Rumors spread like wildfire through the school halls the morning after Evelyn's onstage stumble, curling through locker-lined corridors and drifting across cafeteria tables like invisible smoke. Whispers sparked in clusters of students, their voices pitched low but sharp, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile thrill of it all.
"Did you see her face?" one girl hissed near the science wing, her eyes wide with the feverish delight of fresh gossip, fingers clutching the strap of her backpack so tightly the knuckles whitened.
"She was this close to falling apart," another girl breathed, her words trembling with barely suppressed glee, the corners of her mouth twitching up despite her attempts to feign sympathy.
"I swear, I thought she was going to faint," someone muttered by the lockers, laughter bubbling under the words like carbonation in a shaken bottle. Fingers tapped rapidly on screens, photos and blurry clips circulating faster than anyone could keep up, each retelling making the stumble sharper, the crack in Evelyn's mask wider.
Lottie moved through the chaos like a stone in a stream, the current parting around her, eyes flicking toward her but never quite settling, as if they sensed the shift in gravity but couldn't name it. Her expression was calm, almost absent, but inside her chest, a taut thread pulsed, sharp with the awareness of the tide turning. Every clipped whisper, every glance over a shoulder, every half-hidden smirk hummed like static against her skin.
At her side, Leo strolled with a languid ease that was anything but accidental. His leather jacket hung open, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his grin lazy but his eyes bright, alert, hungry. "Careful," he murmured under his breath, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushed hers, his voice edged with quiet amusement. "You're starting to look smug."
Lottie's lips barely curved, a ghost of a smile flickering at the corners, subtle as the catch of light on a knife's edge. "I'm not," she murmured, voice soft but threaded with steel. "I'm… observing."
Leo let out a low laugh, tipping his head back for a moment before shooting her a sidelong glance. "Well, the observers are eating her alive," he said, fingers brushing briefly against hers as they turned a corner, a fleeting, grounding touch that made something sharp and fleeting coil low in her belly. "It's like they've been waiting for permission."
In the digital spaces, the fallout bloomed even faster. Evelyn's supporters scrambled to spin the narrative, flooding group chats and social feeds with frantic defenses.
"It was just bad lighting,"
"She was tired, you know how hard she works,"
"That moment? Totally overblown"—
but cracks were already spidering through the polished façade. Doubt had sunk its teeth in, and it wasn't letting go.
Amy's posts came in flurries, increasingly breathless, her usual sharp wit slipping into something rawer, more desperate.
"She's fine, okay? People need to calm down."
"Seriously, who cares if she tripped onstage? You've never stumbled before?"
"Some of you were just waiting for an excuse to turn."
Lottie read the updates with a measured stillness, fingers lightly skimming the edge of her phone, the device cool and weighty in her palm. A faint vibration tickled against her skin—a new notification—and without lifting her gaze, she handed the screen to Leo. "Filter the noise?"
He grinned, thumb darting over the screen with a practiced flick. "Consider it done," he murmured, his voice curling low with amusement as his eyes flicked over the cascade of messages. His shoulder bumped hers lightly as he worked, the contact unassuming but somehow grounding, tethering her just enough to the moment.
In the teachers' lounge, murmurs pulsed like a subterranean current.
"Did you catch the footage?" one teacher murmured, brows arching over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes flicking toward the window as if expecting to glimpse the fallout there.
"She's usually so composed," another replied, a faint, thoughtful frown pulling at her mouth, fingers drumming absently against a folder.
"It's… surprising," a third added quietly, eyes distant, as if recalibrating old expectations.
At lunch, Lottie slipped into her usual spot by the window, the light spilling pale gold across her shoulders. Her hands cradled a cup of tea, the ceramic warm against her skin, fingers curling loosely around the handle. The faint wisp of steam rose to brush her face, a delicate warmth against the cool air slipping in through the cracked windowpane. Across the cafeteria, Evelyn's table was unusually subdued, the once-bright constellation of admirers dimmed to flickers, their laughter too sharp, too forced, each smile stretched thin as brittle glass.
