Ava sat still as the car slowed to a stop in front of Academy. The polished black Mercedes gleamed beneath the morning sun, its windows tinted like secrets. Her heart thumped a little too loud in her chest, though her face remained calm—cool, collected, like her father always demanded. But inside? She was a hurricane in lip gloss.
She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror.
Her blue baggy jeans hung loose on her hips, balanced by a crisp white long-sleeve shirt that swallowed her figure just enough to feel safe. No jewelry, no flashy labels—just clean, quiet money. Her modest effort in makeup showed in the soft brown shadow dusted across her lids and the faint shimmer at the inner corners of her eyes. Her lashes were curled and darkened with one coat of mascara, just enough to frame her striking blue eyes. A dab of concealer masked the tiredness beneath them, and her lips were glossed in a sheer rose tint. Natural. Controlled. Unbothered.
At least, that was the look.
She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and sighed. It was the first day of school, but it already felt like the longest day of her life.
The door opened and her chauffeur, Mr. Leon, gave her a small nod. He never said much, but Ava appreciated that. Words were exhausting lately.
"Thanks," she mumbled, grabbing her matching blue leather bag and stepping out.
The courtyard was already alive with voices and laughter, but to Ava, it felt like a stage. Everyone pretending they didn't know, or worse, pretending they didn't care. The news of Jason cheating had spread like wildfire. Ava could feel the stares burning against her back as she walked through the gates, head high, shoulders back—the way Max had taught her.
Max.
Her chest tightened again. He'd left that morning for university in Boston. Her big brother. Her only true best friend. The only one who never lied. His hug had lingered, quiet and warm, before he disappeared behind the airport gates.
She hadn't cried then. She didn't cry in front of people—ever.
But now, with every step she took into Bellmere, the tears threatened. She blinked hard, forcing them back. She couldn't fall apart. Not here. Not in front of these people.
A group of juniors passed her, whispering too loudly. One girl glanced over her shoulder, then quickly turned back around. Ava caught a single word—"Tricia"—and her stomach turned.
"Hey, Ava," someone said, too brightly.
She turned, eyes flat and unreadable. "Hey."
Smiles were masks here. Everyone wore one. Hers was just tighter than most.
Then she saw them.
Jason's hand was lazily draped around Tricia's waist, like nothing had happened. Like three weeks ago he wasn't telling Ava she was everything. Tricia laughed at something he whispered in her ear, her long red nails resting on his chest like she owned him—like she always wanted to.
They didn't even flinch when they saw her. That hurt the most.
Ava didn't stop walking. Her sneakers tapped louder on the marble now, her shoulders still straight, even as the ache twisted deeper into her ribs. Jason glanced at her—just for a second—and then looked away like she was a stranger.
She walked past them like they were nothing. Like they were air.
But her chest burned.
She made it to her locker without a word, spun the dial too fast, missed the combo once, then tried again. The metal door creaked open. She shoved a book inside, took out her binder, and forced her breath to stay steady.
You don't need him, she told herself. You don't need either of them.
But her reflection in the locker mirror told the truth: she was tired. Not just from heartbreak, but from pretending she didn't care when she absolutely did.
The bell rang.
She headed to her first class, slipping into the room just as Mr. Rothman started calling roll. A few heads turned, but no one said anything. Good.
She sat by the window, second row from the back, and stared out at the courtyard like she didn't care—like she wasn't breaking quietly, piece by piece, behind her ocean-blue eyes.
The chair beside her scraped as someone sat down. A voice whispered, "You okay?"
She didn't even glance up. "Peachy."
Class began, and Ava did what she'd trained herself to do her whole life: sit still, look calm, and pretend. Pretend like her world hadn't changed in one night. Pretend like her heart wasn't in a thousand little pieces buried under her baggy jeans and perfect skin. Pretend like she wasn't just waiting for the day to end so she could fall apart where no one could see her.
Pretending, she realized, was exhausting. But at least it kept her safe.