The Things We Notice - By Antonella Maher

Written By: Antonella Maher

Category: Mystery and Thriller

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the realm of mystery and thrillers, Antonella Maher presents "The Things We Notice," a captivating short story that explores the intricate web of obsession and the complexities of young love. This entry in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar invites readers to immerse themselves in a narrative that blends suspense with the nuanced shades of human emotion. Antonella, with a keen eye for detail, crafts a narrative that keeps readers on the edge, reflecting the unpredictable nature of infatuation and the blurred lines between admiration and fixation.

About the Work

Antonella Maher's "The Things We Notice" delves into the psyche of its characters with a narrative that oscillates between the perspectives of Quinn and Milo. The story is imbued with a palpable tension, accentuated by keen observations and an underlying sense of foreboding. Maher’s prose captures the haunting allure of unreciprocated love and the lengths to which individuals might go to protect their desires. The story’s imagery vividly paints the emotional landscapes of its characters, leaving readers to ponder the fine line between love and obsession.

The Things We Notice

Original Submission by Antonella Maher

The Things We Notice

By Antonella Maher

1

Quinn

Monday, September 14, 2015

Everyone has a person they remember noticing for the first time. Mine was different. I don't remember the day I met him. I remember the day I decided he was mine. Of course, he didn't know that yet.

I’ve liked Nicolas Corey since middle school. He’s the most perfect guy I know. I love everything about him: his slightly arched eyebrows, his perfectly straight teeth, the way he absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair every few minutes. Most people wouldn’t notice things like that, but I do. I noticed them years ago, and I haven’t stopped noticing since.

It was his cologne that caught my attention first. I still remember the butterflies I felt the first time he walked past me, the scent lingering in the hallway long after he'd disappeared. Even now, I can recognize it before I see him.

Some would think it’s weird. But that's only because no one else loves him the way I do. His parents probably couldn't tell you his favorite drink, or the route he takes home after school. I can.

I know he always buys a bottle of water on Thursdays because that's when he has basketball practice. I know he taps his pencil exactly three times before every math test. I know he never finishes the crust of his pizza. I know he chews the left side of his mouth whenever he's nervous.

I even keep the bottle of his cologne that I stole from his locker under my pillow. Sometimes, before I fall asleep, I spray it onto my sheets and pretend he's lying beside me.

I just wish I had enough courage to talk to him. Or that he would even notice me. I don’t think he even knows my name. No one does.

Actually, there’s one exception: Milo. He’s like my pet, or butler. He thinks we’re friends so he’s always around me asking if I want a snack, or if I need help carrying my books to class. He can be useful sometimes, so I keep him around.

Today, I was sitting alone at lunch, eating the disgusting sandwich they serve in the cafeteria while enjoying my view. And by view, I mean Nick. I sit at the table right behind him, which conveniently allows me to stare at him for hours without getting caught.

He’s eating the same sandwich as me while doodling on a piece of paper. I find it cool how he draws with his right hand but writes with his left. After every bite of the sandwich, he takes a sip of his orange juice, probably to wash out the gross taste of the sandwich. I’ve started to do the same.

I notice that he’s rubbing his neck, he must be stressed today. I wonder why. Maybe he has a test. I didn’t see any tests on his schedule though…

Suddenly I hear a loud bang from behind me and turn to see what it was.

Unsurprisingly, it was Milo, who just fell face first and is now getting up and picking up the stuff that poured out of his backpack while at least a hundred people are laughing at him. One person purposefully steps on his notebook, another one kicks his water bottle with a smirk on his face. No one helps him. I almost pity him, then I remember it’s Milo.

I cringe when he looks at me and waves. I wish I could disappear so people wouldn’t see me with him.

When he’s finally done grabbing his things, he comes over and sits down in front of me, covering my view of Nick.

I quickly glance at Nick, but he isn’t looking. Good. He doesn’t need to see me talking to Milo. Although, it’s not like he’d notice me anyway. Sometimes I wonder what I'd say if he ever did look my way.

“Hey,” he says

“Can you move?!”

He blinks, surprised, before sliding to the other side of the table.

“So…how was your day?”

He’s always asking me that stupid question. And I always respond with the same thing.

“Fine,” I mutter

He sits in silence for a bit, as if waiting for me to ask him back but I don’t.

“Listen,” he finally says, “I’ve heard of this new movie that just came out. I was wondering if you wanted to-”

And before he even finishes, I get up to follow Nick, who is now leaving the cafeteria and is heading to the basketball court. I know this because that’s what he usually does after lunch.

I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not stalking him. I just notice things that others fail to pay attention to. Nick deserves someone who pays attention to him.

Someone like me.

And as for Milo, I really couldn’t care less about that movie. It’s bad enough I have to deal with him at school. I can’t stand him for longer than that.

Besides, Nick would never look twice at me if he thought I belonged to someone else.

2

Milo

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

"Morning!"

Quinn looks up from her locker for about two seconds before giving me a small nod and turning back to her books. I smile anyway. That’s more than I got yesterday. And that counts as progress.

Most people at school think Quinn is quiet. Some think she's rude. A few people think she's intimidating. I think they're wrong.

Well... not completely. She is quiet. But quiet doesn't mean she has nothing to say. It just means she doesn't waste words on people she doesn't care about.

Unfortunately, I'm usually one of those people.

"How was your day?"

It’s the same question I ask every morning. I already knew what she'd say. Good. Fine. Maybe just a shrug if I was really unlucky. Still, I asked.

"Fine."

Called it.

"So... um..."

Come on, Milo. Say something normal.

I'd spent half the walk to school thinking of conversation starters, and somehow every single one had disappeared the second she looked at me.

"I liked your presentation in history yesterday."

She frowns.

"We didn't present anything in history yesterday."

Right. That would've explained why nobody clapped.

"I meant English."

"We didn't even have English yesterday."

I stare at the floor. There are approximately two hundred lockers in this hallway. Surely one of them could open up and swallow me.

"Oh."

Smooth. Real smooth.

She shakes her head, closes her locker, and walks away.

I watch her disappear into the crowd before letting out the sigh I didn’t even realize I was holding.

"You know she's never gonna date you, right?"

I look over to see a couple of guys leaning against the lockers. One of them grins. Another laughs.

"Dude, she barely knows you're alive."

Maybe. But she knows my name. That’s something.

Besides, if I'd given up every time someone laughed at me, I would've quit trying to ride a bike when I was six. Or stopped playing basketball after accidentally scoring in the wrong hoop. Twice.

"I like her," I say with a shrug.

"Whatever you say."

They walk off laughing.

I don’t really care. Well, maybe a little. But not enough to stop.

I reach into my backpack and feel the small packet of candy sitting in the front pocket.

I bought it this morning when I saw it at the store. It’s Quinn’s favorite kind. At least, I think it is. I saw her trying to buy the same one from the vending machine last week, and she looked disappointed when there weren’t any left.

