By the end of April the heat was already starting to press down on the town. The air after school felt thick and sticky, the sun still hanging high as Clara Wren and Summer Hayes walked out of the front gate the way they always did.

They had barely stepped past the gate when a knot of students peeled away from the crowd and closed in around them.

Clara’s steps faltered. The circle tightened, nudging and herding them toward a narrow side alley off the street. The chatter from the schoolyard faded behind them, swallowed up by the echo of footsteps against concrete.

Clara had never seen anything like this outside of TV. Her stomach clenched; a small, cold pulse of fear ran through her. Beside her, Summer’s face stayed calm, almost bored, as if this were an inconvenience rather than a threat.

Once they were far enough from the main road, the group spread out. At the front, the girl in the lead flipped her hair back and smirked.

Jenna Duvall.

In class, Jenna strutted around like she owned the place, making a habit of picking on other students—especially the girls. She and Summer usually stayed out of each other’s way, like two kingdoms with an unspoken truce. Because Clara was always glued to Summer’s side, Jenna had mostly ignored her too.

Apparently, that truce had just expired.

“Summer,” Jenna drawled, her voice dripping with contempt, “I’ve been sick of that ‘I’m-better-than-all-of-you’ act of yours for a long time. You think nobody sees through your little games?”

Her flock of girls fanned out behind her, arms folded, eyes brimming with the same disgust. Their gazes slid up and down Summer and Clara like they were something gross stuck to the bottom of their shoes.

“Jenna, we’ve never done anything to you,” Clara snapped, anger cutting through her fear. “Why are you blocking us like this?”

Jenna let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“No beef?” she sneered. “You seriously have no clue, do you? She’s totally played you.”

She jerked her chin toward Summer.

“Summer,” Jenna went on, turning her full attention now, “you tell everyone Logan’s your big brother, but I know better. He’s the guy you keep on the side off campus. He used to cover for you, right? But now he put some guy in the hospital and ran off after nearly beating him to death. So tell me—who’s gonna protect you now?”

Her eyes glittered with spite. Summer lifted her chin, meeting Jenna’s stare without flinching.

“So you’re here to settle a score with me?” Summer asked quietly.

“That’s right,” Jenna said. “Let Clara go, and you and I can talk.”

As she spoke, Summer shifted her weight almost imperceptibly, giving Clara a quick sideways look—a signal to move, to slip away while she still could.

“I’m not going,” Clara blurted. “I’m staying with you.”

“Perfect,” Jenna said, lips curving into a satisfied smile. “I wasn’t planning on letting you go anyway. That’s what you get for having crap taste in friends. Who told you to buddy up with this fake little saint?”

Her girls burst into snickers.

“Summer,” Jenna said in a sing-song voice, “tell us—how many times have you slept with Logan already? You really think nobody knows what you’re doing behind everyone’s backs?”

“Shut up,” Clara shouted, the words tearing out of her. “Don’t make things up. Summer is not like that!”

“Not like that?” Jenna scoffed. “Then what is she like, exactly? She’s just like her mom—playing the slut while pretending to be pure. Two of a kind.”

The last words hit the air like a slap.

Clara’s brain barely had time to process them before an actual slap cracked through the alley.

Summer’s palm connected with Jenna’s cheek so hard it spun Jenna’s head to the side, her hair whipping across her face.

For a heartbeat, the whole alley froze.

Even Clara stared, stunned. In her mind, Summer was always quiet, reserved—the calm center of every storm. She had never seen Summer move like that, fierce and blazing, eyes burning.

Jenna, for a moment, looked just as shocked as everyone else. Then the color flooded back into her face, mottled red with fury.

“You bitch—” she hissed.

Her entourage didn’t wait for orders. They surged forward as one, a swarm of fists and elbows and snarling faces. Every punch, every shove seemed aimed at Summer.

Clara threw herself in front of her, arms up, trying to block whatever she could. Knuckles crashed into her shoulders, her back, her ribs. The alley spun with shouting and the dull thud of blows landing.

Someone’s kick came in hard and wild. Clara couldn’t tell whose foot it was—she only saw the blur of motion, heard Summer’s breath whoosh out.

Summer’s body went down.

She hit the ground with a sickening smack, her head snapping back. When she pushed up on her hands, a dark stream of blood was already spilling from her nose, spreading across her face in irregular streaks, smearing over her lips and chin. Against her pale skin, it looked horrifying.

That, finally, made the others hesitate. They backed off a few steps, panting, glancing anxiously toward Jenna, waiting to see what she’d say next.

Clara’s own heart was pounding so loud she could barely hear them. Panic clawed at her throat. She knew if they rushed Summer again, it could get so much worse.

Before she could overthink, instinct took over.

Her fingers brushed against something rough on the ground—a broken brick lying near the wall. She snatched it up, the sharp edges biting into her palm, and hurled it as hard as she could at the cluster of girls.

She hadn’t aimed.

She hadn’t needed to.

The brick flew straight at Jenna.