Leo slid into the seat across from her, tray balanced precariously in one hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It's like watching a building lose power one floor at a time," he murmured, voice low and laced with satisfaction. His eyes roved the room, cataloging the subtle shifts—the way chairs angled just slightly away from Evelyn, the way glances slid past her without sticking, the way conversation peeled off at the edges of her orbit.
Lottie lifted her gaze slowly, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks, the faintest curve tugging at her mouth. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Me?" Leo smirked, breaking off a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth, the crinkle of the paper wrapping faint under his fingers. "I'm an innocent spectator."
A soft vibration shivered against the table, a pulse of tension under her fingers. Lottie reached for her phone, eyes flicking over a brief, graceful statement she'd drafted earlier. With a single, decisive tap, she posted it.
"Thank you to everyone who's been kind. Quiet strength matters more than noise."
Within minutes, the replies bloomed across her screen like wildfire.
"Classy as always."
"THIS is why people respect her."
"She didn't even mention names—iconic."
Leo let out a soft whistle under his breath, eyes dancing over the screen. "That's how you hold a room without even being in it."
Across the courtyard, Evelyn's phone buzzed relentlessly, her fingers tightening white-knuckled around the sleek device as she watched the metrics tilt. Amy leaned in, whispering furiously in her ear, but Evelyn's smile—tight, glassy—cracked just slightly at the edges, her jaw twitching with the effort of holding it all together. Lottie's eyes caught the faint flush crawling up Evelyn's neck, the restless tap of her polished nails against the table, the jagged edge to her usually flawless posture.
In a last-ditch effort, Evelyn recorded a follow-up video that evening. Her face was framed in soft light, hair impeccably styled, voice bright and lilting, the edges of strain softened by filters.
"Hey, everyone! Just wanted to pop on and say how much I love you all and how grateful I am for the amazing support! Don't believe everything you hear—this year's going to be unforgettable!"
But in the comments, the shift was unmistakable.
"Why does this feel… fake?"
"She's trying too hard."
"Lottie didn't even need a video."
Lottie watched the clip in quiet stillness, the glow of the screen soft against her face. For a moment, her fingers hovered at the edge of the laptop, the faint tremble of breath hitching in her throat—not triumph, not quite, but something more tangled, an ache that caught her off guard. She remembered, distantly, the sister she'd once chased across sunlit hallways, the girl whose shadow had once been warm instead of cold. The ache folded in on itself quickly, cooling to resolve.
As she closed the laptop, a final notification pinged through.
"Your next move will decide everything."
She exhaled slowly, the breath slipping past parted lips, fingers curling briefly into fists before smoothing flat against the tabletop. Her pulse ticked a steady rhythm at her throat, a quiet drumbeat beneath the hush of the room. Leo glanced over from where he lounged on the edge of the couch, one brow lifting, his foot tapping a lazy rhythm against the floor.
"Feeling the pressure yet?" he asked, voice a soft tease, but under it—something sharper, steadier, a quiet undercurrent of protectiveness.
Lottie tilted her head, a wry smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Not pressure," she murmured, voice low and certain, silk drawn over steel. "Focus."
Leo's grin deepened, his eyes glinting as he pushed off the couch and ambled closer, fingers grazing along the back of her chair. "You're terrifying when you're like this," he murmured, voice pitched low, the words brushing the air between them like a challenge.
Outside the window, the night settled like a hush, the town folded in shadow, quiet pressing against the glass. But beneath the hush, something simmered—low, restless, a hum that thrummed against Lottie's skin like a whisper of wind before a storm. Her fingers brushed the rim of her teacup, the porcelain cool now beneath her fingertips, the faint swirl of chamomile dregs tracing pale lines at the bottom.
Leo leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her hair, voice a low murmur at her ear. "Ready for the next round, Hayes?"
Lottie's smile was slow, the curve soft and sharp all at once. "I was born ready," she whispered, voice quiet as a secret, steady as a blade.
And in the hush that followed, the air seemed to hold its breath, the world tilting just slightly, the crack in the old order widening as the crowd beyond began to murmur, to shift, to watch.