Lottie leaned against the cold edge of her locker, eyes half-lidded, watching the hallway swarm with restless energy. The weight of the morning still pressed on her chest—a dull, constant thrum under her ribs—but outwardly, she was the picture of calm. The laughter, the sharp-edged whispers, the quick glances slicing her way all blended into a restless hum at the edges of her mind.
Amy approached hesitantly, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag in nervous loops, knuckles pale against the fabric. "Lottie," she murmured, voice so soft it almost drowned in the noise around them, "can we talk?"
Lottie tilted her head slightly, a soft, measured smile tugging at her lips. "Of course." Her voice flowed with practiced ease, though her pulse spiked at the edge of anticipation, a prickle that danced along her skin.
Amy glanced around, biting her lip, her eyes darting like a bird trapped in a storm. "Everyone's… talking." She swallowed, fingers squeezing the strap tighter. "There's… rumors. About the scores. About you."
Lottie offered a faint laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the movement smooth, almost careless. But inside, her muscles were coiled tight, her mind racing ahead even as her face stayed composed. "Let them talk." But her heart clenched faintly at the anxious furrow between Amy's brows, the way her fingers dug into the bag strap like it was the only thing tethering her to solid ground.
The hallway buzzed with muffled whispers, laughter too sharp at the edges, glances too quick to be casual. The faint scent of perfume, sharp and cloying, drifted past, curling like smoke through the tension. Lottie felt each thread pulling taut in the web surrounding her—the surge of noise as someone whispered her name behind cupped hands, the way feet shuffled against tile, the dry rustle of paper passed from hand to hand, all of it threading into the atmosphere like a thousand little knives.
"Did you hear Evelyn's group is… well, they're saying you cheated," Amy whispered, her voice trembling, a flicker of guilt in her wide eyes. "I don't believe it! But—"
"But you're worried it'll stick," Lottie finished gently, arching a brow, her fingers brushing lightly against the cool metal of the locker behind her.
Amy flinched, her cheeks flushing a guilty pink. "I just—people can be cruel."
Lottie's eyes softened, just a touch. "And people forget. Quickly." Her voice was like silk, light against the thrum of tension, wrapping around the sharp edges threatening to pierce through.
She reached out, resting a hand lightly on Amy's arm. She felt the fine tremor beneath the girl's skin, the way her breath hitched slightly at the contact. "Thank you for telling me," Lottie murmured, voice pitched low, intimate. "That means a lot."
Amy blinked, lips parting, eyes wide, and Lottie saw the flicker of relief, the bloom of trust struggling to take root. She tucked it away carefully—a pawn, maybe, or a shield. Time would tell.
Across the hallway, Evelyn laughed, a bright, brittle sound that sliced through the noise like glass against stone. Her friends hovered close, their smiles a touch too sharp, their eyes flitting toward Lottie with barely concealed calculation. Evelyn's fingers danced along the hem of her skirt, the movement light and idle, but Lottie noticed the tight coil in her wrist, the tension in her jaw that barely softened when her laugh faded too quickly.
Lottie's gaze sharpened, her lips curving in a thoughtful arc. She noted the tension in Evelyn's shoulders, the almost imperceptible strain at the corners of her eyes, the way her laughter stuttered when her gaze snagged on a phone screen flashing with her own name.
"Is she okay?" Amy asked softly, following her gaze, brows drawing together in a crease of worry.
"She's fine," Lottie murmured, a trace of amusement curling her words. "For now."
As they moved between classes, Lottie's senses stayed razor-edged. She watched Evelyn with the detached precision of a scientist dissecting a specimen—the graceful tilt of her head, the artful flick of her hair, the honeyed tones of her voice as she charmed a teacher, reassured a classmate, commanded her little kingdom. But beneath it, the cracks were beginning to show: the tight flicker of her glance when whispers rose, the brief pause in her steps when laughter echoed in the wrong direction, the clipped edge that snuck into her words when no one was supposed to hear.
The pressure points were there. Lottie could feel them, waiting.
