Jade | POV
I almost let it go.
That was the thing I kept coming back to. I had talked myself out of saying anything three times before Monday morning — once in the shower, once staring at my ceiling at 2am, once standing outside school with my hand on the door handle telling myself it wasn't worth it, that maybe I'd read it wrong, that maybe Sable was just protective and I was just paranoid.
Then I walked inside and saw Eli at his locker and he looked up and smiled at me — that specific smile, the one that started in his eyes before it reached his mouth — and I thought: no. If something is already wrong, he deserves to know.
I stopped beside him. Kept my voice low.
"Hey. Can I tell you something and you'll actually hear it? Not just listen — actually hear it?"
He turned from his locker slowly. Read my face. "Yeah," he said. "What happened?"
I told him exactly what Sable said.
Every word. I had it memorized because I was the kind of person who memorized things that didn't sit right — I turned them over in my head until I understood the shape of them.
I'm so glad Eli has someone who makes him smile. Then the pause. Then: He's also easy to hurt. Then the four people who had done damage without meaning to. Then: Just be sure.
"She touched my wrist when she said it," I added. "Right here." I pressed two fingers to the inside of my own wrist. "Light. Like she was being kind. And then she walked away before I could answer."
Eli was quiet.
I watched him. He was doing the thing where he looked at a middle distance and processed carefully before speaking — I'd noticed that about him early on, how he didn't just react. He thought first. It was one of the things I liked most about him. Right now it was also making me hold my breath.
"She's protective," he said finally. Not defensive. Just — placing it somewhere.
"I know," I said. "That's not what I'm talking about."
"Then what are you talking about?"
I chose the words carefully. "She made me feel like getting close to you was dangerous. For you. Like I was a risk she was quietly flagging." I paused. "On the surface it was kind. Underneath it — Eli, she was warning me off. Gently. Smiling the whole time. And I almost didn't notice because it was wrapped so neatly."
He looked at me then. Really looked.
"She does that," he said. Quietly. Like he was admitting something he hadn't meant to.
"Yeah," I said. "I figured."
He pushed a hand through his hair. Leaned back against the locker and stared at the ceiling for a second. "I don't — I don't have a thing with Sable where I hold stuff against her. I don't know how to do that. She's been there my whole life and I've just never—" He stopped. Started again. "I don't have the thing you build up over time with normal people. The margin. You know?"
I did know. That was exactly it. He had never needed a margin with Sable because she had never — in his experience — done anything that required one. Every bad thing she had done had been invisible to him. Wrapped neatly. Smiling the whole time.
"I'll talk to her," he said.
I looked at him carefully. "Okay." I picked my next words slowly. "Just — be gentle, okay? I have a feeling she doesn't hear no very well."
Something crossed his face when I said it. Not surprise exactly. More like recognition — the specific expression of someone who has just heard a true thing said out loud for the first time.
He nodded once.
The bell rang. We moved in opposite directions and I spent first period not hearing a single word of the lesson.
I was not afraid of Sable. I wanted to be clear with myself about that.
She was precise and careful and she smiled like it was a second language she'd gotten completely fluent in. She had looked at me on movie night like she was filing me — measuring something, calculating something, deciding something — and then she had touched my wrist and planted a seed and walked away.
That was not the behavior of someone who was simply protective.
That was the behavior of someone who was used to winning.
I thought about the way she'd filled his mug with water instead of coffee and walked back out without a word. I thought about Eli saying she's been there my whole life. I thought about his text: I'll talk to her. And the specific quiet in my chest that followed — not relief. Worry.
Because telling Sable that I had said something was also telling Sable that she had not been careful enough.
And I had a feeling Sable's response to not careful enough was to be more careful next time.
Two hours later I was sitting in the library when my phone buzzed.
Unknown contact. Then it loaded the name: Priya.
My best friend from before we moved. The one I'd known since fourth grade. The one I still voice-messaged every Sunday morning without fail.
I opened the text.
Hey. Weird question but I need to ask. Has something happened at your new school? Like — did you make someone angry?
I sat up straighter.
Why? I typed.
Someone called my mom's work today. Said they were doing a reference check on a Jade Calloway. Old questions — middle school stuff. Your attendance record. Whether you'd ever been in trouble. Whether you were quote "reliable."
My stomach dropped.
My mom didn't give them anything, Priya wrote. But she said the voice was super calm and friendly and it creeped her out. She almost didn't tell me.
I stared at the screen.
Jade. Who have you made angry?
I looked up from my phone. The library hummed quietly around me — keyboards, pages, the soft noise of a normal Monday afternoon.
My wrist was still warm where two fingers had pressed it, light as a feather, four days ago.
Just be sure.
My hands were not shaking.
I made myself keep them still.