Tate tried calling Martha all weekend, but every call went unanswered. Each time the line rang out, her heart sank a little deeper. She didn't know what else to do—she just prayed Monday would come faster so she could talk to her in person.
When Monday finally came, Tate got to school early, determined to catch Martha before classes started. She sat at her desk, her leg bouncing restlessly under the table.
Landon noticed. "You okay?" he asked.
Tate forced a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."
He didn't look convinced but didn't push further.
A few minutes later, Martha walked in and sat beside her. Not a glance. Not a word.
Tate opened her mouth to speak, but the teacher entered the classroom, cutting her off.
All through class, Tate couldn't concentrate. Her eyes darted between Martha and the clock, willing the time to move faster. She needed to talk to her. She needed to fix this.
As soon as the bell rang for lunch, Tate turned to speak—but Martha was already out the door.
"Martha!" she called, jumping up and rushing after her.
She pushed through the hallway crowd, calling her name again. But Martha didn't stop. Didn't even flinch.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm, pulling her back.
She turned—it was Allen.
"Hey, Tate," he said.
"Allen, I really don't have time right now. I need to go."
She started to move, but he held her back. "I just wanted to say hi, that's all."
"Allen, please, not now," Tate said, growing more agitated.
She glanced down the hallway—Martha was gone.
When she looked back, Allen's expression had changed. There was something unfamiliar in his eyes—something hard.
"Why do you always treat me like a second option?" he asked, voice low.
"What?" Tate frowned and tried to pull her arm away, but he gripped it tighter.
"Allen, let go."
Before he could respond, a voice cut through the tension.
"Hey. Let her go."
Damien.
He stepped in, pulling Allen's hand off Tate's arm. "What's your problem, man? She doesn't want to talk to you."
Allen's face immediately softened into that friendly smile Tate was used to. "I'm sorry, Tate. I didn't realize you were in such a hurry."
Tate stared at him, confused and shaken. What just happened?
But she didn't have time to figure it out. She turned and continued her search.
The cafeteria was crowded, but Martha wasn't there. Tate's frustration was bubbling over—until she spotted Martha slipping toward the empty classroom they used for their meetings.
She ran.
"Martha!" she called.
Martha stopped, but only because Tate blocked her path.
"Please," Tate said, breathless. "Please just talk to me."
Martha sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "Tate, can't you take a hint? I don't want to talk to you."
"I just want to explain—"
"I know what's going on," Martha snapped. "You and Damien fooled me. And you probably laughed about it behind my back. I was worried about you when you lost to him and was forced to go on the rollercoaster, and meanwhile, you two were off eating each other's faces."
Tate flinched. The words stung more than she expected.
"Martha," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "it wasn't like that…"
Martha narrowed her eyes. "Then how was it, Tate? How long have you two been together?"
"We're not," Tate said quickly. "We're not together."
Martha blinked. "Huh?"
"Just… please let me explain."
Martha folded her arms. "Fine. Go on."
So Tate did. She told her everything—from the awkward beginnings of her crush, to the night of the ball, to what happened at Damien's house, and finally, the amusement park. She left nothing out. She was done hiding.
When she finished, Martha was quiet for a long time.
Then she muttered, "You went through all of this, and I didn't know. God, I'm such a bad friend."
Tate frowned. That was the last reaction she expected.
"Martha?"
"Damien's such a dick," Martha snapped. "How could he say all that stuff to you? I swear, I should find him and punch him right now."
She stood up, fists clenched.
Tate quickly moved to block her path. "Martha, please. Calm down."
"Tell me you're over him," Martha said, eyes sharp.
Tate looked down. "I'm not."
"What?" Martha shrieked.
Tate winced. "I kissed him… the day you saw us."
Martha stared at her. "Tate, I think I need to take you to a shrink."
Tate couldn't help it—she laughed. And then, hesitantly, she asked, "Have you forgiven me?"
Martha crossed her arms again. "No. I haven't. I'm still mad you kept all this from me. And to think I actually had feelings for that jerk once."
Tate looked down again, her smile fading—until Martha added, "But I can't stay mad at you for long. You're my love, dummy."
She pulled Tate into a hug, and the pressure in Tate's chest finally lifted. Her eyes welled up.
Martha was such a good friend. She didn't deserve her—but she was grateful for her.
—
Back in class, they sat down together again like nothing had happened. Not long after, Tate's phone buzzed. It was Damien.
"Are you and Martha friends again?"
Martha, peeking over her shoulder, raised a brow. "Is that the douchebag texting you?"
Before Tate could respond, Martha shot Damien a deadly glare. Damien, across the room, blinked in confusion.
Tate nearly burst out laughing.
Another text came in.
Damien: "Why is Martha glaring at me like she's going to murder me?"
Tate: "I told her everything. You're on her hit list now."
Damien: "Shit."
Tate couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips.
—
Classes flew by after that. But when the final bell rang, a new weight settled in her chest.
She wanted to walk home, but the thought of running into Allen made her pause.
That hallway moment still haunted her. He had
never acted like that toward her before.
What changed?
Why did he look at her like that ?
Why did it feel like she didn't really know him at all?