Chapter 8: Suspicions
"A prank? No, Marquez. That doesn't look like a prank. That… this is intentional." He argued.
Why was he so angry? Why did he care at all?
I studied his face, his jaw was. tight, and his eyes were sharper than usual. His smirk,the one that always made me want to slap it off him was gone. In its place was something colder. Something dangerous.
And suddenly, it hit me.
"Did you put this in my locker?" The words left me before I could stop them, my voice sharper than I intended.
Alexander froze. His brows drew together, his eyes narrowing. "What?"
"You heard me." I crossed my arms, needing the barrier between us. "It wouldn't be the first time you've done something stupid like this. Were you the one that put it in there? You knew about the letter before I even told you."
"And that's because I saw you clutching it like your life depended on it! And I knew of it, not what was in it." He told me. "Christ, Marquez, you really think I'd waste my time scribbling creepy little notes for you?"
My pulse hammered. "Why not? You're always around, always mocking me, always…"
He cut me off, stepping closer, eyes blazing. "Always what? Always calling you out on your bullshit? Always making you admit things you don't want to admit?"
I swallowed, throat tight. His anger was different this time,not the playful arrogance I was used to, but real, seething anger.
"I'm not playing games with you," I whispered. "I can't…"
"You think this is a game to me?" His voice rose, echoing against the rooftop walls. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles pale. "If I wanted to mess with you, Marquez, I'd do it to your face. I don't hide behind scraps of paper. I don't need to."
The words stung because they were true. Alexander didn't operate in shadows, he was bold, reckless, infuriatingly direct.
But still…
"Then why do you care so much?" I shot back. My voice cracked halfway through, but I forced the rest out. "Why are you acting like this means something to you? You're not my boyfriend, you're not my friend, you're nothing to me. So why the hell do you care?"
For a heartbeat, he just stared at me. His jaw flexed, his chest rising and falling like he was holding something back.
Then his eyes hardened. "Because you're blind," he said flatly. "Because you'd rather accuse me than admit someone out there actually wants to hurt you. Open your eyes, Isabella. Stop hiding behind Mateo's pretty lies and face the fact that this, " he jabbed a finger toward my pocket "...isn't a prank. It could be something entirely different."
"Or you could be paranoid." I told him.
"Me? I'm the I'd with the paranoia and not you who's always looking over her shoulder these days like someone or something is after her? Don't joke, Marquez, it doesn't suit you."
"I'm not joking."
"Then take this seriously. Did it not occur to you that perhaps this person knows something? Did it not occur to you to reach out or I don't know…do something?"
"But it's a prank. It's not real!" I screamed at him although the words were meant for me rather than him.
The air between us crackled, sharp and suffocating.
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to shove him off the damn roof. But most of all, I wanted to ask him why he looked so worried and angry. Why his eyes looked like they carried a weight I couldn't name.
Instead, I bit down on the lump in my throat. "You're insane."
His mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a snarl. "No. I'm just not stupid, unlike you."
And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. His blazer whipped behind him, his footsteps sharp against the concrete.
"Don't walk away from me!" I shouted after him, hating the way my voice trembled.
He didn't look back. The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with the wind and my racing pulse.
I gripped the railing, my knuckles aching. My breath came fast, ragged, each inhale scraping my chest. My heart was still thrumming with his words, his fury, his… whatever that was.
But then I forced myself to straighten.
This wasn't my fault. He was the one who barged in, who picked a fight, who turned everything into drama. I didn't ask for his help. I didn't need it. He couldn't even help me.
And maybe he was right about one thing, I was scared. But he was wrong about the rest. Mateo had told me the truth. It was just a prank. That had to be it.
Because the alternative, that someone was really watching me, that someone out there wanted me broken or worse, was too terrifying to face.
I shoved the note deeper into my pocket, as if I could bury it, and whispered to myself, "It's just a prank."
The words sounded hollow, but I clung to them anyway. It would stop if I just gave it time. They would give up.
"It's a prank." I said to myself as I made my way back into the school building, away from the rooftop.