When I step onto the bus, I spot Selena sitting at the very back beside Emily. I can feel their eyes on me, but I don’t look at them. In fact, it feels like everyone on the bus is staring at me. Maybe it’s because I have missed school the past few days, or maybe it’s because I look a little different today with a touch of makeup and this cute outfit. Usually, I feel uncomfortable under all these glances, but today, they don’t bother me. I feel confident, like I own my space. I slide into my seat as if nothing in the world matters.

  Later, when I get off the bus and walk toward school, I notice Oliver isn’t in his usual spot by the bike rack. That’s where he hangs out with his friends before class, and it’s the first place my eyes go every day since I started having a crush on him. He’s been there every single day, usually facing the bus, so not seeing him feels weird, even though I want nothing to do with him anymore. I head straight inside, but he’s not in class either. The stares I get as I walk in are more than usual; some of the boys don’t even hesitate to look me over. I take my seat, head held high, paying attention to everything around me instead of hiding behind my notebook like I usually do. A few of them still turn around every so often to sneak a look. It doesn’t intimidate me at all, at least not for now.

  Ten minutes later, Oliver walks in just before the bell. He doesn’t look like himself. It’s like he grabbed the first T-shirt he saw and threw it on with a pair of wrinkled jeans without really caring. His face is set, serious, missing that easy smile he usually wears.

  I glance at him, trying not to make it obvious. There’s a faint bruise near his eye. He’s had cuts and bruises before, usually from baseball, and I never thought much of it. This one might be new. I didn’t notice it yesterday when he kissed me. It was dark, and he was soaked from the rain, so I couldn’t really see, though. Maybe it was there. Maybe I didn’t pay attention.

  He doesn’t look at me once. He walks past, eyes straight ahead, and takes his seat. I’m at the back, and he sits a row ahead, one chair over. His expression gives nothing away, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like he never kissed me. Like I never left him standing in the rain. Like none of it mattered.

  From where I sit, I can still see him clearly. He pulls out his phone and scrolls like I’m invisible. It feels deliberate, like he’s putting intense pressure on himself not to look at me.

  After lunch, I head back to class and see him coming from the opposite direction. He slows down slightly when he spots me, and we almost meet at the door. Our eyes lock for a moment. I still can’t read him; his face is neutral, and his eyes are empty, like he’s shutting everything out. I hold my gaze calmly, steadier than usual, then step past and walk inside.

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  Selena ignores me, too. No wave, no smile, nothing, not even that half-hearted look she sometimes gives. I let the brother and sister unload their anger on me. I don’t care anymore. All I want is a bit of space, some distance from them.

  After class, Oliver grabs his backpack and bolts, probably off to baseball practice. I take the bus home.

  When I get back home, there’s a car parked beside Mom’s. I don’t recognize it. Someone’s home, which I hate. The last thing I want right now is to stand there and force a smile while Mom introduces me to some total stranger.

  The front door is cracked open, and I decide to take a peek. Just as I’m about to, that familiar voice freezes me.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” a man says.

  It’s Oliver’s dad. It’s not his usual car. I glance at the black Corolla; it looks new.

  “It’s okay. Teenagers,” Mom replies. “What can you do? Scarlet’s no different. Doesn’t like it when I tell her anything. It’s their age. We’ve all been there.”

  'Seriously, Mom, seriously!' I roll my eyes as I try to control my rage. How stupid can she be, telling Oliver’s dad stuff like that about me?

  “I know, but still, it was very inappropriate on his part. And I have to say, Scarlet dealt with it respectfully and rightly. I’m relieved she didn’t call the police or do anything that might have gotten us into trouble, even though I suppose that’s what most kids would do in that situation,” he says. I’m not sure if he’s giving me credit or quietly pointing out my mistake, since I didn’t do what everyone else might have, and it feels more like the latter.

  “She’s smart and very independent, more than capable of handling situations like this. She’s well-raised,” my mom says proudly.

  “I can see that.” He pauses, the chair scraping the floor as he rises. “I should get going,” he says.

  “It’s almost time for Scarlet to get back,” Mom says, as if agreeing he should leave now.

  I want to walk in and call them out for conspiring against me, but I don’t. I don’t want Mom to know I overheard any of it. It would turn into an interrogation, and I’m not in the mood to answer her questions.

  I sneak around the side of the house and sit on the ground.

  I’ve never been a fan of our split-level, but I do like the trees in the yard. They’re tall enough to give me some privacy. They were a real lifesaver yesterday when Oliver put on his show in our driveway. The rain also helped by keeping everyone inside; otherwise, it would have been a nightmare.

  I sit quietly, thinking of ways to escape Mom’s questions. After a while, I start feeling sleepy. I set my backpack beside me, rest my head on it, and lie down. Before long, I drift off.