Chapter 8: That doesn't mean I don't care

Maya helped me down the hallway to an empty classroom.

The moment I heard the gentle click of the door, I completely broke.

Not quiet tears like last night.

Not the embarrassed ones from the hallway.

This was ugly crying.

You know the kind that makes your throat burn and your chest ache? Yeah. That one.

Maya didn’t judge. She rushed to me, wrapping her arms around me as I slid down against the wall.

“If Stella were here…” I sobbed, gripping her shirt tightly. “If Stella were here, things wouldn’t be like this.”

Maya didn’t interrupt.

She just held me.

“I just wanted to achieve her dreams for her,” my voice cracked. “Going to MSA… being on stage… that was our dream. Not just mine. Ours.”

The words felt heavy coming out.

“I don’t even like plays,” I whispered bitterly. “I don’t like the spotlight. I don’t like the stage.”

My breathing trembled.

“The only reason I hate it so much is that I didn’t get to do it with her.” My voice broke. “She promised we’d do it together. She fucking promised me, Maya.”

“I know, Tessa. I’m so sorry.”

Stella was supposed to stand beside me.

She was supposed to be the confident one. The loud one. The fearless one.

I was just the backup plan.

“I was never meant to be the lead,” I muttered. “She was.”

Maya pulled back slightly and looked at me.

“Tessa,” she said firmly, “you’re not living for Stella. You’re living with her.”

I looked up at her through blurred vision.

I wiped my face roughly.

“She was braver than I,” I whispered.

“And you’re stronger than you think,” Maya replied.

“She was better, Maya!” I raised my voice. “She was strong, confident, and outspoken. Everything I have — every award, every achievement, every competition — every single thing I’m proud of happened because of her. Because she wanted her younger sister to be a star just like her, and I was happy because I knew I’d share the achievements. I knew I’d share the medals.”

I took a deep breath.

“Now she’s gone, Maya. Gone!”

“You don’t think I miss her, too?” Maya’s voice shook. “Tessa, I’m so sorry you feel this way, but I lost Stella, too. And I’m doing what I’m a hundred percent sure she’d want me to do — move on. Stop holding onto her ghost and blaming it for your downfalls.”

I stared at the floor.

“Maybe I should just call it quits,” I whispered.

“And you think she’d want you quitting?” Maya pressed. “You think she’d want Veronica winning?”

“She was braver than that. She wouldn’t have stood for Veronica’s theatrics,” I murmured.

“And you’re stronger, Tessa. You just don’t know it.”

Before I could respond, the classroom door swung open.

Maya and I both flinched.

Klaus.

He stood at the entrance, jaw tight, eyes scanning the room before landing on me.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then his gaze shifted to Maya. “I need to talk to her,” he said flatly.

Maya tightened her grip on my hand. “She can’t talk right now.”

His eyes remained fixed on mine. “I wasn’t asking.”

Maya stood up fully, positioning herself in front of me. “You can’t just barge in here and do whatever you want. This isn’t the theatre.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I won’t repeat myself,” he said calmly, but something sharp edged his tone. “Leave.”

“No,” Maya shot back. “Not when she’s like this.”

Silence stretched between them.

Klaus finally shifted his gaze to Maya properly.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said quietly, something dangerous threaded through his voice.

The tension thickened.

Maya sighed and headed for the door.

“I’ll be right outside,” she whispered to me softly. Then to Klaus: “Five minutes.”

The door shut behind her, and the room instantly felt smaller.

Klaus turned the lock.

My heart skipped two beats.

He walked closer, slow, deliberate steps, stopping a few feet in front of me.

His voice was calmer now. Quieter.

“Why didn’t you fight back?”

I let out a shaky breath and looked up at him.

“Why didn’t you help?”

His expression shifted — not shocked, not offended. Just… still.

“You were there, weren’t you?” I continued. “You saw everything.”

He didn’t deny it.

My chest tightened.

“Last time you stepped in,” I said quietly, “you wiped my tears like it was nothing. Today you just… leaned against a locker.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Turns out my existence pisses the hell out of them.”

His eyes locked onto mine — unreadable.

“Why didn’t you help me, Klaus?”

“I wasn’t going to give them what they wanted,” he said finally.

“And what was that?”

“A reaction.”

I frowned.

“They wanted me to jump in,” he continued. “‘Klaus defending the helpless girl.’ That’s their narrative.”

“And what about mine?” My voice cracked. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I needed you to ignore the narrative?” I scoffed. “What am I saying? You’re not obligated to help me. I’m just delusional.”

“If I stepped in, it would look like you always need saving,” he replied evenly. “And frankly, you don’t.”

“What?”

“I’ve watched you, Tessa. Not intentionally. But enough to know you’re not weak.”

He stepped closer.

“At first, I wondered what a girl who chose to stay hidden all these years would gain from suddenly taking an interest in a school play.”

“I need the extra credit,” I whispered.

“No, you don’t,” he said firmly. “You know what you want. You’re just struggling to accept it. And I know what that feels like.”

Silence filled the space between us.

“I didn’t help today,” he continued, voice lower now, “and I won’t help another day. Because I won’t always be there to do it.”

That hurt more than I expected.

“But,” he added, eyes locking with mine, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

My heart skipped.

Care?

He unlocked the door and walked out.

I stayed frozen in place.

Did Nicholas Hayes just say he cared about me?