It’s a stupid thing to remember, but I do.

I don’t know why I notice little things like that about her. Maybe it’s because Quinn doesn’t really let people get close to her, so the few things I do know feel important.

I pull the candy out and look at it for a second. Maybe I’ll give it to her later. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow sounds safer.

________________

English is probably my favorite class.

Not because I’m obsessed with analyzing books or writing essays. Honestly, I’d rather be anywhere else when we have to discuss symbolism for twenty minutes straight.

It’s mostly because Quinn sits two seats in front of me.

She probably doesn’t realize how much people notice her without her even trying. She always looks so focused, like she’s completely unaware of everything happening around her.

She taps her pen against her notebook whenever she’s thinking. She always underlines important sentences twice. And whenever she disagrees with something the teacher says, she tilts her head slightly like she’s trying to figure out how someone could possibly have that opinion.

Today, our teacher asks a question about the book we’re reading.

Nobody answers. Then Quinn raises her hand.

Her answer is actually really good. Not in a way where she’s trying to sound smarter than everyone else. She just says what she thinks.

The teacher smiles.

“Exactly, Quinn.”

For a second, she smiles too. It’s small, but it’s there. And somehow, it’s enough to make my day a little better.

People always act like liking someone is supposed to be easy. Like the right person is supposed to like you back immediately. But I don’t think so. After all, good things take time.

Quinn isn’t mean. Not really. She just... keeps people at a distance. Maybe she'd let me get a little closer someday.

Until then, I'd keep asking how her day was.

Maybe one day, she wouldn’t just answer, but also ask me about mine.

3

Quinn

Monday, September 21, 2015

I want to throw myself off a cliff.

Today, a new girl — Julie Chastain — joined our school. She’s a foreign exchange student from France, and somehow she has managed to become the center of attention within the first five minutes of arriving.

She walks around like she belongs in some movie about a perfect girl moving to a new country. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, her clothes are perfectly steamed, and she has this effortless confidence that makes everyone look at her. She says “bonjour” like she’s performing for an audience, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts carrying around a tiny purse filled with postcards and macarons.

But the worst part? She won’t leave my Nick alone!

When she first arrived this morning, she went straight to the seat next to him. It’s like she knew exactly what would annoy me the most and did it on purpose. I could’ve sworn I saw a tiny smirk when she walked past my desk, her back straight as a ruler and her chin lifted like she was better than everyone else.

You might be thinking: "Well maybe she didn't smirk. Maybe she just smiled."

But I know what I saw.

I wish I had put my foot out so she would trip in front of the whole class and embarrass herself within the first few minutes at this school.

Dang.

Why didn’t I do that?

For the past four hours and twenty-three minutes, she has not left his side.

And she is obviously flirting with him.

“Oh Nicolas! You are so — what is ze word again? — ah! Muscular.”

Okay, she didn’t actually say that. But I know she was thinking it.

The whole day, she has been asking him the most useless questions. Things about school, our town, places to visit, and whether certain restaurants are good. Normal questions, probably.

But I know what she’s really doing.

She’s finding excuses to talk to him.

She’s batting her eyelashes, laughing at everything he says, and playing with her hair every five seconds. And I’m sure her accent isn’t even that strong. There’s no way anyone actually speaks like that all the time. It has to be exaggerated. She just wants people to think she’s interesting.

She boils my blood.

After third period, I follow them when they walk toward what I assume is her locker. She looks up at him with the biggest smile on her face and lightly touches his arm.

“Thank you so much for all ze help, Nicolas.”

I’m pretty sure I see drool dripping from her mouth. Or maybe that’s just her lip gloss. Seriously, I bet a circus clown wears less makeup than her.

And after school, she asks him if he could walk her home because she’s “afraid I will get lost, or kidnapped!”

Yeah, right. No one gets lost in a town this small. And she still has her hand on his arm!

The physical contact really isn’t necessary. I think you can get your point across without grabbing onto someone like you’re afraid they’re going to disappear.

And you can tell Nick is uncomfortable too. He gives her the most forced smile I’ve ever seen and politely removes her hand from his arm. If he wasn’t the angel he is, he would’ve told her exactly what he was thinking.

He would’ve called her weird.

He would’ve told her to stop.

But Nick is too kind for that. He always has been.

I need to save my poor Nick from that girl. She’s going to make his life miserable, and he’s too polite to do anything about it.

I can’t let that happen.

4

Milo

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

I ask Quinn how her day is. She walks straight past me. She doesn't even tell me to leave her alone.

She’s been very distant today…I mean more than usual.

Quinn's always distracted when I try to talk to her. She usually answers with one-word replies before finding an excuse to leave. Today, though, she doesn't answer at all. She just walks away like she doesn't even hear me.

I can tell something's bothering her.

She always pays attention in class. There are only a few things Quinn actually cares about, and one of them is her grades. But today in English, she keeps scratching angry lines across the page every few seconds, barely even looking at what she's writing. It’s very unlike her.

I spend the rest of first period trying to figure out what to say.

What’s wrong?

Too personal.

Did something happen?

Too serious.

By the time the bell rings, I've managed to overthink every possible conversation.

It’s not like I’ve known Quinn forever. I only started talking to her three months ago, after spending a year and a half trying to work up the courage just to say hello. But three months is enough to notice when someone isn't acting like themselves.

She’s not her usual calm self; she seems more upset, or angry, like someone’s taken something from her.

At lunch, she’s sitting alone, as usual. When I sit next to her, she doesn’t even notice me. Normally she’d roll her eyes then ignore me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She looks at me like she forgot I was there.

"I'm fine."

Which usually means she isn't.

I look down at the food in front of her.

"You didn't touch your lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"You said that yesterday too."

I look at her for another second, trying to decide whether I should keep asking or leave it alone.

Just as I’m about to open my mouth to say something else, the new girl – Julie – walks by. Quinn sees her and immediately stiffens. I don't know what happened between them. Apparently, they’ve known each other for a day and Quinn has already declared a silent war.

At the end of the day, I walk Quinn to the front gate of the school, where she leaves me to go home. It feels wrong to let her walk home when she’s this upset, but she insists she’s fine so I back off.

Quinn turns left at the corner. I wave before heading toward my own street.

I pull out my phone and check the time. I still have homework to finish, so I decide I should probably stop wandering around and actually go home.

A few minutes later, I pass the convenience store and spot Nicolas Corey outside. He's leaning against the wall, looking down at his phone.

He glances up when he notices me.

I raise a hand. "Hey."

He gives me a quick wave before looking back at his phone.

I keep walking, already thinking about the history assignment waiting for me at home.

5

Quinn

"Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood." — Marie Curie

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

It’s the end of the day and I’m exhausted.

