Chapter 62 Chapter Fifty-Eight
Alex’s point of view
I didn't tell anyone about the decision.
Not because I was being careful, but because saying it out loud would've made it sound weird.
‘Hey, I’m about to get a girlfriend’ like who announces that shit.
All I need to do is just act normal.
That was the goal. Simple. Reasonable. Doable-nothing too extreme-.
Except nothing about normal came naturally anymore.
Demi and I literally existed in the same orbit, being close enough that avoiding each other entirely would've been suspicious, but distant enough that every interaction felt strained.
We spoke when we had to, though it was mostly just group conversations, or about our plays, sometimes it was about our homework, other times it was anything as long as it didn't require eye contact for too long.
And the big problem was that we both noticed.
And unfortunately for the both of us, so did everyone else.
"You guys used to be inseparable," my little sister said one night as we sat at the dinner table. "Did something happen between you too?"
"No," I said immediately.
Demi wasn't there, but the question still made my stomach tighten.
She squinted at me. "You said that way too fast Lexi”
I shrugged, stabbing at my food. "People drift Bella”
She snorted. "Not that fast."
I didn't respond.
At school, it got worse.
Our friends stopped pretending not to see it.
Their conversations would stall when Demi and I ended up standing next to each other.
Someone would crack a joke that didn't land. Someone else would change the subject too abruptly.
One afternoon, we were all sitting on the grass outside, half-listening to music and half-complaining about practice.
Demi was there, knees pulled up to his chest, phone balanced loosely in his hand.
I caught myself watching the way the sunlight hit his hair, which he had let grow, so now his Afro was longer and thicker.
I looked away immediately, heart kicking like I'd been caught doing something wrong.
"You okay?" someone asked.
I blinked. "Yeah. Why?"
"You're zoning out," they said. "Like, a lot."
"I'm tired," I replied.
Demi didn't look at me.
That was the worst part, the way he'd stopped checking my reactions.
Stopped tracking my moods like he used to do. Stopped doing all the small, quiet things that had once made me feel seen without realizing it.
I told myself it was for the best.
Distance meant healing.
That's what people said, right?
But healing was supposed to feel better than this.
By the end of the second week, the awkwardness had reached a point where it couldn't be ignored.
We were partnered for a group project in history, and the teacher barely finished listing the groups before the tension hit.
Demi froze.
I froze.
"Is that okay?" the teacher asked, glancing between us, he knew we weren’t on speaking terms.
"Yeah, totally fine" Demi said quickly.
"Yeah," I echoed, a beat too late.
It wasn't okay.
We sat at opposite ends of the table in the library, laptops open, neither of us typing.
"So," I said finally. "We should probably... split up the work."
"Yeah," Demi said. "I can do the research."
"I'll do the presentation," I replied.
Another pause.
Our knees bumped under the table by accident.
Demi jerked back like he'd been burned.
"Sorry," he said automatically.
"Sorry," I said at the same time.
We both went still.
Something flickered across his face, pain, maybe, or frustration, and then it was gone. He focused on his screen, shoulders tense.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away.
Later that day, I overheard two of our friends whispering behind me.
"They had a falling out, right?" one of them murmured.
"I don't know," the other replied. "But something happened. You can feel it."
My chest tightened.
That night, lying in bed, I replayed every interaction from the past few days. Every awkward pause. Every flinch. Every look Demi didn't give me.
This is exactly why you need to do this, I told myself.
If I didn't do something soon, people were going to start asking the wrong questions. Drawing the wrong conclusions.
And worse, so was I.
The next day, I noticed her.
Her name was Claire.
She sat two rows ahead of me in English, always with neat handwriting and a quiet smile.
We'd talked before, casually, she was nice, pretty and calm.
When she laughed at something the teacher said, something in my chest loosened just slightly, not attraction, exactly, but relief.
This could work.
I started paying attention on purpose.
I laughed at her jokes. Asked her about school work.
I walked with her to class when our paths overlapped. Nothing obvious. Nothing rushed.
But it didn't go unnoticed.
"You and Claire seem... friendly," Kyle said one afternoon, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.
"Do we?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah," they said. "She definitely likes you."
The words sent a strange mix of panic and validation through me.
Good.
That was the point.
Across the room, Demi watched us.
I felt his gaze before I saw it. When I looked up, his expression was carefully blank, his attention fixed on something over my shoulder.
He didn't look hurt.
That almost made it worse.
I doubled down.
I sat next to Claire more often. I walked her home once. I let my arm brush hers without pulling away.
Each small step felt like a test.
‘Do you feel anything?’ I asked myself over and over.
Sometimes I felt... fine. Comfortable. Like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.
Other times, it felt like I was watching myself from a distance, playing a role I hadn't rehearsed enough.
And always, always, there was Demi.
Quiet. Observant. Further away every day.
By the end of the week, even my mom noticed.
"You've been smiling more," she said one evening. "Something new?"
"Just school," I replied.
She smiled knowingly. "Uh-huh."
I took that as a sign.
If this could convince everyone else, it could convince me too.
I just needed to go all the way.
So when Claire asked if I wanted to hang out over the weekend, just the two of us, I said yes.
And when Demi found out, standing a few feet away, his face pale and unreadable, I told myself not to look at him.
Because if I did, I wasn't sure I'd go through with it.