me, hauled me out of my safe zone, and deposited me in a long, restless queue outside a club called The Velvet.
I looked like I belonged anywhere but here. The crowd, the noise, the flashing lights—it all felt like a foreign language I couldn't speak. Self-consciousness crept in, wrapping around me like a too-tight sweater. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I felt it.
A hand. Groping me In the dark.
The first time, I froze, convinced I must have imagined it. Surely no one would actually do that to me. Right?
Then it happened again.
I spun around, glaring at the guy behind me. He was older, taller, broader, with piercings that glinted under the dim club lights. My voice caught in my throat, swallowed by the pounding bass and the sheer size of him. I couldn't say anything, but there was no way I was going in like this.
I leaned toward Mae, keeping my voice low. "I don't think I want to be here."
"What are you talking about, June? It'll only be a moment now," she said, brushing me off like I was a child whining about bedtime.
"No, I mean I'm uncomfortable. I don't like it here." I tried to hint at what had happened, hoping she'd pick up on it. She didn't.
"Don't be dramatic, June. It's only been, what, twenty minutes?"
Lyn glanced over, her curiosity piqued. "What's wrong?"
Finally, someone reasonable. Or so I thought. I took a breath and said, "Someone just groped me here. I don't think this place is any good."
Lyn's reaction? A laugh. "What, lucky you, June."
I stared at her, unsure if she thought I was joking or if she genuinely didn't believe me. Either way, the laugh stung more than the hand in the dark.
I glared at Lyn, my voice sharp and unwavering. "I'm serious, you guys. This is the kind of place where girls get raped—spiked drinks, shady characters, the whole nightmare."
She laughed. And Mae joined in, like I'd just delivered the punchline to a joke. "As if anyone would go for you, June. Don't be ridiculous. If anyone should be afraid of things like that, shouldn't it be someone else?"
"Someone like her, for example," Lyn added, gesturing toward a girl in a short leather skirt and crop top, her tone dripping with condescension.
Fine. They didn't believe me. I didn't care anymore. "Well, I'm not going to stand in this line for one second longer."
"Running away again, June?" Mae's voice was laced with mockery. "When are you going to grow up and have some sense?"
Lyn shook her head, her expression a mix of disdain and disappointment. "You're acting very immature."
That was it. My frustration boiled over. "Someone just groped me!" I shouted, my voice rising above the noise of the crowd. I raised my hand in exasperation, my words spilling out in a rush. "And you don't believe me. Why should I stay here with you two? You only care about yourselves and what happens to you. But me? I'm on my own. Always."
They stared at me, their expressions unreadable, but the disdain was still there, lingering in the air like a bad smell.
I shook my head, the weight of everything crashing down on me. "And I think I'm done with this. Done with all of it. I don't know why I keep doing it—why I keep putting up with you two."
Mae and Lyn exchanged a look, their eyebrows raised in synchronized disbelief. "Putting up with us?" Lyn echoed, her voice sharp with indignation.
"You are out of your mind, June. Who's putting up with who?" Lyn's voice was sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade.
"You have nothing but us," Mae added, her tone dripping with superiority. "We're like your celebrity handbag—the one thing that makes you shine. If anything, we're the ones putting up with you."
"Look at you," Lyn continued, her gaze sweeping over me like I was some kind of exhibit. "Look at how you're dressed. Normal people wouldn't even look at you, let alone be friends with you. But we have. We've been there for you."
I couldn't believe my ears. Just when I thought they couldn't sink lower, couldn't hurt me more, they found a new high—or maybe it was a new low. Either way, it didn't matter.
"Fine," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "Then stop being friends with me. I never wanted your friendship In the first place. You two can go screw yourselves."
I flipped them off and walked away, ignoring the insults they hurled after me. My hands were shaking, my whole body trembling like I had a fever. But beneath the fear, there was something else—something lighter. I felt elated, like I could finally breathe after being suffocated for so long.
I had let them step on me for too long, let them treat me like their personal doormat. Now they thought it was their right, their privilege.
Well, not anymore.
Fuck them. Fuck the both of them and everything they stood for.
I had never argued like this before—not with them, not with anyone. But now? Now I felt like I could do more, go further, stand taller. And it felt incredible.
The very next day, we entered a full-blown Cold War. No one spoke a word to anyone. I didn't know if Mae and Lyn had turned their claws on each other too, and frankly, I didn't care. I was finally free.
Was it a little lonely? Sure. Silence has a way of echoing when you're used to constant chatter, even if it was mostly shallow. But I was happier than I was sad. I went about my days like a proper student for once—dorm to class, class to the professor's office, then back to the dorm. I actually looked like someone trying to build a future instead of an aesthetic.
Sometimes I stayed in my room, working on projects with my headphones on. Other times, I'd take my sketchbook or laptop to a cozy café, order the cheapest coffee on the menu, and lose myself in deadlines and line work.