For the past three days, Milo has been convinced that something's wrong with me. I keep telling him I’m fine, but he won’t let me be. He’s not completely wrong, though. Ever since Julie joined, I just can’t stop thinking about poor Nick and the suffering he must be going through.

Oh, and speak of the devil! Julie’s right there, leaving school. I hesitate for a second, then I follow her. I should know who I’m dealing with.

And no, I’m not stalking Julie. I don’t know why you would ever think that. I’m just making sure she isn’t hiding anything. And I’m certain that she is.

As we walk, I notice she always stays on the left side of the sidewalk, checks her phone at every crosswalk—as if she's so important that everyone must be flooding her with messages—and waits for the pedestrian light, even when there aren't any cars. She tries so hard to act like a good civilian, it’s irritating. She even waved at an old woman who was watering her flowers. It’s almost convincing… but she can’t fool me, I know what’s really going on inside that evil mind of hers.

As we arrive at her house, I glance around to make sure no one's looking before I pull my notebook from my bag and scribble down a few details:

Leaves school:

3:37

Address:

13 Millstone Drive

Bedroom:

Upstairs, middle window

Usually alone:

3:40–4:10

Younger brother:

Usually comes home at 4:00

Mother:

Works late

Father:

Doesn’t appear to live here

Obviously, I can’t remember everything, and I need to stay organized. And knowing things has never hurt anyone. This information could be useful in the future.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

I followed Julie again. I wasn’t planning to, but when I saw Nick walking her home, I had to. I needed to make sure there wasn’t any funny business happening behind my back.

This time, she stopped at a bakery and got a chocolate croissant. Predictable.

When she got home, I watched from across the street just like yesterday. She thanked him with her hand still gripping his arm! What is up with this girl?!

They waved at each other and she went inside.

Today I noticed something I didn’t notice yesterday: she has a dog. A dog that doesn’t quit barking. I would’ve stayed longer if my ears didn’t start ringing from the noise.

Thursday, October 1st, 2015

Alright, I decided to stop following Julie. I’ve learned everything I need to know.

Plus, today I’m following Nick.

I know that Nick has basketball practice today, so he finishes late. And there’s no way Julie would wait for him so he could walk her home (since she doesn’t love him the way I do), so I feel like there’s nothing to worry about.

When Nick finishes practice, I wait until he heads home and then I go. I just have to make sure he gets home safely, I can’t imagine what I would do if something happened to him and I wasn’t there to save him.

Once I get home, I lie in bed, satisfied with the information I’ve collected. It's amazing how much less stressful things become once you're prepared.

But that relief quickly vanishes when I remember her laughing with Nick during lunch today. What could possibly be that funny? I wish she could just disappear…

Wait—not disappear.

I meant move away.

Or transfer.

Anything, as long as she leaves my Nick alone.

Plus, I don't have to spend every afternoon wondering where Julie is anymore. I already know.

Besides, it's always good to have a plan.

You never know when you might–

...

Just in case.

6

Milo

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

The final bell rings, and the hallway erupts into its usual chaos. Lockers slam shut. Teachers shout last-minute reminders over the noise. Within seconds, everyone is spilling toward the front doors like the building's on fire.

I spot Quinn a few lockers ahead of me.

She's stuffing books into her backpack so quickly that one slips out and lands on the floor. She walks right past it without even noticing.

I jog over and pick it up before someone steps on it.

"You dropped this."

She glances at the book in my hand like she's surprised it belongs to her.

"Oh." She takes it without meeting my eyes. "Thanks."

That's... new. Usually she'd tell me she could've gotten it herself. Maybe she's finally warming up to me.

"You sure you're okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine."

She's said those two words so many times this week they've almost stopped sounding like words.

She shoulders her backpack and starts toward the exit.

"Wait up."

She keeps walking. I hurry to catch up.

"Can I walk you home?"

"No."

"...Can I walk in the same general direction as you while pretending it wasn't on purpose?"

The corner of her mouth twitches. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

She sighs the kind of sigh that says she's already exhausted by me.

"If it'll make you stop asking."

"I'll take that as a yes."

She rolls her eyes and keeps walking.

I grin and fall into step beside her.

The walk home is quieter than usual. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I'm trying to think of something she won't immediately shut down.

"So... how'd the math quiz go?"

She keeps her eyes on the sidewalk for a moment before answering. "Fine."

Of course.

"You know," I say, "I'm starting to think 'fine' is your favorite word."

"No it’s not," she says as a frown forms on her face.

I blink. Wait. That wasn't just one word.

"Really?" I grin. "Because you say it a lot."

"I don't."

"You literally just did."

She lets out a long sigh.

"...Fine."

I laugh. "Okay, that one's on me."

For a few seconds, we walk in silence. She doesn't seem annoyed enough to tell me to go away, so I decide that's a good sign.

"I got a B on the quiz," I say. "Not terrible, but considering I studied for three hours, I'm choosing to be mildly offended. I also accidentally wrote the answer to question four in the space for question five."

She doesn't respond, so I keep going.

"I don't know if that's better or worse than the time I forgot my own birthday on a history worksheet."

That finally gets her attention. She turns her head just enough to look at me.

"You forgot your own birthday?"

"Maybe."

She stares at me for a second before shaking her head. "How do you even do that?"

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. She's asking me a question. An actual question.

"I panic under pressure."

"You weren't under pressure."

"I create my own pressure."

A tiny laugh slips out before she can stop it. It's barely even a laugh, more like she accidentally breathes out through her nose—but I'll take it.

I try to act like it doesn't feel like the greatest achievement of my week.

"So..." I say, forcing myself to sound casual. "What did you actually think of the quiz?"

"It was easy."

"Right." I nod dramatically. "I forgot who I was talking to."

She shrugs. "I like math."

"I noticed."

That makes her look at me again.

"You noticed?"

"You always finish first."

"Oh."

She looks away again, but that's okay. Somehow, that tiny oh feels like progress.

We reach the crosswalk at the end of Maple Street and stop when the pedestrian light turns red. Cars roll past one after another, filling the silence between us.

Quinn shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She glances across the street for a split second before looking away again.

"Lost something?" I ask.

"What?"

"You've been looking over there since we left school."

"I have not."

"You have."

"I'm just..." She pauses. "Looking."

"At what?"

She frowns like the answer should be obvious.

"The street."

Fair enough.

The light changes. We cross.

Halfway across the street, I glance over my shoulder without really thinking.

That's when I see him. Nicolas Corey.

He's standing on the corner a little farther down the road, looking like he's waiting for someone. His arms are crossed, and every few seconds he checks his phone before looking back down the street.

He doesn't look particularly happy.

I wonder who he's waiting for, but then Quinn keeps walking, and I turn my attention back to her.

A few minutes later, we reach Quinn's house. She takes the notebook I'd been carrying for her and slips it back into her backpack.

"Thanks."

She thanked me. She asked me a question. She laughed. If this keeps up, she might even remember my birthday before I do.

