The first crack came in a whisper.
Lottie caught it during math class, a half-muffled snicker from the row behind her, followed by a hissed, "Did you see what Amy posted?"
Her fingers tightened reflexively around her pen. The numbers on the worksheet blurred as her pulse surged, and for a second, the edge of her vision prickled white. She forced a slow, steady breath, feeling the cold press of metal against her palm, the slight tremor in her fingers betraying the storm flickering under her skin.
Amy.
Lottie's gaze flicked sideways—there she was, Amy, head bowed over her phone, thumbs trembling against the screen. Her face was a mask of nervous excitement, lips parted just slightly, as if she were holding her breath with every tap. The fluorescent lights overhead painted pale streaks across Amy's hair, catching on the sweat-damp strands clinging to her forehead.
So it begins.
Leo caught her eye from two rows over, one eyebrow lifting in a wordless warning. His pen paused mid-spin between his fingers, and when their gazes locked, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—half a smirk, half a caution, the barest tilt of his head as if to say, Buckle up.
The bell rang, sharp and abrupt, slicing through the murmurs like a whip crack.
Chairs scraped, bags zipped, the tide of students surged into the hallway. Lottie moved slower, deliberate, slipping into the current without letting the undertow pull her down. The cool press of the locker handles beneath her fingertips grounded her, anchoring her in the maelstrom of chatter swirling around.
She kept her head tilted just enough to catch fragments of conversation.
"—I heard she cheated—"
"—yeah, Amy said she saw it herself—"
"—I don't know, she's been acting weird lately—"
Each word was a pebble in the avalanche Evelyn had set rolling.
By the lockers, Evelyn stood with her inner circle, all sleek hair, perfect smiles, and calculated ease. Her hand rested lightly on Amy's shoulder, a gesture so casual it practically screamed possession. Amy's laugh was too loud, too sharp, cracking at the edges as she leaned into Evelyn's orbit. Her fingers twisted nervously at the hem of her blazer, knuckles pale.
Lottie stopped just at the corner, one hand resting on the cool metal of the lockers. Her reflection glimmered faintly in the scratched surface—a flicker of pale skin, dark eyes, and the faintest curl of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Play your hand, Evelyn. Show me how you fold.
"Hey."
The voice came low and easy at her side. Leo. He leaned against the locker beside hers, arms crossed, eyes flicking between Evelyn's group and the swirl of students. "Looks like your fan club's expanding."
Lottie tilted her head, voice soft as silk, the barest hint of amusement dancing at the edge. "Let them."
His grin sharpened, a flicker of wolfish charm. "You're a dangerous woman, Hayes."
"Flatterer." She slipped a notebook from her locker, brushing past him with a flick of her hair, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake. "Keep an eye on Amy."
His voice followed, faintly amused, the warmth of his breath brushing her ear as she passed. "Already on it."
Lunch was a battlefield.
The cafeteria buzzed with static energy, eyes darting, whispers curling like smoke between tables. Lottie moved with quiet precision, tray balanced in her hands as she made her way to the back. She could feel it—the shift, the weight of a hundred sidelong glances brushing her skin. It crawled across the back of her neck, a prickling awareness that raised goosebumps along her arms.
Amy sat at Evelyn's table now. Not beside her, of course—that spot was reserved for the queen—but close enough to glow in the reflected light. Her laughter trilled too high, too thin, the edges of desperation sharpening each word. Her fingers fidgeted restlessly with a water bottle, peeling at the label until it shredded in damp strips.
And there it is, Lottie thought, settling into her seat by the window. She picked at her food, eyes half-lidded, posture loose. From here, she could watch it all unfold: the smiles, the whispers, the calculated exchanges. Her heart beat in a steady rhythm beneath her ribs, like the drumline before a war.
"Don't you care?" Amy's voice floated over, brittle and bright. "I mean, it's just… weird how fast some people change."
A sharp laugh from Evelyn, fingers brushing Amy's arm with feigned affection. "Oh, Amy, you're too softhearted. Some people just can't handle the spotlight."
