Page 16 of Exes That Puck
I stare at the screen, heart hammering. The absence of his name feels wrong, like a missing tooth I can’t stop probing with my tongue. What if he notices? What if he tries to call and realizes I blocked him? What if he doesn’t notice at all?
“This is what being free feels like,” Payton says, squeezing my shoulder. “Trust me.”
I nod because I’m supposed to agree, supposed to feel relieved. And part of me does. The part that’s tired of checking my phone every five minutes, tired of analyzing every interaction for hidden meaning, tired of the constant emotional whiplash.
But another part feels like I just cut off a limb.
We head to our classes, Payton chattering about weekend plans while I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
I try to sink into it. Try to remember what it felt like before Zeke became the center of my orbit.
In class, I actually take notes. Real notes, not just doodles and spirals. When he talks about what’s going to be on the midterm, I write down every word instead of letting my mind wander to brown eyes and callused hands.
My phone buzzes during the lecture. My stomach clenches reflexively, but then I remember he can’t reach me anymore. The notification is just Emma sending a meme to the group chat. Relief and disappointment tangle in my chest.
By lunch, I’m almost convinced this was the right choice.
Our usual table sits in the corner by the windows, afternoon light streaming across scratched linoleum. Tori and Emma are already deep in conversation when Payton and I arrive.
“Finally,” Tori says. “Emma was just telling me about her statistics professor’s meltdown yesterday.”
“He threw an actual tantrum,” Emma explains, unwrapping her sandwich. “Like a toddler. Just because half the class failed the quiz.”
“Maybe because his quizzes are impossible,” Payton suggests.
They fall into easy gossip about professors and assignments while I pick at my salad. The conversation flows around me like water, familiar and comfortable. This is what normal feels like. Friends talking about school instead of analyzing every text message for hidden meaning.
“Speaking of impossible,” Tori says, grinning at Payton. “Any Wolf Boy sightings?”
Payton groans. “No. I’m starting to think he’s a myth.”
“Or just avoiding his stalker,” Emma teases.
“Rude. I’m a catch.”
We laugh.
Lola’s been quiet through the whole exchange, occasionally glancing at me with that worried expression she’s been wearing since Saturday. When our eyes meet, she tilts her head slightly with a question.You okay?
I nod and force a smile.I’m fine.
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Not here, not with the others watching.
The afternoon passes in a blur of forced normalcy. I work on my psychology paper, actually making progress for the first time in days. I run to the campus bookstore to grab supplies for my art history project. I even call my mom, something I’ve been putting off for weeks.
“You sound good,” she says, and I realize she’s right. For the first time in weeks, I sound like myself.
“Thanks, Mom. I feel good.”
It’s not entirely a lie. Without the constant buzz of anxiety that comes with wondering when Zeke will text, when he’ll call, when he’ll show up, my mind feels clearer. Calmer.
This is what being free feels like.
I repeat the phrase like a mantra as I get ready for my evening shift at Barnes & Noble. The bookstore is my sanctuary. It’s quiet, warm, filled with stories that have nothing to do with my life. It’s the one place where I can disappear completely.
The store is nearly empty when I arrive, just a few people browsing around and an elderly man reading poetry in the corner chair. I settle behind the counter, falling into the familiar rhythm of checking customers out, straightening displays, and restocking shelves.
Between customers, my mind wanders. Not to Zeke this time but to other things. Classes, weekend plans, the paper I’ve beenmeaning to finish. Normal thoughts for a normal girl living a normal life.