"You're welcome."

She gives me a small nod before heading toward her front door. I wait until she's safely inside before turning around.

I take a few steps toward the main road before I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn around, expecting Quinn to have forgotten something, but it's just a little kid running after a football. He grabs it from the sidewalk, gives me an awkward smile, and runs back the way he came.

I shake my head and keep walking.

When I reach the next intersection, I spot Nicolas Corey on the other side of the street. Except now he's with two other guys. They're arguing about something, and from the way they're talking, it doesn't seem very friendly.

I can't hear everything from across the street, but I catch a few words.

"You knew I wasn't okay with that."

One of the guys says something back.

Nick's jaw tightens.

For a second, I think he's going to walk away, but instead he steps closer and lowers his voice. I can't make out what he says, but whatever it is makes the other guy look uncomfortable.

For a second, I wonder if they're about to start fighting.

Then Nick says something I can't hear, and the two guys exchange a look.

I probably shouldn't be watching.

I turn away and start walking.

Whatever Nick is arguing about isn't my business.

I keep walking, leaving their voices behind me.

7

Quinn

Friday, October 9, 2015

I tried being nice. Really, I did.

Before first period, I slipped a folded note into Julie's locker.

Stay away from Nicolas. For your own good.

It was short, polite, and mature. I even considered adding please, but I figured the message was already generous enough. If someone warned me that I was about to ruin another person's life, I'd appreciate it.

The whole morning, I watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction. She opened her locker, found the note, read it once, then looked around the hallway as if trying to figure out who wrote it. For one glorious second, I thought she'd finally gotten the message.

Then she shrugged, crumpled the note into a ball, and tossed it into the nearest trash can.

By lunch, she was laughing with Nick again.

Some people just don't listen.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

School's closed today, which means I have far too much free time.

I spend most of the afternoon learning more about Julie. Not stalking—research. There's a very important difference. Stalkers are creepy. I just like being informed.

Her social media isn't even private, which honestly feels irresponsible on her part. It's practically an invitation. Within twenty minutes, I know she has a younger brother named Lucas, a golden retriever called Biscuit, and an unhealthy obsession with taking pictures of sunsets. Apparently every sunset in France looks exactly the same, yet she has over fifty photos of them.

She also bakes. A lot.

Croissants, macarons, pain au chocolat... Shocking.

I scroll through months of pictures, looking for anything that proves she's not as sweet as everyone thinks she is. Maybe an old post making fun of someone. A nasty comment. A fight.

Nothing.

Either she's hiding it really well, or she's annoyingly perfect.

I close my laptop with a sigh.

Nobody's that nice.

Monday, October 13, 2015

Anonymous notes clearly don't work.

Today requires a different strategy.

Halfway through chemistry, Julie excuses herself to rinse out a beaker. The second she's out of sight, I casually walk past her desk and move her notebook onto the empty table behind me.

Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make her think she'd left it there.

When she comes back, she frowns at the notebook before sitting down without questioning it. She's now three tables away from Nick.

Success.

See? Problems don't always require dramatic solutions. Sometimes all people need is a little encouragement.

For the rest of class, I actually pay attention to the lesson. It's amazing how much easier chemistry becomes when I don't have to watch someone flirt every five seconds.

Unfortunately, the victory lasts exactly thirty-eight seconds before the bell rings.

Julie packs her bag, smiles at Nick across the room, and walks straight over to him. They leave the classroom together, laughing about something.

Fantastic.

________________

By lunchtime, I've accepted that fate is against me.

I spend several minutes deciding where to sit before settling on the third table from the back. The tables near the windows give me a terrible view, and the ones by the vending machines are always too crowded. From here, I can see both Julie and Nick perfectly without looking suspicious.

Julie talks with her hands far too much. Every sentence comes with some dramatic gesture, like she's performing in a play instead of having a conversation. Nick laughs at something she says.

I can't hear them from here, but I don't need to.

She's probably asking another pointless question just to keep him talking. Maybe she's pretending not to understand an English word again. Funny how she struggles with the language until it's time to flirt.

"There you are."

I nearly choke on my orange juice.

Milo slides into the seat across from me with a smile like he's just found buried treasure.

"I've been looking everywhere for you."

"I'm eating."

"I noticed."

His eyes drift toward the table I'm watching before looking back at me.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing."

"You've been looking over there for almost twenty minutes."

"I was people-watching."

He nods thoughtfully. "That's actually kind of creepy."

I blink. "The irony."

"What irony?"

“Nothing."

Sometimes I genuinely wonder how someone manages to survive sixteen years while paying so little attention to the world around him.

________________

After school, I watch Julie leave again.

Not because I need to.

Because I want to make sure today's failure was just bad luck.

She takes the same route home, checks her phone at the same crosswalks, waves to the same old woman watering her flowers, and reaches her house at exactly 3:40.

Routine.

Predictable.

Reliable.

I don't even have to write it down anymore.

I've already memorized every part of it.

When I get home, I pull my notebook out of my backpack and flip to the page labeled Possible Solutions:

* Anonymous note.

* Separate them in class.

* Wait for her to lose interest…

I stare at the last line for a long moment before slowly drawing a line through it too.

I close the notebook and set it on my bedside table.

I gave her every opportunity to do the right thing.

She chose not to.

Apparently, being nice isn't working.

8

Milo

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Quinn's one of those people who always has a routine.

She arrives at least three minutes before the bell every morning. She always sits in the third row, two seats in front of me. She sharpens two pencils before class starts—even though I've only ever seen her use one—and spends the last minute quietly reading over yesterday's notes.

I've never asked why she does any of it.

It's just Quinn.

Today, though, she walks into English after the bell has already rung.

For a second, I almost think she’s someone else.

She slips into her seat with a quiet apology. Her hair is slightly messier than usual, dark circles sit beneath her eyes, and her backpack hangs half open. She doesn't even seem to notice. The teacher simply nods and continues the lesson.

I can't remember the last time Quinn was late to anything.

The rest of the class feels just as strange.

Her notebook sits crooked on the desk. Normally, she'd straighten it before even uncapping her pen. Today, she doesn't seem to notice. She stares at the blank page for several minutes before finally writing something down, only to scratch it out so hard I'm surprised the paper doesn't tear.

The teacher asks her a question. Normally, she'd answer before anyone else had time to think.

"Quinn?"

She doesn't react.

"Earth to Quinn?"

She startles, looking up as though she'd forgotten she was sitting in a classroom.

"Oh... sorry."

"It's alright," the teacher says kindly. "Could you answer the question?"

She does.

She gets it right. Of course she does.

But for the first time since I've known her, she hesitates.

Maybe she's just tired. Everyone has bad days. Still, it doesn't feel like Quinn.

________________

She doesn't eat lunch.

That's what finally convinces me something's wrong.

