Chapter 24 No, it's not alright

Chapter 24 No, it's not alright
Cecilia

I hated Alex Gomez.

Truly, deeply and violently.

There was no other explanation for why he would deliberately give me the harder side of the debate.

I stared at my laptop screen in the middle of the library with narrowed eyes while rereading the debate topic for what felt like the hundredth time.

Academic achievements should be considered more important than athletic achievements.

Bullshit. Complete bullshit. And Alex knew exactly why I didn’t want this side.

The library was unusually quiet except for the occasional flipping of pages and keyboard typing around me.

Usually, I liked the library. But today, it felt like a prison.

I groaned quietly and dropped my forehead against the table.

“This is psychological warfare,” I muttered.

My phone buzzed beside my notebook. And because the universe clearly enjoyed tormenting me, Alex’s name appeared on the screen. I frowned immediately before opening the message.

Alex: How’s the losing side treating you?

My jaw dropped. The audacity of that guy. I typed furiously.

Me: I hope your socks are permanently wet.

I clicked send before I realized I should have thought of a better insult. Three dots appeared instantly.

Alex: Creative.

I rolled my eyes aggressively and continued typing.

Me: I hope Barry fires you for emotional damage.

Alex: Barry already causes emotional damage.

A laughter almost escaped my lips. I caught myself quickly and doubled down on my irritation instead.

Me: You’re annoying and ugly.

Alex: Annoying, maybe. But we both lnow I'm not ugly.

I scoffed as a read the text before typing back.

Me: You have an inflated impression of yourself. You're the ugliest person I've ever seen.

A picture came through immediately afterward.
It was a selfie. The asshole actually took a selfie in the middle of class. He looked unbearably smug too. One dark eyebrow raised while sunlight hit his face through a classroom window.

Alex: Unfortunately for you, genetics disagree.

I stared at the picture longer than necessary before immediately locking my phone.

Absolutely not. I was not participating in whatever this was. A second later, another message came through.

Alex: Don’t cry too hard when I destroy your arguments tomorrow.

I narrowed my eyes dangerously at the screen.

“Oh, you’re dead,” I whispered.

That was it. I was going to crush him violently.

Fueled entirely by spite, I reopened my laptop and started researching harder. If Alex wanted war, I would give him war.

Three hours later, I was still sitting in the exact same spot. My neck hurt and my eyes burned. And I had somehow opened seventeen tabs about educational systems, scholarship statistics, and cognitive development. I looked insane.

At some point, I had stopped studying just to win the debate. Now I was studying to humble Alex specifically.

A dramatic sigh escaped me as I highlighted another paragraph in my notes.

“You look like you’re planning murder.” I looked up from my notes, my eyes squinted.

Amber stood beside the table holding two iced coffees while staring at me suspiciously.

I blinked. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to watch you glare at your laptop like it insulted your bloodline.” Amber sat across from me before sliding one of the coffees toward me.

“You disappeared after class,” she said casually. “Luke said you’ve been hiding in here for hours.”

“I’m studying.”

Amber glanced at the mountain of papers surrounding me. “Clearly.”

I took a sip of the coffee gratefully before leaning back in my chair.

Amber studied me quietly for a second.
Then she said softly, “Okay, what’s wrong?”

I immediately scoffed. “Nothing.”

“CeCe.”

“I’m serious.”

Amber sighed softly. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks.”

“Strange, how?”

“You barely answer our calls anymore,” she continued gently. “You zone out all the time. Half the time you look like you’re about to cry or commit homicide.”

I snorted quietly despite myself. “That’s dramatic.”

“You literally threatened to poison Alex last week.”

“He deserved that.”

Amber ignored that. “What’s going on?”

I stared down at my notes quietly. Because the truth was, everything felt wrong lately and the worst part was that I didn’t know how to explain any of it without sounding pathetic.

So instead, I shrugged lightly. “My parents are just being assholes.”

Amber frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

I picked at the edge of my notebook absentmindedly. “They barely talk anymore unless they’re arguing.”

Amber’s expression softened immediately. She knew a bit about my parents dynamic. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” The word came out smaller than I intended. I hated that.

Amber leaned forward slightly. “Married people fight all the time though,” she said carefully. “My parents literally argued over salad dressing yesterday.”

I laughed weakly. “That sounds healthy compared to mine.”

Amber hesitated before asking again. “Is it really that bad?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Because how was I supposed to explain this? How was I supposed to tell her that my house felt empty even when both my parents were physically there?

That every conversation between them felt tense now. That I kept waiting for someone to finally say the word divorce out loud. That I was terrified my family was slowly breaking apart while I stood there pretending everything was okay.

No. I couldn’t say any of that. Because once I admitted it out loud, it would become real. And I couldn’t handle that yet.

So instead, I forced a shrug. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Amber nodded immediately. “Exactly.” She smiled reassuringly. “They love each other, CeCe. Sometimes adults are just… weird.”

I nodded slightly.nBut something painful twisted inside my chest anyway. Because Amber didn’t understand.

I already hated the way people looked at me after the cancer. I couldn’t survive them looking at me like my family was broken too.

Amber reached across the table and squeezed my hand lightly. “You’ll be okay.”

The words almost made me cry. I pulled my hand back quickly and stood up so abruptly my chair screeched loudly against the floor.

Amber blinked in surprise. “CeCe?”

“I should go.”

“What?”

“I’ve been here too long.” I started shoving papers aggressively into my bag before my emotions could embarrass me further.

Amber watched me carefully. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” I answered too quickly.

She stood up too. “Then why are you leaving?”

Because if I stayed another second, I might actually break down in the middle of the library. Because hearing someone say you’ll be okay made me realize I wasn’t sure I believed that anymore. Because I was exhausted. Because everything felt too heavy lately.

But instead of saying any of that, I forced a smile. “You didn't say anything wrong, Amber, I promise. I just need air.”

Amber still looked unconvinced. But thankfully, she didn’t push further.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Call me later?”

“Yeah.” I lied.

Then I hurried out of the library before she could stop me again.

The cool evening air hit my face the second I stepped outside. I breathed in deeply, but the tight feeling in my chest refused to go away.
I kept walking quickly with my bag clutched tightly against my shoulder.

Then suddenly, I collided with someone. Justin. He stood near the sidewalk with two of his friends, holding a basketball loosely under one arm. For a brief second, our eyes met.

A few months ago, seeing him would’ve destroyed me instantly. Now? I just felt tired.

Justin’s expression shifted slightly like he wanted to say something. Maybe apologize or insult me.

Honestly, I didn’t care enough to find out. I walked past him without a word and he didn’t stop me. He just watched me leave.

I reached my car quickly afterward and climbed inside before the panic clawing at my chest could fully consume me.

The moment the door shut, silence wrapped around me. I dropped my bag into the passenger seat and leaned back shakily.

Then I inhaled deeply and shut my eyes tightly while gripping the steering wheel. My chest hurt from everything. My parents, the hospital checkups, Harvard.

The terrifying possibility that my life wasn’t returning to normal no matter how badly I wanted it to.