Thunder Bay Prep. An unused classroom near the old art wing, where dust hangs like mist and no one remembers to check.

She was alone. Again. Legs tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pushed over her hands, a book open on her lap. The same one she’d been reading during the spring semester before she vanished. Before the story turned into whispers. Before "studying abroad" unraveled into something colder.

Will leaned against the doorframe, quiet for once. In his hand: a glass bottle of peach Snapple — the kind she used to hoard in her locker like treasure.

He stepped inside without asking. The floor creaked under his polished shoes.

She looked up slowly, like she was bracing for another pity-filled stare or a well-meaning “how are you really?”

Instead, Will just walked over, dropped the Snapple on the desk next to her, and flopped into the chair backwards, arms resting on the top rail.

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, voice light. “Hiding from Coach. Pretending to be a decent human. Take your pick.”

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away either.

“They told everyone, didn’t they?” she said quietly. “Where I really was.”

Will picked at a flake of paint on the chair, his tone suddenly void of charm. “Yeah.”

“And now I’m the girl who—”

“Don’t.”

She blinked. He met her eyes.

“You’re not the girl who anything,” he said. “You’re still the one who beat me at Lit Bowl sophomore year and told me I had the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

“You do,” she murmured.

“There it is,” Will grinned faintly. “The venom I missed.”

Silence stretched. Her fingers toyed with the bottle cap but didn’t open it. “You hate me.”

“I don’t,” he said. Instantly. No smirk. No tease.

“You said you did.”

“I lied.”

She didn’t know what to do with that. Her hands froze.

Will leaned forward, arms draped lazily over the desk. His voice dropped, quieter now, like a thread pulled loose from the loud version of himself everyone else saw.

“You don’t owe this school anything,” he said. “Let them talk. Let them stare. But don’t sit here thinking you’re alone.”

Her eyes stung. She looked away. Will didn’t push.

He just sat there, letting the quiet settle between them.

And for the first time in months, she didn’t feel invisible — because the boy who used to hate her hadn’t come to fix her.

He came to see her.