Her sandwich stays exactly where she put it. Still wrapped. The bottle of orange juice beside it hasn't been opened either.

I stop by the vending machine before walking over to her table.

"I accidentally bought two."

I hold out a candy bar.

I did not accidentally buy two.

She looks at it for a moment before looking back at me.

"I'm not hungry."

"You can save it for later."

For a second, I think she's going to refuse. Instead, she quietly slips it into the front pocket of her backpack.

"Thank you," she says with the tiniest smile.

It's the first time she’s smiled at me like she actually meant it.

Then her attention drifts somewhere else again. Her eyes move toward the cafeteria entrance, then toward the windows, like she’s looking for something. I follow her gaze, expecting to find whatever's been distracting her all week.

Instead, I just see people eating lunch.

I almost ask her what's wrong. But I quickly stop myself.

What if I'm imagining all of this? What if she's simply tired? Or stressed? Or maybe something happened at home and she doesn't want to talk about it?

We've only really been talking for three months. That's not exactly long enough for someone to tell you everything that's going on in their life. And if I push too hard, she might think I'm nosy.

What if all the progress we've made disappears because I don't know when to mind my own business?

So I don't ask.

________________

School ends a little after three.

I spot Quinn leaving the building with her backpack slung over one shoulder.

For a second, I think about catching up to her. But then I hesitate.

She's barely spoken all day. The last thing she probably wants is me following her home asking questions she clearly doesn't want to answer.

Instead, I watch her disappear through the front gates before heading toward my own street.

The whole walk home, I keep replaying the day in my head.

Quinn was late. She barely wrote anything in class. She didn't eat. She looked exhausted. None of those things are alarming on their own. But together, they don't feel like a coincidence.

That night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling with my phone in my hand. I unlock it.

Hope you get some sleep.

I stare at the message for a few seconds before deleting it. It sounds too much like something someone says when they know something is wrong.

Are you okay?

Delete.

Goodnight.

Delete.

I sigh and lock my phone again. Maybe she's just having a rough week. I tell myself that because the other possibilities are worse.

And because, for some reason, I’m more afraid of being wrong than I am of doing nothing.

9

Quinn

Thursday, October 15, 2015

There are two kinds of people in this world: people who prepare for things, and people who panic when it's already too late.

I've never understood the second group.

Benjamin Franklin once said, "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail."

Smart man.

________________

I don't want to hurt Julie. I really don't. I just wish she'd stop forcing me into impossible situations. I've tried everything I can think of to make her leave Nick alone, and none of it has worked. At this point, I'm starting to run out of options.

When I get home, I toss my backpack onto my bed and pull out my notebook. The page labeled Possible Solutions is already covered in crossed-out ideas.

One by one, they've all failed.

I stare at the empty space beneath the list, tapping my pen against the paper. There has to be another solution. There always is. The problem isn't that I've run out of ideas—it's that I haven't thought hard enough yet.

After a long moment, I lower my pen to the page.

Last resort.

I don't write anything underneath it.

Not yet.

Instead, I close the notebook and slide it back into my backpack. Just because I've acknowledged that a last resort exists doesn't mean I'll ever have to use it. People keep first aid kits in their houses. They learn emergency numbers. They prepare for things they hope never happen. That doesn't mean they're expecting their house to burn down.

Being prepared doesn't mean you're planning for the worst.

It just means that if the worst ever happens, you won't be caught off guard.

________________

I spend the next hour convincing myself that I’m being reasonable.

That’s the thing people don’t understand. They think decisions like this happen suddenly. They imagine someone waking up one day and suddenly becoming someone else.

That’s not how it works.

You think. You plan. You weigh your options.

You prepare.

I open my notebook again and look at the words I wrote earlier.

Last resort.

The problem is that people always wait until they need something before they start looking for it. Then it’s too late. They make mistakes.

I don’t make mistakes.

If I’m going to protect Nick, I need to be prepared for every possibility.

I already know what options I don’t have. I’m not stupid. I know I can’t just walk into a store and buy something like that. There are rules. Age restrictions. Questions I’d have to answer.

And I know better than to leave a trail behind me.

So there’s only one other option.

I hate that it has come to this.

I really do.

But sometimes people force you into doing things you never thought you would do.

________________

The shopping center is loud.

Families walk between stores, carrying bags and talking about things that actually matter to them. A little kid is begging his mother for a toy. A couple is arguing over where they should eat. A group of teenagers are laughing so loudly that everyone around them turns to look.

Normal things.

Then I see them.

A group of girls around my age standing outside an accessories store, surrounded by colorful displays. One of them puts on a pair of ridiculous oversized glasses and immediately starts laughing.

"No way. You actually look insane," one girl says.

"That's the point," another one replies.

They all burst out laughing.

One of them pulls out her phone, and they quickly gather together, fixing each other's hair and making stupid faces for the camera. None of them seem embarrassed. None of them seem worried about looking perfect.

They’re just happy.

I can't remember the last time I laughed without thinking about how I looked.

I watch them for a little too long.

I wonder what it feels like to have people who know you. People who text you because they want to talk, not because they need something. People who notice when you're quiet because they actually care.

I used to think I wanted that.

Maybe I still do.

The thought disappears almost as quickly as it comes.

Those girls don't understand anything. They get to laugh because they don't have anything important to worry about. They think these things matter. Who likes who. Who sits with who at lunch. Who gets invited to what party.

They have no idea how lucky they are.

I look away and continue walking.

________________

The store is quieter than I expected.

I stand in the aisle pretending to look at the shelves, even though I already know what I'm here for. I've known since I left home.

My eyes stop on the display in front of me.

Knives.

Not the small ones people use to open packages or cut fruit. Real ones. The kind that are kept behind locked cases because people understand what they can do.

For a moment, I just stare.

This is ridiculous. I'm standing in a store, looking at a weapon, convincing myself it's only preparation. A normal person would walk away. A normal person wouldn't have spent the last week making lists and studying someone's routine.

But I'm not doing this because I want to hurt anyone. I'm doing this because I need to be ready.

Because if something happens to Nick and I could have prevented it...

I would never forgive myself.

I wait until nobody is looking before slipping the knife into my bag.

The second it's hidden, I expect to feel something.

Guilt.

Fear.

Regret.

Anything.

Instead, I just feel tired.

Like I've been carrying this decision around for so long that actually making it doesn't feel as shocking as it should.

I zip my bag closed and walk away.

I won't use it.

I repeat the words in my head until they almost sound true.

I won't use it.

________________

When I get home, I drop my bag beside my bed and sit down.

For a while, I just stare at my phone. Milo's name is right there. It would be easy. A simple message. How was your day? Just like he does every morning.

He'd answer immediately.

He always does.

For a second, I consider calling him. Not because I need him. Not because I trust him. Just because...

I don't want to be alone.

My finger hovers over his name. Then I lock my phone.

No.

Milo doesn't need to be involved in this.

