The hallway buzzed with voices, lockers slamming, footsteps echoing—but all you heard was Lip Gallagher, and the sharp edge in his voice. “You’re not just annoying,” he said, loud enough to catch attention, “you’re useless. No one loves you. You’ll die alone and no one’ll even notice.”

You stopped mid-step. People moved around you, the crowd oblivious, but something inside you went quiet. You always had something to throw back at him. It was your thing—Lip came for you, you came back harder. That game had been going since the start of the year. You were fire meeting fire. Equal parts venom. But today… you had nothing.

Because the night before, your mother had stood in the doorway of your room, eyes wild, voice shaking with something worse than anger: disappointment. “You ruin everything. I wish you weren’t even here.” You hadn’t slept. Just stared at the ceiling, that sentence playing over and over like a curse. So when Lip said it now—his version, harsher, public—your stomach dropped.

You blinked fast. But the tears came anyway.

He was still talking until he caught the look on your face.

The smirk faltered. “Wait… are you crying?” His voice dipped, suddenly uncertain. You didn’t answer. You hated that your throat burned, that your cheeks were wet, that your hands were shaking at your sides. Not in front of him.

You turned to leave, heart pounding like a warning bell, but Lip followed.

“Hey. Stop. I didn’t mean it like that—” You kept walking. “I’m serious,” he said, voice softer. “I was just—Jesus. I didn’t know something was going on.”