When I step onto the bus, I spot Julie sitting at the very back beside Emily. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t look at her.

Later, when I get off the bus and head toward school, I notice Oliver isn’t in his usual spot near the bike rack. That’s where he normally hangs out with his friends before class. I go straight inside. He still hasn’t shown up. I keep my head low and type a few notes into my notebook.

When he finally walks in just before the bell rings, something about him is off. His expression is stiff, his face serious, not the usual cheerful young boy. I glance at him, but he avoids my eyes. Without a word, he walks right past me, eyes fixed ahead and takes his seat. I’m at the back. He’s not directly in front of me, just a row ahead and slightly to the side. He could’ve taken another path to avoid passing me. Instead, he chose this. I’m not sure if it means anything. His face gives no clue, so I can’t tell. It’s like none of it ever happened. Like he never kissed me. Like I never kept him waiting for hours in the rain at my driveway. Like his dad never hit him, for the first time in his life.

From where I sit, I can still see him clearly. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through it like I’m invisible.

He doesn’t look at me. Not once. Not for the rest of the day.

After lunch, I head back to class and see him walking from the opposite direction. When he sees me, he slows down a little. We end up face to face at the door. For a moment, our eyes meet. I still can’t read him, his face says nothing. I hold his gaze, calm and steady, then walk past him and enter the room.

Julie ignores me, too. No wave. No smile. Nothing. Not even the casual glance she sometimes throws my way. I don’t give it any weight.

After class, Oliver grabs his backpack and bolts. Probably off to baseball practice. I take the bus home.

When I get home, I see a car parked beside Mom’s. I don’t recognize it.

Someone is home, which I hate. The front door is cracked open, like someone’s just left, or is about to. Either way, I don’t care enough to check.

Then I hear a voice.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” a man says.

It’s Oliver’s dad.

It’s not his usual car. I glance at the black Corolla. Maybe he changed cars. Maybe it’s his friend’s. Why should I care?

“It’s okay. Teenagers,” Mom replies. “What can you do? Scarlet’s no different. Doesn’t like it when I tell her anything. It’s their age, right? We all crossed that once.”

“I know,” he says. “I should get going.”

“It’s almost time for Scarlet to get back,” she adds.

A sharp wave of irritation cuts through me. Maybe even anger. But I don’t want to walk in on that conversation. I don’t want Mom to know I heard any of it. I sneak around the side of the house and sit on the ground.

I’ve never been a fan of our split-level house, but I do like the trees in our yard. Tall enough to offer just enough privacy.

I sit there quietly. My thoughts swirl and knot in my head. After a while, I start to feel sleepy, so I place my backpack beside me and rest my head there, lying down. Before long, I drift off.