Nobody does.

I put the phone down and look at my notebook sitting on the desk. Everything is planned. Everything is under control.

And for the first time in days, I feel prepared.

10

Milo

Friday, October 16, 2015

The library is almost empty after school. A few students are scattered around the tables, quietly working on homework, while the librarian sits behind the desk, scrolling through her computer. I spot Quinn in the corner, sitting by the window with a book open in front of her.

I almost keep walking. Lately, she hasn't exactly been thrilled whenever I show up. But then she looks up and notices me before I can decide, and instead of immediately looking away, she gives me a small nod.

I take that as an invitation.

"Hey."

"Hey."

I pull out the chair across from her. "What are you doing?"

She looks down at the book. "Reading."

"Right. Obviously." I pause. "I meant, what are you reading?"

She turns the book around so I can see the cover. "It's for English."

I nod like I've heard of it before. I haven't.

"Is it good?"

"It's okay."

"That's a very passionate review."

She almost smiles.

I grin and open my own notebook, pretending to work. For a few minutes, neither of us says anything. It's actually nice. Usually, I feel like I have to keep talking whenever I'm around her, like if there's even a second of silence, she'll remember how annoying I am and leave. But today, she doesn't.

She's just sitting there. With me.

Eventually, she closes her book.

"Milo?"

I look up so quickly I nearly drop my pencil. I don't know why, but hearing my name from her feels like such a big deal.

"Yeah?"

She hesitates.

"Do you ever..." She looks down at the table. "Do you ever feel like you have no one to talk to?"

For a second, I don't know what to say. Quinn doesn't ask questions like that. Quinn barely asks me anything at all.

"Sometimes," I say carefully. "Why?"

She shrugs.

"I don't know."

I wait. She picks at the corner of a page in her notebook.

"There's just... a lot going on."

Something in my chest tightens.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

She looks at me. I expect her to shut me down, but instead, she stays quiet for a few seconds, like she's actually considering it.

"I almost—"

She stops.

"Almost what?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

I don't push. I really, really want to, but I don't.

She looks back down at her notebook. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You don't always have to know."

She looks at me again. "You don't?"

I shake my head. "Definitely not. I have no idea what I'm doing at least eighty percent of the time."

That gets a small laugh out of her. It's quiet, but it's real.

I smile. "See? I'm basically an expert at not knowing what I'm doing."

She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling.

For a few minutes, we talk about nothing important. School. Homework. The terrible cafeteria food. She even asks me how my basketball practice went yesterday, and I have to stop myself from looking too excited about the fact that she actually remembered.

It's probably the longest conversation we've ever had. And for once, I'm not the one trying to keep it going.

Quinn is.

Then she looks at the clock.

"I should go."

"Oh." I close my notebook. "Want me to walk you home?"

"No."

The answer comes quickly enough that I know not to ask again.

"Okay."

She packs her things and stands up.

"Thank you."

I look at her. "For what?"

She shrugs. "Just... thank you."

Then she walks away.

I watch her disappear through the library doors, still trying to process what just happened. She almost told me something. Quinn almost told me something.

I don't know what it was, but for the first time, I feel like maybe she actually trusts me.

And I really don't want to mess that up.

________________

I leave the library a few minutes later.

Quinn is already halfway down the street.

I stop outside the school and watch her for a second. She's not walking like she usually does. She's moving quickly, her backpack pulled tightly against her shoulder, and every few seconds, she glances behind her before continuing.

I frown.

Maybe she's just in a hurry.

I start walking in the opposite direction, but I only make it about twenty steps before stopping. I look back. She's still walking.

Something feels wrong.

I know what I told myself five minutes ago. Don't push her. Give her space. Let her come to you.

But I also remember the way she looked at me in the library.

There's just... a lot going on.

Maybe I should've asked more. Maybe I should've stayed.

I turn around. I'm not going to follow her all the way home. Just until I know she's okay. That's it.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

I keep a decent distance between us as I walk behind her. Far enough that she shouldn't notice me, but close enough that I can see where she's going.

She turns left at the next corner.

I follow.

Then she turns again.

I follow.

After a few minutes, I start feeling stupid. This is creepy. I'm literally following a girl who specifically told me she wanted to walk home alone.

I should turn around.

I slow down.

Maybe I should—

"Are you following me?"

I freeze.

Quinn is standing several feet ahead of me, staring directly at me.

My stomach drops.

"I—no..."

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.

"Milo."

"Okay..." I take a breath. "Yes."

Her expression changes immediately.

"What the hell, Milo?!"

"I was just—"

"Following me?"

"I was worried."

"That doesn't give you the right to follow me."

"I know."

"Then why are you doing it?"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because the truth sounds pathetic.

Because you looked like something was wrong.

Because you almost told me something and then walked away looking like you were scared.

Because I care about you.

Instead, I just say, "You've been acting strange."

She stares at me.

"So?"

"So I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

Her jaw tightens. "Maybe because people keep following me around."

I flinch.

"I wasn't trying to—"

"I don't care what you were trying to do."

She looks genuinely angry now.

"I told you I wanted to walk home alone."

"I know."

"Then you should've listened."

"I should have."

There's a long silence between us. I don't try to fill it. For once, I know better.

She looks away, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer.

"I almost told you something today."

My heart sinks.

"What?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

"Quinn—"

"I said nothing."

I stop.

Whatever she was going to tell me, she's clearly not going to anymore.

And it’s all my fault.

"I'm sorry."

She looks at me.

"I shouldn't have followed you."

For a moment, neither of us says anything. Then she adjusts her backpack.

"I just want to go home."

I nod.

"Okay."

She turns and walks away.

This time, I don't follow her. I stand there until she disappears around the corner, feeling like an idiot.

For weeks, I've been trying to get Quinn to trust me. Today, she finally started to.

And I ruined it in less than ten minutes.

I start walking home alone, replaying everything that happened. I keep thinking about what she said.

I almost told you something today.

I don't know what it was. I don't know if she'll ever tell me now. But I know one thing: next time Quinn tells me she wants space, I'm going to give it to her.

Even if it kills me.

11

Quinn

Friday, October 16, 2015

I thought he was different.

That’s probably the part that hurts me the most. Not that he followed me. Not even that he ignored me when I told him I wanted to walk home alone. It’s the fact that, for a few minutes in the library, I actually thought I could trust him. I almost told him everything. Not about Julie. Not about Nick. Just... something. Anything. I almost admitted that I haven't been sleeping properly, that I feel like I'm constantly thinking about ten things at once, that sometimes I just want someone to sit beside me without asking questions.

And then he followed me home.

I should've known better. People always say they care when what they really mean is that they want to know everything. I thought Milo was different. Apparently, I was wrong.

The irony of being angry at someone for following me isn't lost on me. I know what I've been doing to Julie. I know I've followed her home, memorized her routine, watched her from across the street. But that's different. I have a reason. Milo didn't. He was just being nosy.

