Chapter 52 Lottie
Somehow, I manage to push myself up from my seat.
My movements feel stiff, disconnected — like my body is operating on autopilot while my mind lags behind. I gather my things without really looking at them and walk out of the classroom without sparing Professor Hale a glance.
Even though I can feel it.
His gaze.
Heavy. Lingering.
Following me all the way to the door.
A shiver races down my spine, but I don’t turn around.
I can’t.
Why is he acting like this?
Why look at me like that — like I matter, like he feels something — when he’s the one who told me to pretend none of this ever happened?
The contradiction makes something sharp twist in my chest.
I step into the hallway and keep moving, my pace steady but unthinking, my mind somewhere else entirely as I head toward chemistry.
Everything feels muted.
Distant.
Like I’m walking through a version of the world that isn’t quite real.
I barely register the sound of footsteps approaching until—
“Lottie—”
I flinch slightly when Sandy falls into step beside me.
The sudden presence pulls me back just enough to react.
She’s looking at me strangely, her brows drawn together as she studies my face, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle that doesn’t quite make sense.
“What?” I ask, my voice coming out flatter than I intend.
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans in just a little, really looking at me now — and then her expression shifts completely. Her eyes widen.
“Lottie, oh my goodness!” she gasps. “Are you okay?”
I shrug, keeping my gaze forward.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just… a little under the weather. I’ll be good.”
It sounds hollow even to me.
She doesn’t buy it. Not even a little.
Before I can stop her, she reaches up and presses the back of her hand to my forehead, frowning like she’s checking for a fever.
“Well, you look like absolute shit,” she says bluntly. “And that’s me being nice.”
Despite everything, a small, breathless huff escapes me — not quite a laugh, but close.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Her hand lingers for a second longer before she pulls it back, still watching me with concern that’s a little too perceptive for comfort.
“Seriously,” she adds, softer now. “What happened to you?”
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough time for the weight of everything to press back in — the memory of him, the way he looked at me, the way he chose to push me away.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, quieter this time, as if, if I say it enough, it might become true.
Sandy doesn’t look convinced.
Not even close.
But for once, she doesn’t push.
She just walks beside me in silence, close enough that I can feel her presence — steady, grounding.
And for a brief moment… I’m grateful for it.
We settle into chemistry, and for the first time all day, I actually focus.
It’s not perfect — my thoughts still drift at the edges, still threaten to pull me under — but I’m present enough to follow along. To take notes. To understand what’s being said.
I don’t know if it’s because Sandy’s sitting next to me, occasionally nudging me when I zone out, or if my brain is just too tired to keep spiraling.
Either way…
I’m grateful for it.
By the time class ends, I feel… lighter. Not better, exactly. But not as heavy as before.
Not as suffocating.
I gather my things slowly, slipping my notebook into my bag as Sandy does the same beside me.
“You wanna go to a party this weekend?” she asks casually, like she’s asking about the weather.
I pause for half a second, then shrug.
“I wouldn’t mind,” I say, my tone a little flat but honest. “I could use a distraction.”
That gets her attention.
Her brow lifts immediately as she turns to look at me. “A distraction from what?”
I tilt my head slightly, already knowing what I’m going to say before I say it.
“Just… being sick,” I reply. “I need a pick-me-up.”
It’s not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
I do need a pick-me-up.
Just not for the reasons she thinks.
The thoughts start creeping back in almost immediately — his face, his voice, the way he looked at me in class — and I shake my head slightly, as if I can physically dislodge them before they take root.
Not now.
I can’t do that right now.
It still hurts too much.
I tune back in just as Sandy is nodding.
“Okay, cool beans,” she says. “We’re going out Friday and Saturday. There’s stuff happening both nights.”
I nod, a little absentmindedly. “Yeah… that sounds like a plan.”
Plans feel good. Normal. Safe.
We head outside, and the cold hits us instantly — sharp and biting, stealing the heat from my skin in seconds.
“God, it’s freezing,” Sandy mutters, pulling her coat tighter.
“Yeah,” I agree, tucking my chin into my scarf.
She glances over at me. “How about we hit the cafeteria? Get something to eat?”
For a moment, I hesitate. But then I realize… I’m actually hungry.
Not a lot. Not enough for something heavy. But something.
“Yeah,” I say after a beat. “That sounds good.”
Soup, maybe. Something warm. Easy.
We pick up the pace immediately, both of us moving faster to escape the cold. By the time we reach the cafeteria, my fingers are stiff, and my nose is numb.
The warmth inside is almost overwhelming at first.
We get into line and grab trays. I scan the options without much interest until I spot the soup bar. That feels manageable.
I ladle some into a bowl, the steam wafting up and fogging my vision for a second.
Sandy grabs her food, and we move through checkout, scanning our cards before heading to our usual table.
We drop our trays and start shedding layers — coats, scarves, gloves — piling them beside us.
As I ease into my seat, Sandy looks over at me again.
And then she snorts.
I blink. “What?”
She gestures vaguely at me, clearly holding back a laugh. “Did you get dressed in the dark or something?”
I frown and glance down at myself—and immediately see it.
My shirt is inside out. And backwards.
I let out a soft snort, shaking my head. “Yeah,” I mumble. “Pretty sure my eyes were closed when I got dressed.”
Which… isn’t entirely inaccurate.
I hadn’t exactly been paying attention.
Sandy laughs under her breath but doesn’t push it further, which I appreciate more than I can say.
We start eating, falling into easy conversation — nothing serious, nothing heavy—just random topics, small observations, things that don’t require too much thought.
And the whole time… I keep pushing him away.
Every time his face tries to surface in my mind, I shove it back down.
Every memory. Every feeling. Every what if.
I don’t let it settle.
Because the second I do…
I know I won’t be able to hold it together.