Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Hallway

I can’t really blame them for asking—honestly, Lila and I have always been a package deal. Everyone notices when something changes. Especially here, where nothing stays secret for long.

Back then, Lila always came to school with me, and we’d walk home together after class. No big deal—just our thing.

We’d race down Maple Street, backpacks bouncing, arguing over who’d ace the next quiz. Her laughter used to echo all the way to my porch. Those days feel so far away now—like they belong to another lifetime, another version of us.

Now that we’re seniors, there are late-night study sessions, and school ends around ten every night. Lila’s mom once told me, “Alex, we’re so busy with work. Lila’s a girl, it’s not safe for her to walk home alone at night. When you finish up, keep an eye on her, walk her home.”

Mrs. Sanchez always had this tired but grateful smile. She’d slip me a five-dollar bill for snacks, like I was her own kid. I’d grin and pocket it, feeling weirdly proud every time.

I nodded, promised I would. Of course I did. How could I say no? Looking out for Lila was just... what I did. What we did. Friends, right?

It wasn’t just our friendship. Last Christmas, Lila handed me a love letter—peppermint-scented, full of nervous handwriting and feelings she’d never said out loud. I kept it, tucked in my desk drawer. I felt like walking her home was the least I could do.

I still remember reading that letter under the Christmas lights, my heart pounding like I’d just scored the game-winning shot. I kept it, even now. Couldn’t let go.

The falling out between us happened this spring. It was sudden—sharp, like a guitar string snapping. Didn’t see it coming. But maybe I should have.

That day, as always, I waited for her at the school’s front entrance.

The sky was bruised purple, the air thick with the smell of rain. I leaned against the cold brick, watching everyone trickle out, their laughter fading as they disappeared into the night.

The bell rang at 9:50 PM. We’re in the same class, but I waited at the entrance for half an hour, and she still hadn’t come out.

Each minute dragged. My phone battery was dying, the streetlights flickered. I started to get impatient—really impatient.

I wanted to go back inside to look for her, but what if she showed up at the entrance just as I left? So I waited. And waited. Until 11 o’clock.

By then, the place was empty. Everyone else had gone.

The security guard at the door asked me three times, “You need a ride, kid?”

He leaned out of his booth, keys jangling, giving me that look—half worried, half suspicious. I shook my head every time, because honestly, what was I supposed to say?

Everyone knows that dating is basically forbidden senior year. Parents act like romance is the apocalypse.

In Maple Heights, gossip moves at light speed. My grandma always said, "Rumors around here spread faster than wildfire in August." If people thought Lila and I were a thing, the whole neighborhood would blow up.

I’m an illegitimate kid—never met my father. After I was born, my mom was never really healthy.

People in this town don’t let you forget stuff like that. Not ever. My mom tried, but she was always tired, always coughing.

When I was little, I’d hear neighbors whisper about my mom. Some even said nasty stuff right to her face.

I remember hiding behind the curtains, watching Mrs. Parker next door hiss words I didn’t get, except for the way they made my mom’s eyes sting.

When I was ten, she passed away, heartbroken.

That winter was the coldest I can remember. I wore her old scarf for weeks, hoping it’d keep the world out. It didn’t, not really.

After that, I lived with my grandparents. I grew up fast. Learned early that for a girl, reputation is everything.

My grandma would squeeze my shoulder and say, "Alex, people talk. Protect yourself, and protect the ones you care about."

Otherwise, people’s scorn can drown you. One wrong move, and suddenly you’re what everyone’s whispering about at dinner.

I was always afraid some ugly rumor would start about me and Lila, and she’d get dragged into it.

So even when I walked her home, I was careful—always waiting for her at the front entrance. Never all the way to her door. Never gave anyone a reason to talk. It felt safer, even if it meant freezing my butt off in the dark.

That day, I waited until almost midnight. Then my grandma called, worried out of her mind.

Her voice was thin, trembling through the phone. "Alex, honey, are you alright? Did something happen?"

I had no choice but to go back inside and look for her. The hallways were empty, every step echoing off the lockers. My shoes squeaked on the floor, and every shadow felt like it was watching me.

But the classroom was already locked.

I rattled the handle, peered through the window—just empty desks and yesterday’s lesson still ghosting the chalkboard.

I even tried the girls’ restroom—awkward, yeah, but I was desperate. Searched everywhere I could.

My heart was pounding. Every creak, every drip of water sounded like something bad. I felt like an intruder, but I couldn’t stop.

I was really worried.

My hands shook as I dialed her number over and over. Each ring echoed in the silence. No answer. Not even a text.