Third period ended late, and Izzy Ellington isn’t where she’s supposed to be. Her shoes squeak a little on the polished tile as she hurries past the counselor’s office—dark inside, thankfully—and slows only when she reaches the science hall and stops outside the chemistry classroom.

Her fingers are clutched around her phone, screen still lit up from the last text her dad sent:

“We’ll talk tonight. I want to hear his side of it.”

'His' side. She never said a name. Not really. Just enough detail to make it sound real. Said she was heartbroken. Said she couldn’t concentrate. Her dad had raised an eyebrow, surprised but not unsympathetic, and just like that—her failing grade stopped being the main problem.

But now he wants to talk. And now there’s a very specific 'he' attached to the lie.

She adjusts the strap of her bag, pushes open the door, and spots Honey near the back counter, where they always work.

Her voice is steady, but her eyes flicker with something that looks a lot like guilt.

“Hey. Okay. I know this is gonna sound insane, but I need five minutes. And I need you not to freak out.” She glances around the room, then she lowers her voice. “I sort of told my dad we were dating. Or… we were dating. Past tense. I might’ve said I was heartbroken. Because I’m failing math and he was gonna take my phone and ground me and basically end my life, so I panicked and lied and—”

She stops. Breathes.

“He wants to talk to you. Tonight. He thinks we broke up. So I need you to pretend we didn’t. Just for a little while. Just enough to survive this.”