Lottie's jaw tightened for half a second before she forced herself to relax, exhaling slow and steady. Her phone buzzed on the table, the vibration rattling against the plastic tray, sharp as a needle prick.
Leo:Brace yourself. Big smear wave coming.
Let them come.
She typed back, fingers tapping out a measured, almost lazy rhythm. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the phone screen, the cool gleam of her eyes, the sharp line of her mouth. She set the phone down carefully, watching the ripple spread across the room.
In the next class, the fallout hit.
Lottie slid into her seat, spine straight, gaze cool. The air was thick with tension, a stormfront pressing against the backs of their necks. On the school forum, post after post lit up, a wildfire of innuendo and accusation.
Did you hear about Lottie??
Amy says she saw everything.
Wow, two-faced much??
She scrolled once, twice. There—Amy's name, attached to a string of vague, insinuating comments. Trembling fingers, brittle smiles, a hunger for belonging so sharp it cut her to the bone.
A soft sigh escaped Lottie's lips, barely audible. She shut her phone off with a flick of her thumb, sliding it back into her pocket. The faint weight of it pressed against her thigh, a reminder, a tether.
Pity won't save you, Amy.
Her eyes flicked forward just in time to catch Evelyn glancing back, the barest flicker of triumph flashing in her expression before smoothing into something soft and sweet. Lottie tilted her head slightly, one corner of her mouth curving upward in a whisper of a smile.
By the final bell, the cracks were clear.
Classmates flinched away as she passed, conversations snapping shut like trapdoors. Evelyn watched it all with the serene pleasure of a puppeteer pulling strings, the faintest curve of satisfaction at her lips. Her fingers danced idly along the edge of her desk, nails tapping a soundless rhythm.
But Lottie's stride didn't falter. If anything, she walked slower, a queen unbothered by the murmuring court. Her footsteps were soft but sure, the faint creak of polished leather on linoleum, the brush of her sleeve against her side. She felt every glance, every breathless whisper, let them sink into her skin like tiny thorns—and smiled.
She passed Amy by the lockers, and for one charged second, their gazes met. Amy's eyes were wide, glittering with panic, the flush high on her cheeks. Her mouth parted, as if to speak—but nothing came. Her hands trembled at her sides, fists clenching and unclenching with restless uncertainty.
Lottie smiled. Small. Sharp. And moved on, the echo of her footsteps swallowed by the rising hum of hallway chatter.
That night, the house was too quiet.
Lottie sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees, the blue glow flickering across her face. Post after post rolled by, the noise of teenage fury and fascination distilled into flashing pixels. The faint whir of the ceiling fan stirred her hair, cool air brushing her skin in uneven bursts.
A soft ping.
Leo:You okay?
Her fingers hovered for a moment before typing back.
Lottie:Better than Evelyn thinks.
A breath caught in her throat as she hit send, the faintest crack in the mask she wore even alone. Across the hall, Evelyn's voice drifted faintly—soft laughter, a syrupy sweetness she wore like a mask. Lottie leaned back against her pillows, eyes half-closed, the memory of Amy's trembling hands surfacing like a ghost.
A sharp breath. A flicker of regret, fast and fleeting.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid drum of her heartbeat, the hot twist of adrenaline and something softer tangled beneath. She squeezed her eyes shut, for just a moment, before blinking them open again, cool focus settling in like ice poured over fire.
Then she opened a new tab, fingers flying across the keys, cool focus sharpening every thought.
Let the web tighten. When it snaps, I'll be the one holding the scissors.
Downstairs, a door creaked.
Lottie's heart jumped once, sharp and sudden, before settling. Footsteps padded past her door—Evelyn's, light and quick, almost a glide. The faint rustle of fabric, the soft click of her door closing, barely loud enough to stir the silence.
Lottie listened. Waited.
And smiled in the dark, the faintest quiver of anticipation sparking beneath her skin, fingers flexing lightly on the edge of her laptop as the night pressed close around her, thick with the promise of storms to come.