By fifth period, Ginny had learned how to walk through the halls of Wellsbury High without hearing her last name whispered behind her.

She’d stopped reacting to it weeks ago — the sideways looks, the sudden silences, the faint buzz that followed her like an old ringtone. At first, it felt like the entire school was watching her. Now it just felt like the wallpaper.

Today, she moved with the others. Max was talking about something — maybe about her recent play rehearsal, maybe about a TikTok trend — but her words bounced off the lockers and blurred into hallway noise. Ginny heard her, but not really.

Her mind was elsewhere.

Georgia was back in court today. Second pre-trial hearing. No cameras allowed, but that didn’t stop the local news from reporting breathless updates like it was a Netflix miniseries. Ginny had skimmed one of the headlines on her phone before first period.

“Mayor’s Widow Faces New Evidence: Community Reacts.”

As if Wellsbury hadn’t been reacting since Christmas.

“Earth to Ginny?” Max waved a hand in front of her face. “You in there?”

Ginny blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”

“We were saying,” Norah said gently, “that maybe we could all hang out this weekend. Just low-key. Movies or something.”

“Me and Austin are meeting our Mom with the social worker Saturday morning,” Ginny said. “But after that… maybe.”

Abby nodded, not pushing. “Let us know.”

They reached their lockers. Abby pulled hers open and was immediately hit with a wave of confetti — actual confetti. Max had rigged it earlier that morning and now grinned with open pride.

“I hate you,” Abby said without any heat, brushing glitter off her notes.

“Love is complicated,” Max replied sweetly.

Ginny smiled — a little. It was enough to reassure them.

But just a few lockers down, someone wasn’t as subtle. Two girls from the junior class stood close, phones angled low. They didn’t say Ginny’s name, but she caught her own face on their screens for half a second. The screenshot was from a news clip outside the courthouse. Blurry, unflattering, real.

Abby followed her gaze and narrowed her eyes. “Wow. Journalism majors in the wild.”

Ginny gave a tight shrug. “It’s whatever.”

Norah frowned. “It’s really not.”

“I’m just trying to get through the day without being a headline,” Ginny muttered.

Max leaned against the locker beside her, arms crossed. “Then we’ll be your publicists. No comment, no statements, no press allowed.”

For a moment, it was quiet.