chapter six.

[the bus stop incident]

The air at the bus stop was freezing, but the atmosphere was even colder.

I was leaning against the rusted metal pole, trying to disappear into my headphones, when I saw him. William. He’s Anne’s cousin, and like the rest of us, he’s drowning in Year 10 stress. But today, he wasn't thinking about studies. He looked like he was made of jagged edges.

James was leaning against the glass casing, laughing at something Brenda was showing him on her phone. He looked perfectly at peace, untouched by the chaos he’d started.

"James," William said. It wasn't a shout. It was a low, dangerous rumble that cut through the sound of passing cars.

James looked up, his manic grin not flickering for a second. "Hi, William! Looking for Anne? I think she went home to have a cry. Very 'logical' of her."

William didn't waste time with words. He stepped into James’s space, his hands balled into fists inside his blazer pockets. "You stay away from my cousin. I know what you’re doing. You think this is a game, but you’re just a parasite, James. You find a host and you drain it."

"A parasite?" James giggled, but his eyes were darting around, checking who was watching. "Brenda, am I a parasite?"

"William, back off," Brenda snapped, stepping between them. "Anne was being a bitch. James hasn't done anything."

"He's turned you all into idiots," William spat. He looked at James. "We’re in the same year, James. I see you every day. This isn't over."

The bus pulled up, brakes screeching. William didn't get on. He just stared James down until the doors closed. The ride back was silent. James didn't scream "HI" once. He just sat in the back, staring at his reflection in the window, his fingers tapping a fast, nervous rhythm on his knee.

The next morning, the "William vs. James" war had moved to the school corridors. But I had a more immediate, annoying problem: Ophelia.

Ophelia is the human equivalent of a papercut. She’s spent all of Year 10 trying to get a reaction out of me.

"Oh look, it's the resident corpse," Ophelia chirped, blocking my path to the lockers. She was wearing far too much glitter for a Tuesday. "I heard you and Oliver are a thing now. Is it true? Do you both just sit in silence and think about how miserable the world is? Sounds riveting."

I didn't look at her. I opened my locker and pulled out my History textbook.

"Are you even listening, Liam? Or has your brain finally rotted away?" She stepped closer, waving a hand in front of my face. "Hello? Earth to Emo?"

I pushed my locker shut. I walked past her without a single word, not even a blink. Ignoring Ophelia is the only way to win.

"Rude!" she screamed after me. "No wonder James thinks you're a project!"

I froze for a second. A project. That’s what James called people before he broke them.

By lunch, the "Circus" was no longer a show; it was a riot.

William was waiting by the canteen entrance. When James tried to walk past with Brenda, William didn't just talk. He shoved him. Hard. James hit the double doors with a heavy thud that echoed through the entire hall.

"What's the matter, James?" William taunted, as a crowd of Year 11s began to form. "No clever comeback? No emoji to save you now?"

"Stop it!" Brenda screamed, trying to push William back.

"Is this what you wanted, James?" I muttered from the sidelines.

James looked up from the floor. For the first time, the "neon" was gone. He looked small. He looked hunted. But then he looked at the crowd—the phones being pulled out, the gasps, the attention.

A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face. He wasn't scared. He was winning. He was the victim now. He was the center of the universe again.

"Hit me, William," James whispered, loud enough for the front row to hear. "Show everyone who the 'toxic' one really is."

Sarah was standing next to me, her face pale. She looked like she was finally seeing the strings, but she was too tangled in them to move. The whole group was leaning, tilting, ready to topple over into something they could never take back.

chapter seven.

[the ethan factor]

Form time used to be our sanctuary. Two chairs, one table, and a shared understanding of the world’s absurdity. But today, the silence between me and Flora wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, like a lung full of smoke.

Flora leaned in, her eyes darting toward Mrs. Hall before she slid her phone across the wood of our desk.

"Warren posted it," she whispered. "In the Circus chat. Ten minutes ago."

I looked down. It was a video from the canteen. The quality was shaky, but the sound was unmistakable. The thud of James hitting the doors. The crowd’s gasp. And then, the close-up of James on the floor, looking like a fallen angel, whispering: Hit me, William.

"He looks like he's enjoying it," Flora said, her voice trembling. "Liam, look at his face. He’s not scared at all. He’s performing."

"I know," I said, pushing the phone back. "He’s winning. Every time we react, he grows."

"It gets worse," Flora added, her voice dropping to a jagged breath. "James went to the office right after. He told them William attacked him unprovoked. He played the 'victim' perfectly. William got an internal exclusion. He’s been kicked out of the group, the canteen... everything. Anne is furious. She was screaming at Sarah in the hallway, calling us all spineless."

I felt a cold prickle of dread. James hadn't just won the fight; he’d weaponized the school's discipline system.

"Everyone is talking about it," Flora murmured. "And everyone is talking about them."

She pointed toward the window. Out on the quad, Oliver was walking toward the library. But he wasn't alone. He was following a boy I hadn't noticed much before: Ethan.

Ethan is everything Oliver is, but shifted a few degrees into the light. He’s quiet, but in a way that seems cool rather than lonely. He has this effortless way of walking, and Oliver was trailing him like a shadow seeking its source.

"They're always together now," Flora murmured. "The Year 10s are already shipping them. #Etholver. Apparently, they’ve been friends since primary. James is the one who started the hashtag. He says they’re ‘soulmates’."

The word soulmate felt like a physical coldness in my chest.

"I don't care who Oliver hangs out with," I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Flora turned her head, looking at me with an intensity that made me want to look away. "Don't you? Liam... do you like him? Like, actually?"

The question hung in the air, vibrating. I looked at the back of Oliver’s head as he disappeared around the corner with Ethan. I thought about the library. I thought about the way the air felt still when we sat together. I thought about the "room full of mirrors" and how Oliver was the only person who didn't seem to be looking at his own reflection.

