Chapter 7: Rooftop Meeting
The note didn't leave my mind no matter how hard I tried to make it leave.
Even when I tried to bury myself in equations during morning calculus, it was there, whispering beneath the teacher's voice. Even when Yvette cracked jokes about our professor's hairpiece, it throbbed like a bruise under my ribs.
I know the truth.
The words circled endlessly, taunting me, making every shadow feel heavier, every stare in the hallway sharper. I couldn't shake the sensation that someone was watching me. Not just the gossiping crowd, not the girls whispering behind their hands or the boys snickering as I walked by, but someone deliberate. Focused. Tracking me.
By the time Mateo caught up with me outside the library, my nerves were raw.
"You look like you haven't slept," he said, brows pinched. His voice softened. "Isabella, talk to me."
I hesitated, my hand tightening around the strap of my bag. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe he deserved to know. He was my boyfriend. He was supposed to be my safe place.
So I did. I pulled the crumpled paper from my pocket, fingers trembling as I unfolded it. "Mateo… yesterday I found this in my locker."
His eyes flicked over the words. His lips pressed into a thin line. And then…he laughed? He actually laughed.
"Babe, come on. It's just a prank." He crumpled the note in his hand like it was trash, like it meant nothing. "Someone probably thought it'd be funny to spook you. You've been under so much stress, of course they're going to poke at that."
I stared at him, throat tight. "It doesn't feel like a prank."
He reached for my hand, warm and reassuring. "That's because you're scared. But trust me, if it were serious, they'd have said more than this cryptic nonsense. People here feed off drama. You know that."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted his certainty to wash over me and make everything simple again. But the unease coiled tighter in my stomach.
"I don't know…" My voice was barely a whisper.
Mateo kissed my temple. "Forget it. Whoever wrote it just wanted a reaction. Don't give them one."
But forgetting wasn't possible. Not when every time I turned a corner, I felt eyes crawling over my back. Not when I caught glimpses of movement in the edge of my vision, only to find no one there.
By lunchtime, I couldn't stand it anymore. The cafeteria buzzed with chatter and laughter, the clatter of trays and scrape of chairs, but it felt like a cage closing in around me. Every sound was too loud. Every face was too sharp.
"I need some air," I muttered, pushing back from the table before anyone could argue.
Yvette called after me, "Want me to come with?"
"No," I said quickly. "I just… need to be alone."
She looked worried, but she didn't push.
I slipped through the side doors, my pulse hammering, and found my way to the stairwell that led up to the roof. Hardly anyone went there, it wasn't exactly on the approved list of hangout spots. But for me, it was a haven. The one place I could breathe without someone breathing down my neck.
The rooftop air was sharp and cool, carrying the faint scent of rain on the horizon. I leaned against the railing, letting the wind sweep strands of hair from my face. My hands fumbled in my pocket until they found the note again.
It was crinkled from what Mateo had done.
I smoothed it against my thigh, staring at the words until they blurred. "I know the truth."
What truth? Whose truth?
My chest ached with the weight of it.
"Careful up here, Marquez," a voice drawled behind me. "You look like you're about to throw yourself off."
I spun around, my heart slamming into my ribs.
Alexander.
Of course it was Alexander. It was always him. Every fucking time.
He stood by the doorway, hands in his pockets, tie loose like always, his expression irritatingly smug. His hair caught in the wind, and even that seemed purposeful, like the universe tilted in his favor.
"What are you doing here?" I snapped.
He shrugged, strolling closer as if the roof belonged to him. "Following my instincts. And my instincts said I should come to the rooftop so here I am."
"Go away."
"Tempting." He stopped a few feet from me, tilting his head. "But no."
I turned back toward the railing, gripping it hard enough that the metal dug into my palms. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Alexander."
"Good thing I'm not here to play." His voice shifted, still casual, but softer. "Something's bothering you. You've looked like a ghost since yesterday. And now you're hiding on the roof, clutching that little piece of paper like it's a lifeline. Want to tell me what that's about?"
Ice slid down my spine. Slowly, I folded the note, shoving it back into my pocket. "None of your business."
"It is if it involves you spiraling."
I laughed, bitter. "Since when do you care if I spiral?"
His eyes locked on mine, and for once, the smirk faded. "Since you're not as good at hiding things as you think. You're smart, Marquez, but right now? You're frightened. And frightened people make mistakes."
My throat tightened. "You don't know anything about me."
"Oh, I know enough." He leaned against the opposite railing, watching me like a hawk. "You're stubborn. You hate asking for help. And you'd rather bite your own tongue than admit you're scared. But something's eating you alive, and I'm not leaving until you spit it out."
The audacity of him made me want to scream. "You don't get to barge into my space and demand answers. Leave, Alexander. I mean it."
He raised a brow, unbothered. "No."
The word was simple but also final.
Frustration boiled in me, mixing with fear until it threatened to spill over. "Why do you even care?"
He studied me for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "I never said I cared."
"Get out, Alexander…"
"Not until you tell me what's bothering you. Is it the paper?" He asked me.
And before I knew it he was collecting the paper from my grip. I had no idea how he even did it. It was like a movie.
I tried to fight him for it and he chuckled. "Careful, you don't want to fall from here and add your own death to the list of murders right?"
I glared at him. "Fuck you…"
"Vulgar words from daddy's princess."
"Give me the note back."
"I just want to see what's in it. Wait, is it a love letter?" He asked with a smirk even as his eyes narrowed.
His gaze moved to the writing and all of a sudden, he stopped resisting and let me take the paper back from him.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" He growled in anger, making me pause.
"It was in my locker." I said immediately like I was programmed to answer him.
"Who wrote that? Who wrote that shite?" He asked angrily.
I was so taken aback by his anger that I repeated the words Mateo had told me.
"Why are you behaving like it's a big deal? I'm sure this is just a prank." I told him.
"A prank? No, Marquez. That doesn't look like a prank. That…this is intentional." He told me.
And while he was speaking, I couldn't help but wonder why he was reacting this way when Mateo didn't.