The next morning, I see Julie before I even reach my locker. She's standing near the entrance with Nick. Of course she is. She's laughing about something, her hand covering her mouth as if whatever he said is the funniest thing she's ever heard. Nick is smiling too.

I stop walking and just watch them for a moment.

Then Julie reaches over and touches his arm.

Again.

Something inside me twists.

I should keep walking, but instead I stand there until Nick says something that makes her laugh again. I look away. I've tried being nice. I've warned her. I've tried every possible solution I can think of. Nothing works. And now she's getting closer to him every day.

I grip the strap of my backpack tighter.

Maybe this is what people mean when they say some problems don't solve themselves.

At lunch, I sit at my usual table and watch them from across the cafeteria. Julie is talking, Nick is listening. She keeps leaning closer to him whenever she speaks, like she needs to make sure he hears every single word. I can't hear what they're saying from here, but I don't need to. I've seen enough.

I pull my notebook from my bag and flip through the pages. The page is almost completely covered in crossed-out ideas.

Anonymous note. Failed.

Separate them in class. Failed.

Wait for her to leave. Failed.

Learn her routine. Done.

None of it has changed anything.

I stare at the list, thinking about how, for weeks, I've been looking for a way to make Julie leave Nick alone without actually hurting anyone. And somehow, I'm the one who's supposed to keep finding a solution.

What if there isn't one?

The thought makes me uncomfortable. I close the notebook and shake my head.

No.

There has to be another way. There always is.

After school, I walk home alone. For once, I don't follow anyone. I don't check where Julie is. I don't look for Nick. I just walk.

But the farther I get from school, the more the same thought keeps coming back.

What if there isn't another way?

I hate the idea. I hate that I've even thought it. Killing someone isn't something normal people think about. Normal people don't keep notebooks full of plans, memorize other people's routines, or steal things because they might need them someday. Normal people don't have to think about any of this.

But Julie has forced me into a situation nobody else understands. She doesn't see what I see. She doesn't understand what she's doing to Nick, and nobody else seems to notice.

Someone has to stop her.

I stop walking.

The street around me is quiet. For a moment, I think about the girls I saw at the shopping center, the ones laughing together, taking pictures, worrying about stupid things. They get to live normal lives. They don't have to make impossible decisions.

I used to want that.

But wanting something doesn't make it possible.

I start walking again.

By the time I reach my house, I've already made up my mind. I don't feel relieved. I don't feel powerful. Mostly, I feel tired. But underneath the exhaustion is something else.

Certainty.

Julie isn't going to leave Nick. She's not going to listen to me. She's not going to disappear on her own.

So there is only one thing left to do.

I stop outside my bedroom door for a few seconds before walking inside and pulling my notebook from my bag. I open it to the page labeled Last resort. I've stared at those words for days.

Today, I finally pick up my pen and write two words beneath them.

Julie Chastain.

I look at the name for a long time before closing the notebook.

She has to die.

12

Milo

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

It's been almost a week since Quinn spoke to me.

I keep telling myself I'm getting over it, but I'm not. Every morning, I still catch myself looking toward her desk before class starts, waiting for some sign that she's changed her mind. She never does. She comes in, takes her seat, gets her books out, and spends the entire day acting like I'm not there.

I don't blame her. I followed her home after she specifically told me not to. If I were her, I'd probably be avoiding me too.

At lunch, I sit at my usual table near the windows. Quinn is sitting at another table across the cafeteria, far enough away that I can't hear anything she's saying. I don't know who she's sitting with, and honestly, I try not to look too much. I've already learned my lesson about invading her space.

Still, I notice that she's eating today. That's something. She's quieter than usual, but she doesn't look as exhausted as she did last week. Every once in a while, she actually talks to the girl sitting beside her, and once I even see her smile. I smile too.

I take another bite of my sandwich and try to focus on anything else.

A few minutes later, I notice Quinn glance over her shoulder. It's quick. Barely noticeable. She looks back at her food, then does it again.

I follow her gaze without really thinking.

Nick is sitting at a table behind her. He's talking to one of his friends, laughing about something while picking at his lunch. There's nothing strange about it. He's one of the most social people in school. He seems to know everyone.

I look back at Quinn. She glances behind her again, and this time, Nick happens to look up at almost the exact same moment. For half a second, their eyes meet before he turns back to his conversation.

I stare at them for a second longer than I probably should.

Damn.

I don't know why, but something about the way they looked at each other makes my stomach sink. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but there's something there. At least, it looks like there is.

I look down at my sandwich and suddenly have absolutely no interest in eating it.

Of course.

I mean, I can't exactly blame her. Nick is basically everyone's favorite person. He's funny, confident, good at basketball, and apparently capable of making Quinn look at him in a way I've been trying to get her to look at me for months.

I stab my fork into a piece of lettuce.

Great.

Now I'm jealous of a guy who probably has no idea I exist.

A minute later, I hear someone laugh loudly. It's Nick. He's telling some story to his friends, acting out whatever happened with his hands. One of them nearly spits out his drink laughing.

I shake my head.

I really wish I hadn't noticed.

The bell rings, and everyone starts getting up. I wait a little before leaving, mostly because I don't want to end up walking beside Quinn and make things awkward again.

When I finally stand, I see her leaving through the cafeteria doors. Nick and his friends leave a few seconds later. They happen to take the same hallway.

I pause.

Then I roll my eyes at myself. It's a hallway. Of course they're going the same way.

I head toward class.

________________

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful. Quinn doesn't speak to me. I don't speak to Quinn. We're basically strangers again, except now there's a weird history between us that makes pretending even harder.

At the end of the day, I pack my bag slowly, waiting for most of the hallway to clear before leaving.

When I step outside, I spot Nick near the front steps, talking to one of the teachers. I can't hear what they're saying, but whatever he says makes the teacher laugh. Nick laughs too, giving that effortless smile of his before the teacher pats him on the shoulder and heads back inside.

I don't know why, but I suddenly feel annoyed.

Maybe it's because Nick seems to have everything figured out. He's good at basketball, everyone knows him, teachers love him, and somehow he always knows exactly what to say in every conversation. He can walk into a room full of people and somehow belong there within five minutes. Meanwhile, I can barely talk to one girl without replaying the conversation in my head afterward and wondering if I sounded like an idiot.

And then there's Quinn.

Of course she likes him.

Why wouldn't she?

Pretty much every girl at our school does.

I watch Nick check his phone before slipping it into his pocket, and I feel another little stab of jealousy.

It's stupid. He hasn't done anything to me. Still, I can't help thinking that if I were more like him, maybe Quinn would actually want to talk to me.

Nick heads toward the parking lot, and I look away.

I really need to stop comparing myself to him.

________________

After school, I walk home alone.