Do I?

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just stared at the empty space on the quad until the bell rang, signaling the end of our sanctuary.

chapter eight.

[the shelf life of silence]

The library after school is the only place where the world doesn't feel like a high-speed car crash. The air is still, smelling of old paper and the faint, citrus scent of the cleaning spray the janitors use.

Liam was currently organizing the "Graphic Novels" section. It was mindless, repetitive work, which was exactly why he’d volunteered for it. Every book he tucked into its correct alphabetical slot was one less person he had to look at in the eyes.

He stopped at the letter O.

He thought about Oliver. He thought about switching his shifts. If he moved to the lunch slot, he’d see Oliver more, but he’d also have to see Ethan. And James. And the "Circus."

Is seeing Oliver worth the noise? Liam wondered. He traced the spine of a book. Probably not. Nothing is worth that much noise.

"You're overthinking again, Liam. I can practically hear your brain grinding from across the room."

Liam didn't jump. He was used to Miss Tori Pratt’s voice. She was the librarian, a woman who seemed to exist in a permanent state of dry amusement. She wore dark-rimmed glasses and always looked like she’d just finished reading something incredibly cynical. She was the only adult Liam actually talked to. Mostly because she never asked him if he was "okay."

"I'm not overthinking," Liam said, not turning around. "I'm alphabetizing."

"Right. And I’m the Queen of Sheba," Miss Pratt said, leaning against a nearby cart of returns. She adjusted her glasses. "You've been staring at the same shelf for three minutes. You usually do this section in ninety seconds flat. What’s the variable? Is it the new boy? The one who thinks he’s a megaphone?"

"James isn't a variable," Liam muttered. "He's a catastrophe."

"Fair point," she conceded. "But catastrophes are loud. You usually hide better than this. Why are you considering switching your shifts to the midday slot? That’s peak 'shouting time.'"

Liam finally turned. "How did you know I was thinking about that?"

"I'm a librarian, Liam. I read people for a living," she said, her expression softening just a fraction—the most emotion she ever showed. "If you're looking for someone, just find them. Don't ruin your only hour of peace by inviting the chaos in. Once you let the circus into the library, there’s nowhere left to go."

Liam looked back at the shelf. She was right. If he moved his shift, the library wouldn't be his anymore. It would belong to James. It would belong to "Etholver."

"I'll stay after school," Liam decided.

"Good choice," Miss Pratt said, patting the cart. "Now, finish the S section. Someone trashed the Shakespeare biographies, and it’s giving me a migraine."

She walked away, her footsteps silent on the carpet. Liam reached for a book, but his hand hovered. He realized he wasn't staying after school to avoid James.

He was staying because he was terrified that if he saw Oliver and Ethan together in the light of day, he wouldn't be able to pretend he didn't care anymore.

chapter nine.

[the exit strategy]

The hallway was empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a low, electric anxiety. I was leaving the library—my only real sanctuary—when I saw him.

Oliver was standing by the lockers. He wasn't drawing. He was just... waiting. He looked so out of place in this building, a quiet person in a school that had become a loudspeaker. He was never part of the "Circus." He was never one of them. And that’s why I had to do this.

"Hi," I said. It felt like the hardest word I’d ever spoken.

"Hi, Liam," he replied. He looked at me, and for a second, the silence was back—the good kind. The kind that didn't need to be filled with James’s screaming or Brenda’s fake laughter.

We started walking toward the exit, our footsteps echoing in sync.

"I don't think I can be around them anymore," Oliver said suddenly. He wasn't even talking about the group as his friends—he was talking about them like a weather condition he was tired of enduring. "The noise. The way James looks at me like I’m a project he’s bored of. I’m not like you guys, Liam. I’m not part of that world."

"I know," I said, stopping by the big glass doors. "You’re better than that world."

Oliver looked at the ground. "I wish things were simpler. Like they are with Ethan. Ethan doesn't know who James is. He doesn't care about the group chat. He just... knows me. I think I’ve loved him since we were ten, Liam. And now James is trying to turn us into a 'ship' for the drama, and I just want to go back to when it was quiet."

My heart didn't break. It just went still. Like a clock that finally ran out of battery.

I looked at Oliver. I realized that if I kept him here, in this quiet hallway with me, I’d be just as selfish as James. I’d be pulling him into the gravity of a group he never asked to join. I had to let him stay an outsider.

"He's in the courtyard," I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. "Ethan. He's waiting for you."

I reached out and grabbed Oliver’s hand. His skin was warm. For a fraction of a second, I wanted to hold on. But I didn't. I dragged him through the doors and out into the biting cold of the quad.

Ethan was there, leaning against a bench. He didn't have a flashy blazer or a loud voice. He was just Ethan. He looked up, and the look of pure relief on his face when he saw Oliver was enough to make me let go.

I took Oliver’s hand and placed it directly into Ethan’s. I was handing him over to a life that didn't involve James Leonard.

Ethan and Oliver looked at each other. The air between them shifted, the world of the school falling away. They moved together into a hug—a real one, not a performance for the Circus. They were two people who had escaped.

I turned around. I didn't wait for them to notice I was gone.

I walked back toward the school building, the quad feeling three miles long. I was halfway to the gate when a shadow stepped into my path.

Flora.

She was standing there, her eyes red, her phone clutched in her hand like a weapon she was tired of carrying. She looked at me, saw my face, and she knew.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Liam, I'm so sorry."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just leaned into her, and for the first time in Year 11, the "corpse" felt something. We hugged—a desperate, messy anchor in the middle of a storm.

We let go and started walking. We didn't look back at the quad where Oliver and Ethan were safe in their own quiet world. We didn't look at our phones where the Circus was still screaming. We just walked away together.