By 4.30, one thing’s sure. He isn’t coming. The tiny sliver of hope I held that Selena might’ve been wrong about him finally drains away.

  I see it clearly now. I was never anything important to him, just a plaything. He doesn’t care what his actions do to me, and the realization makes me sick. All the kind words, the gestures, the careful acts of concern meant nothing. None of it was real. I don’t know how I let myself fall for it. I’m supposed to be smart and capable of thinking things through, yet here I am, feeling like a fool.

  When I started crushing on Oliver, I knew from the beginning that he’d never love someone like me. He could have anyone he wanted - the smartest, the prettiest, and the most outgoing one. Someone who matched him effortlessly and drew envy without even trying.

  There were already plenty of such girls waiting in line for him, girls who looked and acted as if they belonged in his world. Selena’s group was full of them, always watching him, always waiting for their turn.

  So why would he ever notice me, someone plain and ordinary, someone who blended into the background and felt ridiculous just for existing? It was never possible.

  Still, I held onto hope. A tiny, almost laughable hope, something I clung to like a life raft. I imagined, against all reason, that somehow, one day, I could miraculously become fun and confident, someone worth noticing, like in the movies when the invisible girl suddenly becomes unforgettable. I told myself that maybe, just maybe, he’d see me then.

  For a while, that hope was everything. The only light in a life that otherwise felt dull and empty. It gave me something to look forward to, a reason to keep going, a fragile thread to hold onto.

  Now, I don’t have that. Not even that.

  I wish I could erase the last two days. Wipe them clean. Wipe them from my memory entirely. Go back to the safety of a harmless crush, one that stayed tucked away in a corner of my mind where it could do no damage. One that didn’t sting, that didn’t leave me feeling so exposed, so foolish.

  The thought of going to school tomorrow makes my chest tighten, as though someone’s pressed a hand over it and refuses to lift it. Even though Selena said she’d keep quiet, I don’t know how long that promise will last. She’s closer to her friends than she is to me. I’ll always come second to her group. Once her group finds out, it’ll be over for me. It wouldn’t take more than a day for the story to spread through the entire school. I know it’s coming, if not today, then soon enough.

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  On top of that, I don’t know how I’m supposed to face Selena. She knows I fell for Oliver, and he’s not just any boy at school. He’s her brother. Even if she seems fine on the surface, I know she won’t forgive me. Whatever we had before, if it can even be called a friendship, will never be the same again.

  Facing Oliver is as painful as facing Selena. He saw how easily I fall, how quickly I give in to hope, and he used it anyway. I can already imagine him telling his friends, talking about it, laughing, exaggerating, turning it into entertainment. His circle is bigger than my class, and the thought of facing all of them makes me wish the ground would swallow me whole.

  I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I don’t even want to think about it. But what excuse could I possibly give Mom? I’m not sick. I can’t use homework as a reason, because she knows I never fall behind. I could say I need time to finish a project, but that would only lead to more questions. Why, which project, how far along am I, and where is it? I don’t want to answer any of them.

  Walking away from everything feels like the only option right now. It’s almost laughable, considering how often I’ve pictured myself stepping off a cliff or sinking beneath the deep blue sea, leaving nothing behind. If I’d ever had the courage to do that, I would’ve done it long ago. That choice doesn’t exist.

  Then I remember something Mom always says. Her voice echoes in my mind as clearly as if she were standing next to me. “Don’t take the Ivy Trail on your way home. It’s full of poison ivy. I know it’s shorter and easier, but take the other route.” I promised her I wouldn’t take that path, and I kept that promise, even on the day I fell and strained my ankle at school.

  But today’s different. Today, I want to take the Ivy Trail.

  About five hundred metres from school, I turn onto the trail. Two bikes pass me, young couples chatting, their laughter fading quickly into the distance. Then it’s quiet. When I reach the wooden walkway, fenced on both sides by thick, wild ivy, I stop. I scan the path to make sure no one’s watching. Once I make sure no one’s coming, I climb over the fence and let the leaves brush deliberately against both my hands.

  The sting comes immediately, sharp and familiar. I’ve had this rash before. I know exactly what’s coming, yet it doesn’t matter. The sting on my skin is nothing compared to the ache spreading through my chest.

  I walk the rest of the way home slowly and deliberately, preparing myself for Mom’s reaction when she sees my hands. I know it won’t be good. There’ll be concern, questions, and lectures. And yet, right now, none of that matters. There’s something else that hurts far more. Something that weighs on me in a way nothing else ever has. Something that has nothing to do with my body and everything to do with my heart.