Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

Jesus. I don’t know who that person staring back at me is. She looks like the tortured, sad creature I remember from high school, but that’s not the new me. That’s not the Emma who’s making new friends and living life on her terms. That’s not the Emma who’s determined to prove herself to her dad.

It’s obvious I’ve been crying, but I can’t fix my face, so I decide to let it be.

Leaving the bathroom, I start to head back down the long hallway—but I stop before I make it three feet. Trent is standing halfway down the corridor, his back pressed against the wall and arms crossed over his chest. He turns to look at me, and as he does so, there’s a softness to his expression, something almost like concern. It reminds me of the friend I once knew, and it hurts worse than if he’d spit at me.

Because it’s all a fucking lie.

As if to prove my point, his angular features harden into a mask again. Then he presses away from the wall, walking forcefully toward me and getting right up in my face.

“Did you know about this?”

I stand my ground, tilting my head to look up at him since we’re standing so close together. “Know about what?”

“About my mom and your dad, you idiot.”

“Of course I didn’t know about this.”

“Why am I supposed to believe you?”

“Why are you supposed to not believe me?” My voice is rising into a shriek, but I can’t help it. A headache is starting to throb behind my eyes, and I just want to get out of here.

“Because obviously you’ve lied to me in the past, and I’m pretty sure that you’re going to do it again.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” I blurt in disbelief.

“You’re fucking lying to me right now.”

Trent’s eyes narrow as he grabs my shoulders, pushing me into the wall. He’s blocking my way, filling every molecule of the space around me with his dominating presence, boxing me in. I push against his hold on my shoulders, but he’s stronger than I am, and this time, he’s not fucking around.

This isn’t a joke or a taunt. He’s seriously pissed, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me.

My heart pounds hard in my chest, rattling my rib cage.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I gasp, breathing hard as Trent extends his hands on either side of me, literally caging me against the wall and blocking my way.

“No? No idea?” He shakes his head, practically vibrating with fury. “You were the one who told my dad about it after we saw them kissing. You were the one who sold my mom out, made Dad turn on her. So why the fuck would I believe anything you say?”

I blink at him, my mind freezing up, momentarily struck dumb by shock.

“Th-that’s what you hated me for? That’s why you bullied me?” I croak.

Numbness is creeping up my arms and legs. I can’t even process this. For the past two years, I’ve been convinced the hell they put me through in high school was because I rejected their advances.

But I was wrong. It was for this. Something I didn’t even do.

My question only seems to piss him off even more. He moves in closer to me, bringing our faces almost nose-to-nose. “Don’t act so surprised, you little liar. What did you expect, for me to send you a goddamn thank you card?”

“I never told your dad anything!”

Now it’s his turn to freeze. His body grows utterly still, like a snake about to strike. Then he shakes his head, the movement slow and almost hypnotic. “You’re such a liar. It was only me and you there, remember? We’re the only ones that saw. And I sure as fuck didn’t tell him.”

Memories of that day come rushing back. It was the same day Trent asked me out, the same day I turned him down. We caught our parents kissing, although they had no idea what we’d seen. But I promised Trent I would never say anything, and I thought—I thought he believed me.

All this time, I thought he hated me for one thing, when his hatred was born of something else entirely. Something I know I’m entirely innocent of.

“Trent,” I repeat, my voice gaining strength as adrenaline floods my veins. “I didn’t. Tell him. Anything.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to call me a liar again, probably. But I just keep going, my voice softening a little as I say, “Why didn’t you come to me then? Why didn’t you ask me?”