---
Chapter Four – Friendly Fire
By the next morning, the rumors had spread like wildfire.
Sophie barely made it past the school gates before a girl from her English class cornered her by the lockers. Her name was Kelsey—one of those girls who always had a phone in hand and drama in her voice.
"You sat with him?" Kelsey whispered, like Sophie had committed a crime.
Sophie tilted her head. "Is there a rule against sitting with someone?"
Kelsey blinked, caught off guard. "I mean, no. But it's Harry Blake. You don't know what he's like."
Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
Kelsey opened her mouth, then closed it. "I just heard—"
"Exactly. You heard."
Without another word, Sophie turned and walked away, her curls bouncing defiantly.
She didn't have time for shallow warnings.
---
Harry could feel it the second he stepped into the hall—eyes on him. More than usual. Whispers. Quick glances. People moving out of his way like he carried a virus.
He clenched his jaw and kept walking. He knew what this was about.
Him. And Sophie.
It wasn't even a real thing, but that didn't matter. The school didn't need facts. Just a spark. One photo, one whisper, one assumption—and the whole place ignited.
At lunch, he hesitated at the cafeteria doors. He could already feel the heat rising in his chest.
But when he stepped in, Sophie was there. Sitting in their spot. Waiting.
She waved.
He walked over slowly, feeling every stare that followed him like weights on his shoulders. When he sat down, the whispers got louder.
"You good?" she asked, taking a bite from her sandwich.
"No," he said honestly.
She nodded, like she appreciated the honesty.
"I can go," he said, glancing around. "If it's too much."
"No," she said firmly. "You're not the problem, Harry. They are."
He didn't reply, but something about the way she said his name settled his nerves a bit. Like she wasn't afraid of being seen with him. Like maybe he didn't have to keep running from everyone.
Across the cafeteria, someone slammed a tray down at the far table. Harry's gaze flicked up just in time to see Mason glaring at him.
Mason Jordan. Golden boy. Football team. Charmer. Everyone's favorite. And the guy who had once been Harry's best friend.
Before everything went wrong.
---
Later that day, Sophie was heading to the library when a voice stopped her.
"You're Sophie, right?"
She turned. A boy leaned against the wall, arms folded, wearing a black beanie and carrying a sketchpad. His name was Ezra—quiet, artsy, one of the few people at school who didn't travel in a pack.
"Yeah?" she replied cautiously.
He nodded toward the cafeteria. "You sit with him. Harry."
"Is that a problem?" she asked, crossing her arms.
Ezra shook his head. "No. Just… not many people do."
"Well, someone should," Sophie said.
Ezra cracked a small smile. "He used to draw. Really well. Before… everything."
Sophie perked up. "Really?"
"Yeah. He used to help me design stuff for the school zine. Posters, too. Had this style—dark, detailed, like he could see the world differently."
"What happened?"
Ezra shrugged. "Ask him. But if you're really trying to get through to him… don't quit."
Sophie looked at him for a moment, surprised by his sincerity. "Thanks, Ezra."
He gave a small nod and disappeared around the corner.
---
That night, Harry sat on his bed again, headphones on but no music playing. Just silence.
He couldn't stop thinking about Sophie.
And about Mason.
And about how everything used to be—before the lies, the betrayal, the isolation.
He didn't know why Sophie cared. But she did.
And for the first time in a long time, Harry found himself wondering what it would feel like to let someone back in.
Just one person.
Maybe