Chapter 9 Something to hope for

Chapter 9 Something to hope for
(Samarra p.o.v)
I don't move right away.
My back is still against the lockers, the cold metal seeping through my jacket, my heart doing something erratic and unhelpful in my chest. The hallway noise creeps back in slowly, like the world is testing whether it's allowed to exist again.
"Sam," Warren says, too close and not close enough at the same time. "Hey. Hey—are you okay?"
I blink at him.
Once. Twice.
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. His hands lands softly on my shoulder snapping me out of the daze I'm stuck in.
"I—I think," I start, then stop because I don't actually know what I think. My skin feels wrong. Like I left part of myself pressed into a locker somewhere behind us.
Warren's face tightens. "That guy, Jesse, he shouldn't have—"
"I know," I say quickly, too quickly. "I know. I'm fine."
I am so not fine. My heart is hammering against my ribs, my knees feel unstable and the scent of smoke lingers in my nose.
But fine is easier to carry than the whole range of emotions I'm feeling.

Warren hesitates, clearly not convinced, then nods like he understands the rules of this moment. He offers his arm, not touching, just there, and I take it without comment.
My fingers fumble for my phone as we walk. They don't feel like mine. I hit Derrick's name before I can think myself out of it.

It rings once.
"Mouse?" His deep voice is immediate. Alert. "Are you okay?"
That's all it takes.
If I tell him, if I say Jesse grabbed me or someone put their hands on my face, Derrick will be here in minutes. He will tear the world open and put it back together in a way that keeps me safe but smaller. He will pull me out of school. Out of everything.
And I don't want to leave.
Not like that.
"Yeah," I say, forcing lightness into my voice. "I think I forgot something at home. But I just checked my schedule and I don't actually need it."
There's a pause on the line.
The kind that means he hears what I'm not saying.
"Did something happen at school?" he asks carefully.
"No," I say. "Everything is fine. I'll see you at home."
I hang up before he can push.
My hand is shaking.
Warren watches me like he's trying to decide whether to argue with a choice I've already made. Finally, he just nods.
"I'll walk you to your next class," he says. Not a question.
"Okay."

We don't talk much on the way. The world feels too loud for conversation anyway. When we reach the classroom, he stops in front of the door and looks at me seriously.
"I'll meet you here," he says. "And walk with you to lunch. Okay?"
I nod.
"Stay in class till I get here," he adds gently. "Please." Genuine concern etched into his usually carefree face.
I manage a small smile. "Bossy."
"Worried," he corrects. "Big difference."
I step into the classroom and take a seat near the door, back straight, eyes forward.
The lesson starts. Words happen. Time moves. I absorb none of it.
I sit very still and tell myself I did the right thing.
Even as the echo of Jesse's grip lingers on my skin like a bruise that hasn't decided whether it exists yet.

Warren is waiting right where he said he'd be and to my surprise relief hits me harder than I expected when I see him leaning against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets like he's guarding the place. He straightens the second he spots me.
"You good?" he asks.
"Define good," I start, "But yes. Functionally upright. Emotionally pending."
He nods like that's a perfectly reasonable answer and falls into step beside me as we head toward the cafeteria.

I'm already dreading lunch.
Not because of the food, today is pizza day, which is objectively one of the few things this school gets right, but because sitting with Casey means sitting with her friends. Loud, enthusiastic, aggressively alive people who talk over one another and ask questions like 'why are you so quiet' as if that's a flaw that needs correcting.
Unfortunately, they are also the only friends I have.
So. Trade-offs.
The lunch line moves at the speed of geological erosion, but the smell of pizza makes it bearable. I grab a slice and a bottle of water and head to the table, sliding into my seat and immediately wishing I could turn invisible.
Casey is already mid-story.
"…and then he sends me this emoji," she says, waving her phone. "Like, who even uses that one anymore? It's kind of adorable."
"Derrick?" one of the girls asks, eyes lighting up. What's her name again? Brooklyn? I think.
"Obviously," Casey grins. "We've been texting a lot."
The words hit low and unpleasant.
I focus very hard on my pizza.
"She's totally going to convince him to take her to the dance," Megan says. "I mean, come on. Look at him. They are like Prom Royalty already"
Casey laughs, light and feminine "I'm working on it."
I take a bite that tastes like cardboard and regret.
While they talk about all the things I have zero interest in, I scan the room without really meaning to.
I find him like a moth drawn to a flame.

Jesse is outside the cafeteria doors, standing under the overhang, cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curls around him like it belongs there. He's not looking at me, thank god, but the awareness of him presses in anyway, like static under my skin.
It's almost worse knowing he's there and pretending I'm not.
The necklace at my throat warms again.

"I'm already dreading history," I mutter.
Casey doesn't hear me. She's too busy talking about dress colors and music and how Derrick has surprisingly strong opinions about shoes.

Then history comes.
And Jesse doesn't.
I wait anxiously for him to burst through the door late as usual.
Every footstep down the hallway makes my shoulders tense. Every creak of the door sends my pulse skidding. But the seat beside me stays empty.
The period passes quietly.
Then the next.
And the next.
No Jesse. No confrontation. No escalation.
By the time the final bell rings, I almost feel… normal.

Casey meets me by the lockers, bouncing on her heels. "Ready for shopping?"
"As I'll ever be," I say. "I have mentally prepared myself to consider colors."
Catherine is in the truck, already waiting when we step outside. She gives Casey a polite smile and me a curious look, like she's cataloguing my mood for later analysis.

