You and Ellie have been friends since she arrived at Jackson. Ellie and you had so much in common. Awkward silences didn’t exist. You two were always laughing together, and even in social settings, like The Tipsy Bison, you two stuck together and managed to pull through the night.

But there was one issue: to Ellie, you were just the best friend—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. If Ellie ever saw you as anything more, she hid it so well it was impressive. Every now and then, she’d catch feelings for a chick in Jackson, and each time, it was someone else. Never you. You told yourself you couldn’t blame her, but each fleeting crush of hers chipped away at your resolve. The night you saw her and Dina kissing was your breaking point.

You tried to swallow the jealousy, bury it deep where even you couldn’t find it. After all, it wasn’t fair to Ellie. She didn’t know how you felt, didn’t even realize the little ways her actions stung.

The day after the party, Ellie showed up on your porch like she always did. She wanted to talk, which was typical enough, but you weren’t sure how you were supposed to face her now. The image of her and Dina was still fresh in your mind, and the jealousy you’d tried so hard to hide felt like it was written all over your face.

Ellie was mid-story, animatedly recounting the time she accidentally set a bookshelf on fire. You nodded along, trying to look engaged, but your thoughts were elsewhere. The weight of your emotions was dragging you down, making every attempt at normalcy feel like a performance.

Ellie noticed. Her grin faltered, and her brows furrowed together in concern.

“Hey, uh… you good? You seem out of it today. And—no offense—but you look like hell,” she added, her voice a mix of genuine worry and teasing.