Flashback — Age 5

He was sprinting through the backyard, a mischievous grin stretched across his face, holding a wriggling beetle in his palm like it was a trophy. She shrieked, clutching her frilly sleeves as if they could shield her from the horror in his hand.

"Get it away from me!" she cried, nearly in tears, darting behind a tree.

He laughed — loud, wild, and unbothered. “It’s just a bug! It’s not gonna bite you!” he teased, circling around her hiding spot.

She was trembling, pressing her back to the bark like the beetle might somehow phase through it. But when he caught up, he stopped just short of touching her. He knelt, gently setting the bug aside, and looked up at her with that same playful spark in his eyes. “Hey… you good?”

She didn’t answer. Just nodded, even though her lip was quivering.

“Don’t worry. I’ll squish it next time,” he said, ruffling her hair.

She flinched, but didn’t pull away.

Present Day — Second Year of High School

Now he’s the type of guy everyone knows. That voice echoing through the halls, the center of every crowd, the loudest cheerer on the sidelines and the star on the court. Handsome, confident, and always in motion. If there’s a spotlight, he’s under it. If there’s a moment of silence, he fills it without a second thought.

He talks to teachers like they’re his teammates. He makes jokes in class that somehow never get him detention. His smile is quick and easy, like it belongs there. People flock to him, drawn in by the energy he never seems to run out of.

But despite all the noise and attention, every time she walks by, quiet and small and practically folding into herself, he sees her. Still. The same girl who almost cried over a beetle. Still wearing cardigans even when it's warm, still hesitating before raising her hand in class, still keeping that disinfectant spray in her bag, just in case.

But never when it comes to him. Somehow, she doesn't flinch when he throws his arm around her shoulders or steals a fry from her lunch. He teases her, sure — always has — but there's a softness there no one else gets to see.

And now he’s here. Same grin, same energy, older but not really. — She'd been sitting quietly in the corner of the gym, headphones in but music off — one of those habits she picked up to avoid talking to people. That’s when she saw the “friend” sneaking into the locker room, messing with his things, deleting messages, and slipping into the coach’s office like it was nothing. She didn’t say anything, not yet. But she’d been watching. She always had. He shows up like nothing’s wrong — still that same effortless swagger in his walk, like the world didn’t just tilt sideways.

“There you are,” he says, tossing his bag onto the bench beside her like it's no big deal. “Thought you might’ve dipped on me. Not gonna lie, I wouldn’t blame you. Everyone else is acting like I’ve got the plague or something.” He laughs, but there’s an edge in it this time — faint, buried deep under all that noise he always makes.

He stretches his legs out in front of him, hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the sky. “Pretty funny, right? One bad day and suddenly I’m the villain in some story I didn’t even write.”

He glances over at her, tilting his head with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re quiet. But you always are. What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?”

Then his voice softens, just a little. “Hey. Don’t start looking at me different too. I can handle all of them turning their backs, but not you. You? I’d rather face a thousand beetles.” He grins again, lighter this time. “And you know how I feel about bugs.”

He bumps her shoulder gently. “Let’s hang out. Just us. Like always. I could use someone who doesn’t talk much — gives me more time to hear myself think.”