Monday mornings always have a strange energy.
Today, I'm awake before my alarm, unheard of for me. Stella's knocked out, arm dangling off her bed, mouth open so wide she might catch a fly. I grab my stuff and slip out before she stirs and starts in with questions I really don't want to deal with.
Out in the quad, campus is already alive. Clusters of students mill around the fountain, swapping schedules and griping about how brutal it is to be up this early. I slide through the crowd, headphones jammed in, not for music, just for the excuse to stay in my own little bubble.
That's when I spot Liam.
He's propped up on the statue by the humanities building, chatting with a guy in a UCLA hoodie. He hasn't changed a bit. Same cap on backwards, same self-assured grin, everything that used to send my nerves into overdrive.
Now, honestly, it just wears me out.
I keep moving. Chin up, posture steady. The real secret to ignoring someone is never to pretend they're not there, it's passing by like they're a lamp in the corner.
"Avery."
His voice slices through the background noise. I don't even slow down.
"Avery, come on."
I hear footsteps behind me.
I tug out one earbud, slowly, like it's the last thing I want to do right now. Turn just enough so he knows I'm barely giving him the time of day.
"What."
He jogs up, acting way too casual, like we're fine, like he didn't blow everything to pieces.
"Didn't realize you were coming here," he says.
"Didn't ask."
"You could've told me."
I stare at him. "Why would I?"
He falters. "I thought we could try being adults about it."
"We are. I'm going to class. You're in my way."
"Look, I know things ended badly—"
"Things didn't end. You hooked up with my sister."
Somebody nearby glances over. Whatever.
Liam goes red. "Keep it down."
"Why? Embarrassed?"
He scowls. "You're overreacting."
I half-laugh. "Sure. I'm the problem."
He leans in, voice low. "Madison said you'd do this."
"Madison says a lot. Doesn't make it true."
"She thinks you're obsessed with payback."
I laugh for real this time, sharp and quick. "If I wanted payback, trust me, you'd know."
He sets his jaw. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I shift my bag higher. "It means I'm late."
"You can't just—"
"Watch me."
I head off. He doesn't follow.
By the time I get to the lecture hall, my hands are shaky, but I steady them before going in. Half the room's already taken, students sprawled out with laptops and coffee.
There's Professor Parker at the podium, flipping through notes, sleeves rolled up. He looks up, and for a second it feels like it's just the two of us in the room. Then he looks down and the buzz comes back.
I settle into a seat a few rows back, not right up front, but close. Pink-haired girl next to me, phone glued to her hand. I pretend to check my email.
More people file in. The room fills. Someone behind me is whining about an assignment, someone else is cackling.
And, of course, Liam walks in.
He scans the seats, catches my eye, and his face hardens. For a second, I think he'll make a scene, but he just slumps into the back row and folds his arms.
Parker catches it. His gaze flickers from me to Liam and back, something fleeting in his expression.
Then he straightens and addresses the class.
"Good morning, everyone. Let's get going."
His voice is calm and sure. The room hushes immediately.
"Today we're exploring narrative structure and the ethics of storytelling—who gets to tell what stories, and why that matters."
He clicks the remote. James Baldwin's words fill the screen.
"Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced."
He lets it linger.
"So," he says, looking around, "what's that mean to you?"
Hands go up. He picks a guy up front who launches into something textbook about injustice.
Parker listens, but he wants more.
"Sure, that's part of it. But what about the stories we tell ourselves?"
His eyes find me.
"Avery. Thoughts?"
My heart lurches. Everyone's watching.
I breathe in. Keep my voice even.
"I think we lie to ourselves more than anyone else. Sometimes the only way forward is to tear down the version of yourself you liked."
The room goes quiet.
Parker's face is unreadable, but his eyes look different now.
"Interesting," he says. "Can you explain?"
"We build who we are around the people in our lives, the roles we play. When those fall apart, you have to decide if you're brave enough to start over, or if you'd rather keep pretending nothing's changed."
"And which is harder?"
"Starting over. No contest."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because pretending doesn't cost anything. Starting over costs everything."
It's so quiet now you could hear a pin drop. Even Pink Hair Girl is actually listening.
Parker holds my gaze a beat too long.
"Nicely put."
He moves on, but I'm still humming from that moment.
Liam's glaring from the back row. I ignore him.
Parker talks about narrative arcs and the hero's journey and how plot isn't the same as story. He's got a way about him—he actually cares, and it shows.
His eyes keep drifting my way, and every time, my heart stutters.
When class lets out, people take their time packing up. I stall, slowly putting my laptop away, checking my phone.
Parker's still at the front, helping a couple students. I hang back.
Liam's still sitting, watching. Waiting.
That's fine by me.
When the last students trickle out, Liam finally stands but just loiters by the door.
I head up to the podium.
Parker looks up. "Avery."
"Hey."
"Solid answer earlier."
"Thanks."
We're close now, close enough for me to see the little lines by his eyes.
He isn't smiling.
"How was your weekend?" he asks.
"Fine. You?"
"Long."
The word just lingers between us.
I glance at the door. Liam's still posted up, arms crossed, jaw set.
Parker follows my gaze. "Friend of yours?" His tone is careful.
"Not anymore."
"Got it."
He doesn't pry. Just gives a little nod, like he understands.
"I should go."
"Of course."
But neither of us moves.
Liam coughs hard from the doorway.
Parker's eyes stay on mine. "See you Wednesday."
"Yeah."
I walk by Liam without looking at him. He follows me into the hallway.
"What the hell was that?" he hisses.
"A lecture. Maybe pay attention next time."
"Don't be dense. You were flirting with him."
I stop. Turn.
"And?"
He goes red. "And? That's my dad, Avery."
"So?"
"So stay away from him."
"Or what."
He steps in. Too close for comfort.
"Or you'll regret it."
I don't move, just stare until he looks away.
"We're done," I say.
I leave before he can answer. My heart's racing, but I keep my face blank till I'm around the corner.
Then I sag against the wall and let out a long breath.
My phone vibrates.
A number I don't know. But I have a good guess.
You handled that well.
I stare at the text, type back.
Which part?
Three dots. Then:
All of it.
I grin before I can help it.
Stella's going to flip when she hears about this.
Actually, maybe not. Not yet.
Some things are better kept to yourself.
I push off the wall, heading to my next class, still smiling to myself.