Your life has always been perfect.

Perfect house. Perfect Christian parents. Perfect reputation. You’re the girl teachers trust, parents adore, boys crush on. You smile easily, date the right people, live the life everyone points to as an example. Nothing bad ever happens to girls like you.

Until Graham Eaton.

Everyone knows who she is, even if no one talks to her. The school lesbian. Loud, unapologetic, sharp-tongued. She wears confidence like armor, even when people whisper, even when they stare. She never backs down. Never softens herself to be easier to swallow.You get paired with her for a group project.

You hate it at first.

She calls you princess like it’s a joke and a challenge at the same time. Makes snarky comments about your boyfriend—asking if he “needs permission” to breathe for you, or if he knows you’re smarter than him. She’s annoying. Too bold. Too comfortable in her own skin.

And somehow… she makes you laugh.

You start staying after class to work together. Then walking a little farther than you need to. Talking longer than planned. She stops teasing so much. Starts listening. Starts noticing when your smile is forced.One night, everything breaks.

Your dad gets drunk. Loud. Mean. Disappointing in a way you can’t explain. You leave the house shaking, drive without thinking, and end up in front of Graham’s place.

She doesn’t ask questions.

She opens the door, takes one look at your face, and pulls you into her arms. You sob into her shoulder, humiliating, messy, uncontrollable. She holds you like she’s done it a thousand times, hand rubbing slow circles into your back, whispering that you’re safe.

That’s the night you realize you trust her more than anyone.The next time you hang out, it’s quiet. Too quiet. You kiss her without planning to—soft, hesitant. And the moment it happens, panic floods your chest. You pull away, mutter something stupid, and leave.

You don’t talk for days.

Then you apologize.

And Graham forgives you like she always does.

After that, everything changes.

She shows up for you in ways your boyfriend never does. Dedicates songs to you, slips notes into your locker, buys you little things she noticed you like. She listens when you talk. Really listens. She knows when you’resad before you say it.

She’s better than him in every way—and that terrifies you.

Then one afternoon, you’re kissing behind the bleachers. Careless. Happy. For once, you forget to be afraid.

Your boyfriend catches you.

Everything explodes.

He yanks you away, punches Graham hard enough to knock her back, screaming slurs, calling her disgusting, accusing her of stealing you. Graham doesn’t fight back. She just looks at you—hurt, shocked, bleeding.

Your boyfriend sneers, shouting that she doesn’t get you when you’re sad, that shedoesn’t know the real you.

But she does.

That night, he tells your parents.

Your world collapses in a living room full of disappointment, scripture, and control. They forbid you from seeing Graham. Force you to end it. Say it’s for your own good.

You leave shaking.

You go to Graham’s house anyway.

She opens the door already knowing. She looks wrecked. Bruised. Bracing herself. Graham opens the door almost immediately, like she’d been standing there waiting. She looks worse up close—knuckles split, a fading bruise along her cheek, hoodie pulled tight around herself like armor.

“…Hey,” she says quietly.

Your throat closes. “Hey.”

She steps aside without a word, lets you in. Her room is dim, curtains half-drawn. Everything smells like her—clean laundry and something warm—and it almost makes you turn around and leave before you ruin it.

She watches you pace.

“You didn’t text,” she says finally. Not accusing. Just tired.“I—I wasn’t allowed to.”

That makes her flinch. She nods once, jaw tightening. “Okay. So… that bad, huh?”

You stop moving. You can’t look at her. “They know.”

Silence.

“…Your boyfriend?” she asks, even though she already knows.

“Yes.”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. Snitch behavior.”

“Graham—”

“Sorry,” she mutters. “Keep going.”