The drive to the mall is filled with Casey's excited chatter about outfits and accessories and how she's going to revolutionize my wardrobe. Catherine listens, amused, occasionally offering suggestions that sound suspiciously practical.
I lean my head against the window and watch the trees blur past.

\----
Casey p.o.v

I wave at Catherine and Sam as I hop out of the car, forcing one last bright smile before the door shuts behind me.
The second I step into my house, the smile collapses.
I lean back against the door and let out a long, shaky breath, like I've been holding it in since lunch. My cheeks hurt. My chest feels tight. I suddenly want to cry and take a nap and text someone all at the same time.

"Mama?" I call out.
"In the kitchen, honeybee," her voice answers, warm and soft, like little bells.
I kick off my shoes and head in, plopping onto one of the stools at the island like my bones have officially given up. My mom turns from the stove, already reading my face like she's done my whole life.

"How was your shopping trip, sweetie?"
I open my mouth to answer and immediately start crying.
Like full-on, hiccuping, dramatic tears.
"Oh—oh, baby," she says, rushing over, pulling me into her arms and rubbing my back in slow circles. "It's okay. What happened?"
"It was okay," I sob into her shoulder. "But my new friend Sam, is really hard to convince of anything. And her mom is even worse. Every outfit I showed them it was 'not practical' or 'not really me' or 'too much black but also too much color.' Like, how am I even supposed to work with that?"

My mom chuckles softly, still rubbing my back. "That does sound frustrating."
"I was trying," I insist. "I really was. I just wanted her to feel pretty and confident and maybe a little excited about something."
She pulls back slightly, cupping my face. "Some people are just set in their ways, sweetheart. But if she's so different from you, why are you insisting on keeping her as a friend?"
The words slip out before I can stop them.
"Because I really like her brother."
The admission stings as soon as it's in the air.
My mom sighs, not disappointed. Just… knowing. "Oh, honey. That's not the right reason to be someone's friend."
"I know," I say quickly, wiping at my eyes. "But if I wasn't her friend, he wouldn't have even looked at me, Mama. And he is so gorgeous. I swear, I think he's my soulmate."
She raises an eyebrow gently.
"I just—" my voice cracks. "I just want someone to look at me the way Daddy looks at you."

She pulls me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head. "Oh, honeybee. Love isn't something you have to chase or earn by being convenient. The right person will see you without you shrinking yourself for anyone else."
I nod, even though I'm not sure I believe it yet.

I retreat to my room. My beautiful pink room with my cheerleading trophies, and fairy lights and soft fluffy pillows. After a day like this, my little sanctuary feels like heaven.
I pull open my desk drawer and take out the acceptance letter I've been rereading all week.
University of Cascadia.
Top-tier cheer program. Beautiful campuses and best of all it's only an hour away if I'm desperate for some comfort.
I smile and pin it to my vision board.
Then, hesitating just a second, I pull out my phone and print the photo I took without him noticing. Derrick leaning against the truck. Serious. Strong. Impossible handsome.
I pin it next to the letter.
I step back and look at the board.
Future.
Love.
Possibility.
I tell myself it all belongs there.
Even if I'm not entirely sure how to get it yet.

I stare at my phone for a full minute before typing anything.
I don't want to look desperate.
I also don't want to look like I don't care.
So I settle on concerned but casual, which is basically my brand.

Casey:
Hey! Just wanted to check—did Catherine and Sam get home okay? 🙂

I hit send before I can overthink it.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
My stomach flips.

Derrick:
Yes, they did. Thank you for checking. I hope you girls had fun.

I smile.
Okay. Good. Polite. Warm. Not a complete shut down.
Time for phase two.
I scroll, select the picture, and pause for half a second before sending it.
In the photo, I'm practically glowing, hair perfect, smile wide, eyes bright like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Sam is beside me, actually looking at the camera for once, but her smile is small. Guarded. Like she's halfway somewhere else.
She hates pictures.
I look like a model and Sam looks like some kind of vampire.
I would never say that out loud, of course

Casey:
Shopping selfie! She actually let me take one 😂

A beat.
Then—

Derrick:
She looks tired.

The words land heavier than I expect.
I frown at the screen, zooming in again like I missed something.

Casey:
Yeah, maybe. Shopping kind of overwhelmed her, I think. She was really quiet. But that's sort of her thing, right? She's usually pretty quiet.

There's a pause this time.
Longer.
I wait, heart tapping impatiently against my ribs.

Derrick:
Did something happen with her at school today?

My fingers hover over the keyboard.
I really don't know.
And part of me, the honest part, knows that even if something did happen, Sam probably wouldn't tell me.

Casey:
I don't think so? She didn't say anything.
She was just kind of… Sam.😊

I add a smiley face, because that feels like the right thing to do.

The dots appear.
Disappear.
Then nothing.
Minutes pass.
I lock my phone, then unlock it again. Check. Still nothing.
I tell myself he's busy. That he probably just wanted reassurance. That not every conversation has to mean something.
But as I set my phone down on my bed and stare at the ceiling, a small, unwelcome thought creeps in:
He wasn't looking at the picture to see me.
He was looking for her.
And whatever he saw there, worried him enough to go quiet.
Which means, whether I like it or not, Sam is still the center of gravity.
And I'm just… orbiting.