Chapter 21
Summer's POV
"Well, well, well." Blake's voice carried across the Dining Hall, loud enough to make nearby conversations pause. "If it isn't the Hayes Princess herself. Looking good, Summer. Love what you're doing with the whole 'eating actual food' thing. Very... earthy."
I stood up, tray in hand, Mia scrambling to follow. "Excuse us."
"Oh, don't run off." Blake stepped into my path, forcing me to stop or risk dumping lasagna all over both of us. His eyes raked down my body in a way that made my skin crawl, lingering on my chest with obvious intent. "Damn, Hayes. I see why Evan keeps you around. Nice... assets."
He drew out the word assets like it was a punchline, and several guys nearby snickered. I felt Mia move closer to my side, her presence a small comfort against the rising tide of humiliation.
"Move," I said, voice flat.
"What's the rush? I heard you've been slumming it lately. Going all charity case on us." Blake's grin widened, cruel and sharp. "Saw you in Southie last week, getting all worked up over some scholarship kid. What's the matter, princess? Evan not giving you enough attention? Need to play savior to feel special?"
My hands tightened on my tray, knuckles going white. Behind Blake, Evan leaned against the wall, watching with that infuriating half-smile that said he found this amusing but wasn't going to intervene. Of course he wasn't.
"That's disgusting," Mia said, voice shaking but determined. "Leave her alone."
Blake barely glanced at her. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm just making conversation." He turned back to me, eyebrows raised in mock concern. "Seriously though, Summer. That kid from Southie? The one with the fucked-up hand? You know he's only at St. Jude's because they're paying him to win physics competitions, right? He's basically a performing monkey. You really think he gives a shit about you, or is he just hoping you'll bankroll his sad little life?"
The world went red at the edges.
"Don't," I said, voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Don't talk about him."
"Ooh, protective. That's cute." Blake leaned in closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper that everyone nearby could still hear. "Let me guess—you bought him something expensive and now he's pretending to like you? That's how it works with people like him, princess. Flash some cash and they'll be your best friend. Or is it more than friendship you're after? Because I gotta say, that's a new low even for you. Slumming it with the help."
"Blake." Evan finally spoke, pushing off the wall with lazy grace. "Come on, man."
But there was no force behind it, no real censure. Just a token protest that meant nothing, changed nothing, and Blake knew it. They both did.
"What?" Blake spread his hands innocently. "I'm just looking out for her. Someone should tell her she's being used. Right, Evan?"
Evan had the grace to look uncomfortable, shifting his weight, but he didn't deny it. Didn't defend me. Just stood there with his hands in his pockets, like this was mildly awkward but ultimately not his problem.
And that—that was when I finally, truly understood.
He'd never seen me as a person. Never seen me as someone worth protecting, worth defending, worth anything beyond the money I spent on him and the ego boost my obvious infatuation provided. I was a convenience, a resource, a walking ATM machine.
"You're right," I said quietly, looking directly at Evan. "I was being used."
Blake laughed. "See? She gets it. Don't worry, princess, I'm sure you'll find another charity case to throw money at. Maybe this time pick one who's at least grateful—"
"I meant by you."
The hallway went silent.
I turned to Evan, ignoring Blake completely, my voice steady despite the way my hands were shaking. "I spent one year thinking you cared about me. Buying you things, changing myself to fit what you wanted, defending you to my mom when she said you were using me. And you know what? She was right. You never cared. You just liked having someone worship you."
"Summer—" Evan started, finally looking uncomfortable.
"Your friends sexually harass me in public and you laugh. They post pictures of my body online with disgusting captions and you do nothing. I get attacked for my weight, my clothes, my family, and you tell me to 'not let it get to me' instead of standing up for me even once." My voice was rising now, carrying across the hallway, and I didn't care who heard. "You want to know why I've been 'slumming it'? Because that scholarship kid you're so busy mocking has more integrity in his damaged right hand than you have in your entire body. He doesn't ask me to change. He doesn't use me. He doesn't stand by while his friends treat me like a joke."
"You're overreacting," Evan said, but his voice was uncertain now, eyes darting to the growing crowd of students watching us. "Summer, come on. Blake was just—"
"Just what? Just being honest? Just speaking the truth? Just treating me the way you've always let people treat me?" I laughed, bitter and sharp. "You know what the saddest part is? I actually believed you when you said you cared. I thought all those late-night texts and piano duets meant something. But they didn't, did they? They were just part of the game."
"That's not fair—"
"What's not fair," I interrupted, "is expecting me to keep playing along. We're done, Evan. Whatever this was—and let's be honest, it was never actually a relationship—it's over. Don't text me. Don't call me. Don't act like we're friends. We're not."
I pushed past Blake, who was staring at me with his mouth hanging open, and headed for the exit. Mia rushed after me, her hand finding mine, squeezing tight.
Behind us, I heard Evan call my name, but I didn't turn around.
I was done turning around for people who would never catch me when I fell.