Page 90 of Picture Perfect

"Addy," he starts, but I'm already past him, nose wrinkled as if I've just stepped through something foul rather than merely glancing at a scene I wish I could unsee.

The hallway is cluttered with students, but they part like the Red Sea, creating a path for me to walk.

The click of my boots on the linoleum echoes louder than my pounding heart as I storm down the hallway. Behind me, Chess's voice cuts through the swell of chatter and locker slams, desperate to be heard over the noise.

"Addy, wait up! Let me explain—"

I don't slow down, not even when his hand brushes my arm. The girls trail after him like a string of giggling ducklings until he spins around, motions sharply for them to back off. They stop, their faces a mix of confusion and hurt vanity. Good.

"Please," he pleads, catching up and matching my brisk pace. "It's not what you think. Just let me explain."

I whirl on him, my green eyes flashing with a frost that could chill the warmest day. "There's nothing to explain. It's not like you're the only guy I'm hooking up with, Chess. It's really not a big deal." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but if it shields my wounded pride, so be it.

He flinches as if slapped. The sight should satisfy me, but it doesn't. He knows about Dre. He's watched me with Dre, shared me with Dre. But, that's not where his mind goes. Good. "Who else, Addy? Tell me."

His hazel eyes search mine, raw with something that looks suspiciously like pain. It almost cracks the ice encasing my heart. Almost.

"Does it matter?" I say coolly, arching an eyebrow. His mouth opens, then closes, silenced by the hard look I give him. He gets the message.

We continue walking, my guard up, his attempts at conversation stumbling into silence. We're both trapped in this turbulent sea of unspoken words and bruised feelings, but I'll drown before I let him see me flounder.

I'm not this person. With each step, I shed a layer of the hurt, replacing it with the cool detachment that's gotten me through worse than high school heartbreak. By the time I reach the door, I'm encased in ice once again.

The heavy door to the computer lab swings open with a low creak, breaking the silence that's settled between Chess and me. Inside, the hum of computers and the faint scent of antiseptic greet me. I make a beeline for my usual spot, where a neatly arranged lunch waits on the desk.

"Thank you," I direct at Saint, my voice steady despite the storm inside. No response comes, but then again, Saint is not one for many words—at least not to me. I settle into my chair and pull the sandwich from its wrapper, the rustle loud in the tense quiet.

"Addy, can we talk about this, please?" Chess's voice is tight, laced with a desperation that might have tugged at my heartstrings on any other day.

"Nothing to talk about," I say between bites, keeping my gaze fixed on the screen in front of me. The pixels blur into nothingness as I focus on the mundane task of chewing and swallowing, creating a rhythm to drown out the turmoil.

He exhales slowly, and I can almost hear his thoughts churning, searching for the right words to mend what's been broken. But the damage is done, and no amount of talking can piece it back together—not now.

"Okay," he says finally, his defeat nearly tangible in the air. He moves to his own station, the distance between us more than just physical.

I take another bite, the food tasteless, and keep my eyes on my screen, letting the silence settle over us like a shroud.

Chapter forty-three

Saint

My palms are sweaty, and I can't decide if it's the stifling heat in the computer lab or the jitters crawling up my spine. Princess strides in, her blond hair a stark contrast against the drab walls, and for a second, I forget to breathe. She's a vision of resilience that doesn't match the turmoil I know whirls beneath her calm surface.

How could I have gotten it so wrong?

"Hey," I manage to call out, my voice steadier than I feel.

She gives me a tight-lipped nod, her green eyes scanning the room until they fall on the food I laid out for her. She thanks me as she scoops it up and takes her seat.

"Addy, can we talk about this please?" Chess asks, his voice tight. There's a tension there, a silent conversation that seems to hang between them, thick as fog. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's off.

"Nothing to talk about," she shrugs.

I watch the fight drain out of him. "Okay."

How...unusual. What the hell happened on the walk over from her class? Chess wasn't like Dre and me, but he wasn't a pushover. Watching him just give up meant he had somehow fucked up.

I wasn't sure I liked that.

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