I started coming home late, praying I wouldn't run into either of them in the shared living room. If I did, I'd keep my eyes on the floor and walk straight past like we were strangers who happened to rent the same air.
This uneasy peace lasted a week.
Then his text came in.
Seth had been texting me on and off, and I had been doing my best impersonation of a brick wall. I didn't want to hear his excuses or his apologies, and I definitely didn't want a play-by-play of how happy he was now. I just wanted him to live his life and forget mine ever existed.
But this time, I saw it as I was zipping up my bag after class—a fresh message flashing across my screen.
I was about to dismiss it like the rest, until I caught the first line:
Coming.
Coming?
I stared at the screen, my fingers frozen above the zipper. Coming where?
I opened the message.
Hey June, I'm coming to see you today. Let's talk about this properly.
My eyes widened.
A second text lit up the screen before I could even react:
I'm at your dorm. Are you here?
No. No, no, no. My mind started to scream.
If Mae and Lyn were at the dorm—and if they saw Seth first—if he started talking, even a little… they'd figure it out. The truth would spill out like a popped blister. That there was never a relationship. That I had just deceived myself into believing in something that never existed.
They'd crucify me.
Their glee would be so loud, so blindingly smug, it'd fill the whole dorm like smoke. I'd never live it down. It would bury me, thick and heavy, like being poured under concrete.
I fumbled for my things, stuffing sketchbooks and my laptop into my bag, nearly tearing my portfolio in the process. My brain wasn't working—I couldn't even remember what class I had next, or if I had any more today. All that mattered was getting back before Seth opened that mouth of his.
Please don't be at the dorm. Please. Please, Seth, be late for once in your life.
I should've called him, told him to meet me somewhere else—but all rational thought had packed its own bags and fled the scene. I could only think one thing: I had to get there first.
I bolted out of class, nearly knocking over a chair, and shot down the hallway. I dodged past a few people, muttering breathless apologies, until I whipped around a corner—
—and ran smack into someone.
The impact jolted me back a step. I didn't register anything—gender, face, height—just limbs and body heat and the startled noise they made.
"My God—I'm sorry! Please excuse me. I'm so sorry," I blurted out, already sidestepping them like a squirrel in traffic.
I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. People around us stared like I'd committed a public crime.
"Hey! Get back here!" someone called after me, indignant.
"I'm very sorry! I'm in a hurry!" I yelled over my shoulder. "I'll pay you back next time!"
I didn't even know what I was promising to pay for. Their coffee? Their emotional trauma? Didn't matter. I kept running, heart in my throat, praying I wasn't too late to stop everything from going nuclear.
I kept going, ignoring everything else. The world could've been on fire behind me and I wouldn't have turned around. Our dorm never seemed so far away, and the stairs—those godforsaken stairs—felt like Everest in a heatwave.
By the time I reached the door, I was panting, slick with sweat, my legs trembling like I'd just sprinted through a warzone. But Seth wasn't outside. He wasn't by the hallway or the front step.
Was I early? Please let me be early. Please.
Then I heard it—laughter.
I froze.
No. No, no, no. Not laughter.
My blood ran cold as the sound trickled out from under the door like smoke. That kind of laughter—the light, giddy, fake one girls like Mae and Lyn saved for someone impressive. Someone they could gossip about later with sugary malice.
I turned the knob with a hand that didn't feel like mine.
The door creaked open.
There he was. Seth. Sitting on a stool in the living room like he owned the damn place, smiling sheepishly, lifting a hand like he was fending off a joke or a flying shoe.
And Mae and Lyn—on the couch, hand over their mouths, their eyes sparkling like twin devils at a tea party.
He told them.
He told them.
The pitying look Mae sent me was the final nail. It hit me like a slap. Not angry. Not amused. Just pity. The kind of look you give someone you just realized is more broken than you thought.
Seth's smile dropped. He stood.
"June—you're back."
I didn't greet him. I didn't smile. "What did you tell them?" My voice came out sharp, clipped, brittle.
His mouth opened. Closed. He looked down like the coward he was. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't blame him," Lyn said brightly."We practically had to force it out of him."
"Yeah," Mae added. "It just sort of slipped."
Slipped. As if my entire public humiliation was a banana peel and Seth just stepped on it by accident.
"Listen, June," he tried again, reaching toward me like he could fix it. Like he deserved the chance.
But I couldn't hear him. I didn't want to.
I couldn't look at their faces—not his, not theirs, not the ruins of my own life.
The sting hit my eyes first, then the blur. I didn't even realize I was crying until the room doubled.
I turned and ran—just like I'd come. No bag. No books. Just the loud slam of the door behind me and the burn of betrayal crackling in my chest like wildfire.