Between classes, Leo drifted to her side with the easy grace of someone who belonged nowhere and everywhere. "Busy morning, champ," he murmured, lips curving in a grin as sharp as a razor, voice pitched just for her ears.
Lottie arched a brow, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "You noticed."
He gave a soft chuckle, his shoulder brushing hers as they walked, the faintest crackle of contact sparking through her nerves. "Hard not to, with the fireworks you're setting off." His eyes flicked toward Evelyn, just briefly, and Lottie saw the spark of recognition in their depths—the kind that marked him as more than a casual observer.
For a heartbeat, Lottie allowed herself to breathe.
Amy reappeared at her elbow as they neared their next class, her voice low, tight with anxiety. "Lottie, I… just be careful, okay? Evelyn's friends are saying—"
Lottie reached out, resting a light touch on Amy's wrist, feeling the delicate thrum of her pulse. "I'll be fine," she said calmly, her voice a balm layered over steel. Her fingers lingered just long enough to steady, to soothe, to anchor the both of them.
Amy gave a tiny, anxious nod, her gaze flickering toward Evelyn's circle, where eyes gleamed cold and watchful.
Lottie felt it—like a prickle at the back of her neck, a faint pull in her gut. Evelyn's gaze was on her, the weight of it like a knife pressed against skin. She didn't need to turn to know; she felt it in the charged air, in the slight shift of the conversation's hum, in the hush that rippled outward like the center of a dropped stone.
As they stepped into the classroom, Lottie stole a glance back. Evelyn's eyes caught hers across the bustling corridor, and for a breathless moment, everything else fell away.
The look was sharp, assessing, threaded with a brittle edge of fury carefully hidden behind a polished smile. Lottie's chest tightened, her heart a taut drumbeat beneath her ribs. She lifted her chin, let the corner of her mouth curve just slightly, and turned away with deliberate grace, feeling the burn of Evelyn's stare linger on her skin like a brand.
At her side, Amy exhaled shakily, whispering, "You're really not scared of her, are you?"
Lottie's fingers brushed the edge of her desk as they slipped into their seats, the cool bite of the wood grounding her. "I've learned," she murmured softly, "fear doesn't keep you safe. Strategy does."
Amy's wide eyes searched her face, and for a fleeting moment, Lottie felt the tug of something old and soft—longing, maybe, for a simpler kind of trust. She tucked it away, smoothed her face into practiced composure, and turned her focus outward.
The class blurred around her: the drone of the teacher's voice, the scratch of pens on paper, the undercurrent of whispers barely contained by the walls. Lottie felt the pulse of it all—the tension weaving through the room like a living thread, the ripple of glances darting between her and Evelyn, the magnetic pull of rising conflict.
She slipped a glance at Leo across the aisle. His eyes flicked up, catching hers, and a small, knowing smile curved his mouth. He drummed his fingers once against his notebook, a quiet signal just for her, and the corner of her mouth twitched in response, the barest flicker of acknowledgment.
The faintest flush of heat warmed Lottie's skin. She breathed in slowly, felt the coil of nerves in her chest ease, just a fraction. The noise, the pressure, the watchful eyes—it all blurred at the edges, leaving a single, sharp point of focus.
As the bell rang and students began to stir, Amy's hand brushed Lottie's sleeve, hesitant and small. "Be careful," she whispered, voice tight with a plea she barely dared voice aloud.
Lottie smiled softly, a flicker of warmth threading through the iron of her resolve. "I always am."
As they rose, Lottie caught one last glance from Evelyn—sharp, glittering, hungry—and felt the spike of anticipation race through her veins.
The war was quiet now, wrapped in silk and sugar, but Lottie could taste the steel just beneath. She straightened her shoulders, the soft rustle of her skirt brushing her knees, and stepped into the hallway, where every glance was a weapon, every whisper a move on the board.
And from the corner of her eye, she caught Leo watching, a flicker of mischief and warning dancing in his gaze, as if to say: The game has only just begun.