Chapter 1: The Lemon-Scented Hallway

It was just an ordinary day, but the hallway outside the supply closet hit me with that sharp, lemony scent of industrial cleaner, and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed so loudly I felt it in my teeth. My sneakers squeaked on the scuffed linoleum as I reached for my tennis racket, but what really caught my attention were two girls shoving another girl around near the lockers. The girl in the middle just stood there, her head bowed so low her hair curtained her face. My pulse spiked; for a second, my grip on the racket tightened, and I felt that familiar flush of adrenaline—part fear, part anger—before I finally forced myself to step forward. My voice came out louder than I intended, echoing down the hallway as I shouted, "Hey! Knock it off!" The two girls shot me matching looks of annoyance, like I was the one being rude, then slunk away, pretending it was nothing. But I saw the way their shoulders tensed as they disappeared around the corner, and the way my heart was hammering in my chest told me it wasn’t nothing at all.

I walked over to the girl on the ground, still holding my racket like some kind of shield. "Hey, are you alright? Want some help getting up?" My voice was softer now, trying to sound casual, but I could hear the worry in it.

She hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet mine, her fingers trembling as she took my hand. Her grip was so light it felt like she might let go at any second, as if she wasn’t sure she deserved help. There was a faint bruise starting to bloom on her wrist, and her backpack had exploded all over the floor—a battered paperback of To Kill a Mockingbird, a half-eaten Nature Valley bar, a pack of neon Post-it notes, and a couple of chewed-up pens. I crouched down beside her, scooping up the stuff with a small, reassuring smile, hoping it would make things less awkward.

She looked up at me, her lips pressed tight, eyes unfocused, that numb, hollow look you only see in people who've gotten used to being treated like this. Her gaze lingered on my hand, then moved up to my face. Instead of answering my question, she surprised me by asking, "Do you know why Matt Collins fell in love with Savannah Reed?"

The question just hung there, weirdly heavy. My smile faltered, confusion flickering across my face as I tried to figure out what the hell she was talking about. Did she know me? Did she know Matt was—had been—my boyfriend?

Matt Collins is my boyfriend. Or, he was. We broke up almost three months ago—because he fell for the campus queen, Savannah Reed.

The words still stung, even after all this time. Sometimes I could almost hear the echo of our last conversation, the way his voice had gone soft, unfamiliar, like he was someone else. I tried not to let it show, but my heart twisted. Matt Collins. My Matt.

Our breakup wasn’t anything special or dignified. It was the kind of cliché you’d see in a Netflix rom-com: Savannah Reed had been chasing my boyfriend for what felt like forever. I first met her right after I got accepted into Matt’s university. Matt helped me with registration, picked up shampoo and toothpaste for me, and showed me around campus.

He’d hauled my boxes up three flights of stairs in the sticky August heat without a single complaint. I can still see him, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead, that easy, teasing grin lighting up his face. Savannah was always the talk of the campus, but I hadn’t really understood what she meant to Matt—or what she wanted—until that first week.

We got stopped by Savannah Reed near the Langley Science Building. She wore this fire-engine red dress, totally fearless—beautiful, confident, and honestly a little intimidating. She gave me the full up-and-down, then turned to Matt and said, "So this is your girlfriend? Wow, really? This is who you picked?"

Her voice was sharp, every word meant to cut. I felt myself shrink a little, wishing I could melt into the pavement, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. The heat pressed down, and I fidgeted with my bag strap, glancing at Matt for backup.

Her tone made my skin crawl, but I didn’t want to make a scene, so I looked at Matt. He stared at Savannah, his face cold, and said flatly, "Sorry, do I know you?"

The way he said it—like he honestly didn’t recognize her—made Savannah’s cheeks flare red. For a second, I almost felt bad for her. Almost. She shot me a glare through watery eyes and stormed off.

Later, at dinner with Matt’s roommates, one of them laughed and said, "You know, before you came, Savannah stalked Matt for, like, two years, but he couldn’t even remember the campus queen’s face. If that were me, I’d die of embarrassment."

The table burst out laughing, and I felt a little awkward, but Matt just kept quietly passing me fries and opening a Coke for me. It was one of those moments—intimate, oddly domestic, like we were already living together. I remember thinking, This is what it means to be chosen. My chest felt warm and full.

After that, Savannah tried to stir up drama for me a few more times, always hinting I wasn’t good enough for Matt. I brushed her off as a spoiled princess. Matt had always attracted admirers, from middle school to college, but he never gave them the time of day. He was exceptional, and I trusted him. He knew where to draw the line.

He was always polite, but distant with other girls. I used to tease him about it, and he’d just roll his eyes, messing up my hair. "You know you’re the only one, right?" he’d say, and I’d believe him, every single time. He made it so easy to trust him.

Matt only remembered Savannah’s name because she kept bothering me. I got annoyed, and eventually, after Matt talked to her about it, she stopped showing up in my orbit.