Chapter 137
Summer's POV
"As many of you have probably seen, Summer competed in the state-level piano competition this weekend and received a direct qualification to the Regional Finals." Ms. Thompson started clapping, and the rest of the class followed, some enthusiastic, some perfunctory. "This is a huge accomplishment, and we're very proud to have her representing St. Jude's."
"Thank you," I managed, my voice barely audible. "Can I sit down now?"
Ms. Thompson laughed. "Yes, sit. But we're proud of you, Summer. Really."
I dropped back into my seat, my face burning. A few people leaned over to congratulate me—Caroline from the front row, who I'd never spoken to outside of group projects, and Jackson, who mostly seemed interested in whether I'd met any college scouts. I smiled and nodded and tried to ignore the way my hands were shaking, tried not to think about how Kieran would've squeezed my hand under the desk if he'd been here, would've given me that small smile that said I know you hate this but you're doing great.
When homeroom finally ended, I was the first one out the door.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of classes I couldn't focus on and hallways that felt too crowded, too loud. People kept stopping me to congratulate or ask questions, and I kept giving the same rehearsed answers. Yes, it was exciting. Yes, I was nervous about Regional Finals. No, I didn't know what I was going to play yet.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was exhausted and Kieran still hadn't texted.
The cafeteria was its usual chaos—underclassmen claiming tables, seniors sprawled across chairs like they owned the place, the lunch ladies calling out orders behind the counter. I grabbed a salad and a bottle of water, scanning the room for Mia. She was already at our usual table near the windows, waving me over with her characteristic enthusiasm.
"Finally," she said as I slid into the seat across from her. "I was starting to think you'd been kidnapped by the music department."
"Just... a lot of people asking questions." I poked at my salad without much interest. "It's fine."
"Mm-hmm." Mia took a bite of her sandwich, studying me over the crust. "Still no Kieran?"
"No." I tried to keep my voice light, but it came out flat. "He's probably just busy. Competition stuff."
"Or he's in the physics lab avoiding the crowds." Mia gestured with her sandwich toward the far corner of the cafeteria. "You know how he gets when there's too many people."
I did know. Knew that Kieran needed quiet spaces to think, that crowded rooms made him tense in ways he'd never quite explained. But usually he'd text to let me know where he was, would send some dry comment about Logan's latest theory or Coach Anderson's questionable teaching methods. The silence felt wrong.
Before I could respond, a burst of laughter erupted from across the cafeteria. I looked up instinctively and immediately wished I hadn't. Blake and his usual crew were clustered around someone's phone, their expressions ranging from amused to incredulous. And they kept glancing in my direction.
"Oh god," I muttered.
Mia followed my gaze, her expression darkening. "Ignore them."
"They're looking at something on their phones."
"So? It's probably just—"
"Bro, is this really her?!" Blake's voice carried across the cafeteria, loud enough that several nearby tables turned to look. He was staring at his phone screen, and from the way he was angling it toward the others, I could tell they were looking at the school's Instagram account—St. Jude's always posted about student achievements, and apparently my competition photo had made the cut. "Like, actually her?"
My stomach twisted. I knew that tone. That was the same tone he'd used when those photos of me at the fall dance had circulated, the ones where my dress had ridden up and someone had gotten a shot from an unflattering angle. The same tone that had preceded weeks of whispered comments and carefully aimed jokes.
"Summer." Mia's hand closed around mine. "Don't look. Whatever it is, it's not worth it."
But I was already looking. Already watching as Blake turned his phone toward Owen, who let out a low whistle. Already seeing the way they were all grinning, that specific kind of grin guys got when they thought they'd discovered something scandalous.
"I'm telling you," Blake was saying, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear, "there's no way that's not Photoshop. Summer Hayes does not look like that."