It hit her on the side of the head with a sickening thud.

Jenna staggered, eyes wide, and then crimson welled instantly from the gash along her hairline. Blood streamed down through her hair and over her temple, staining her expensive blouse, dripping in thick, sticky lines. For a second, she just stood there, stunned, hands lifting toward the wound.

The sight of all that blood broke whatever was left of the other girls’ bravado.

They screamed.

Then they ran—every last one of them, scattering out of the alley, their shrieks trailing behind them as they bolted back toward the main road.

Silence crashed down, broken only by Summer’s ragged breathing and the faint, bewildered noises Jenna was making as she swayed on her feet.

Clara stared at her own hands, at the faint dust and red smears on her fingers. The brick lay at Jenna’s feet, a dark smear staining one corner.

She felt herself go lightheaded.

“I—I…” she stammered, her mind going blank.

“Clara!” Summer’s voice cut through, thin but sharp.

Clara spun toward her. Summer was trying to get up, one hand pressed to her side, her face streaked in half-dried blood. She winced with every movement, but her eyes were focused, steady.

“Call an ambulance,” Summer said, forcing the words out despite the pain. “Now.”

That jolted Clara back into motion. She fumbled her phone out of her pocket, her fingers shaking as she punched in the emergency number and choked out the address, babbling about a head injury, about how there was a lot of blood.

The ambulance arrived faster than Clara would have believed possible.

Bright lights flared at the mouth of the alley. Paramedics hurried in with a stretcher, their voices calm and quick as they asked questions, checked Jenna’s pupils, wrapped gauze around her head. Jenna was still conscious, crying now, hysterical and disoriented.

Summer pushed herself upright again, swaying as she got to her feet. Clara reached out to steady her, but Summer brushed her arm away and took one limping step after the paramedics, her eyes locked on Jenna’s blood-covered face.

They lifted Jenna onto the stretcher and rushed her toward the ambulance. Clara climbed in after them automatically, hands on the rails, helping guide Jenna’s trembling body. Summer hauled herself up too, gritting her teeth against the pain.

Sirens wailed as the doors slammed shut.

By the time they reached the hospital, Clara’s head felt hollow, buzzing with noise that wasn’t there. Everything blurred into a series of bright lights and clipped instructions. Jenna was whisked away toward the operating room, the doors swinging shut behind her with a soft, final click.

Clara and Summer were left standing in the corridor, suddenly small and out of place among the uniforms and white coats.

A doctor from the outpatient wing took one look at Summer’s face and insisted on cleaning her up. They sat her down on a plastic chair, tilted her head back, and wiped away the dried blood with practiced, efficient movements. Gauze, antiseptic, a simple bandage pressed lightly across the bridge of her nose.

“It’s not broken,” the doctor said briskly. “Just a bad hit. You’ll bruise, but you’ll be fine.”

Summer nodded without a word.

When the doctor moved on, Clara guided Summer to a row of chairs along the hallway outside the operating room. The fluorescent lights were harsh, flattening everyone into the same washed-out palette. The floor smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic.

Summer sat with her hands folded loosely in her lap, staring at the opposite wall. The dried streaks where the blood had been washed off left faint pink traces along her skin. Clara wanted to say something—to apologize, to ask if she was okay, to say that she never meant for the brick to hit Jenna’s head—but the words tangled in her throat and died.

Minutes crawled by, each second dragging across Clara’s nerves.

The doors at the far end of the corridor burst open with a sharp clack of heels.

A woman in her thirties strode in, dressed in an expensive suit that clung perfectly to her curves, her makeup flawless, jewelry catching every bit of light. The scent of perfume preceded her, sharp and heavy. Her high heels struck the floor in crisp, furious beats as she demanded directions from every nurse and orderly she passed.

Clara didn’t recognize her.

Summer did.

The moment her eyes landed on the woman, Summer’s shoulders stiffened. She turned her face away sharply, angling her body so her bandaged nose and swelling cheek were hidden as much as possible.

It didn’t work.

The woman’s gaze swept the corridor, then stopped—locking onto Summer like a hawk spotting prey.

“Summer,” she spat, the name leaving her mouth like a curse. “You little bitch.”

Her voice rose, echoing off the sterile walls.

“Did you hit my daughter? Did you lay a hand on my Jenna? I swear to God, I will beat you to death!”

She lunged.

Clara shot to her feet, heart slamming against her ribs, and stepped between them without thinking. The woman’s hand swung toward Summer and smacked against Clara’s arm instead. Pain shot up to her shoulder, but Clara stood her ground, bracing herself, arms spread protectively.

Nurses rushed in from all directions, grabbing at the woman’s arms, pulling her back. One of them stepped between Summer and the woman, palms out, speaking in hurried, soothing tones. The woman tried to twist free, still shouting, her voice cracking with rage and fear.

Behind Clara, Summer stayed silent, head bowed, guarding her bruised face with her hair.

Only the nurses’ firm hands and Clara’s stubborn stance kept the woman from landing another blow.