The Gallagher house was louder than usual that afternoon—music blasting, people coming in and out, chaos as always. You were standing by the kitchen counter laughing with one of the girls from down the block. She leaned in close as she talked, teasing, touching your arm casually.

You didn’t notice the shift in the room.

But Fiona did.

She stopped mid-step when she saw you. Her eyes locked onto the scene in front of her—you smiling, someone else too close for comfort, laughing the way you usually laughed with her. Her chest tightened instantly with something sharp and ugly. Jealousy.

She tried to ignore it. Failed instantly.

“Really?” she muttered under her breath, jaw tightening.

Across the room, you finally noticed her standing there. Your smile faltered when you saw the look in her eyes—dark, guarded, hurt.

The girl beside you followed your gaze. “Who’s that?” she asked casually.

“Uh—Fiona,” you replied.

Fiona turned and walked straight back outside without another word.

Your stomach dropped.

You made up an excuse and followed her out onto the porch, the screen door slamming behind you. Fiona stood with her arms crossed, staring into the street like the world personally offended her.

“What’s wrong?” you asked carefully.

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, now you care?”

“What are you talking about?”

She turned on you so fast it caught you off guard. “You. With her. Don’t act like you didn’t see it.”

“She’s just a friend.”

Fiona scoffed. “Yeah? Funny. Looked a lot closer than that from where I was standing.”