Halfway down the street, I stop at the bakery to buy something. When I come back outside, I see Nick farther down the road. He's standing beside his bike, struggling with the lock.

I laugh quietly to myself. For someone who looks like he has his life together, he really can't seem to figure out a bike lock.

He finally gets it open and rides away in the opposite direction from me. I watch him disappear around the corner.

That's the same direction Quinn usually takes home.

I stare at the empty street for a second.

No. Absolutely not.

I'm not doing this again.

I already convinced myself that I was imagining things last time. I'm not going to start inventing suspicious behavior every time I see Nick somewhere near Quinn.

Besides, this is a small town. People are going to take the same roads. They're going to shop at the same stores. They're going to eat at the same places. It doesn't mean anything.

Still, Nick talking to the teacher, laughing like that, the way Quinn looked at him at lunch…

I feel something twist in my chest.

It's stupid. I know it's stupid. But it doesn't stop the thought from forming anyway.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Quinn is already at her locker when I arrive. I see her before she sees me.

For a second, I consider saying something. Maybe just a simple good morning. But then I remember the look on her face when she caught me following her.

I keep walking.

As I pass her, she glances up. Our eyes meet. There's a tiny pause.

Then she looks away.

I do the same.

I make it halfway down the hallway before I hear someone call my name.

"Milo!"

I turn around.

It's Nick. He's jogging toward me, holding a basketball under one arm.

"Hey, you coming to practice today?"

I blink. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Probably."

"Good. We need another person for teams."

"Sure."

He grins and gives me a quick slap on the shoulder before heading toward the gym.

I watch him go, and for some reason, I can't stop smiling. Nick Corey just invited me to play basketball with him. Me. Maybe I'm finally getting somewhere.

I glance toward Quinn's locker almost immediately, hoping she saw the whole thing. Maybe if she saw me talking to Nick, she'd think I was cool. Or at least a little less pathetic.

But her locker is empty.

My smile fades slightly.

Of course. She didn't see it.

Still, I can't help feeling excited. If I start hanging out with Nick more, maybe I could actually become more like him. I'm never going to be the funniest or most confident guy in school, but maybe some of it will rub off. Maybe I'll get better at talking to people. Maybe I'll stop overthinking every stupid thing I say.

And maybe, eventually, Quinn will notice.

I adjust my backpack and start walking toward class, already wondering what practice will be like.

Maybe this isn't such a bad thing after all. If I spend enough time with Nick, I could actually become someone Quinn wants to be around again.

13

Quinn

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

I don't sleep much that night.

Not because I'm nervous. If anything, I feel calmer than I have in weeks. There's something strangely comforting about finally knowing what I'm going to do. No more wondering whether Julie will leave Nick alone. No more trying to come up with another solution. No more pretending I haven't already made my decision.

When I wake up, the first thing I think about is my notebook.

After school, I sit at my desk and pull it from my backpack. The pages are worn from how many times I've opened them, and the section about Julie's routine is covered in tiny notes I've added over the past few weeks. I run my finger down the list, remembering each detail I wrote down.

Monday. Home.

Tuesday. Home.

Wednesday. Bakery.

Thursday.

I stop.

Art class.

I stare at the words for a moment. I remember following Julie that first week and noticing that she didn't take the usual route home. She'd turned toward the community arts center instead, carrying a folder under her arm. I hadn't understood why at first. The next Thursday, I followed the same route and figured it out. She has art class every week.

I've written down the time, too.

Thursday — Art class.

Usually stays until around 5:50.

I lean back in my chair. Nick has basketball practice on Thursdays. He won't be walking her home. Julie will leave school, go to art class, and make her way home afterward. Her family already expects her to arrive later on Thursdays.

I look at the page again.

Everything I've spent weeks memorizing suddenly feels different.

This is why I prepared.

I close the notebook, then open it again. I check the page one more time, just to make sure I haven't forgotten anything.

I haven't.

Thursday is in 2 days.

I put a small check beside it.

Perfect.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

The next morning, I pay more attention to Julie than usual.

Not because I need to learn anything new. I already know her routine better than I know my own. I know where she sits, which teachers she likes, which days she stays late, what she orders from the bakery, and which route she takes home.

I know that on Thursdays, she goes to art class.

I watch her laugh with one of her classmates before first period. She's holding a folder against her chest, and when she opens it, I catch a glimpse of a half-finished drawing inside.

She notices me looking.

"What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing.”

She gives me a confused look before turning back to her friend.

She has no idea.

I look away.

For weeks, I've been trying to understand her. I've watched her, followed her, memorized her habits and convinced myself that knowing everything about her would eventually give me a reason to let her go.

Instead, it gave me exactly what I needed.

Lately, though, something else has changed.

Milo and I are talking again.

I don't remember exactly when it happened. After what happened outside the library, I thought I'd avoid him for a while. I was angry with him, and I wanted him to know it. But eventually, the awkwardness started fading. He stopped trying so hard to get my attention, and I stopped feeling the need to push him away.

Now, when he sits beside me in class, I don't mind. When he makes some stupid comment under his breath, I sometimes laugh. Yesterday, he asked me if I'd finished the biology assignment, and I actually stayed long enough to help him with one of the questions.

It's strange how quickly things can go back to normal.

I suppose I missed having someone around.

________________

At lunch, I sit alone while Julie is across the cafeteria with her friends, talking about something that makes them all laugh. I don't pay much attention to them. My eyes drift toward Nick instead.

He's sitting with some of the basketball players, laughing about something one of them said. For a moment, I watch him without thinking about anything else. He looks completely at ease, like he always does. Everyone seems to gravitate toward him without him having to try.

Then I notice Milo walking over.

He says something to Nick that I can't hear. Nick laughs, and Milo laughs too. They talk for another few seconds before Milo pats him on the shoulder and heads back toward his own table.

I watch him go.

Milo seems different lately. Maybe he's trying to make friends with Nick. I suppose I can't blame him. Everyone likes Nick.

My eyes return to Nick.

Tomorrow, he'll be at basketball practice. Julie will be at art class. The thought settles quietly in my mind.

Tomorrow.

For the first time, the word doesn't make me hesitate.

It makes me certain.

When I get home, I take the knife out of my bag and place it on my desk, staring at it for a moment as it sits there looking strangely ordinary.

A knife.

Something that belongs in a kitchen drawer, not on my bedroom desk.

I reach for my notebook instead and open it to the page where I wrote her name.

Julie Chastain.

Below it, I add one final word: Thursday.

I close the notebook. There is nothing left to figure out. Tomorrow, I won't have to think about Julie anymore, and she won't have to think about Nick either. I put the notebook back in my bag, turn off my desk lamp, and get into bed. For the first time in weeks, I fall asleep without wondering what comes next.

14

Milo

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

I don't know exactly when things between me and Quinn started feeling normal again. One day, she wouldn't even look at me after what happened outside the library, and now she's sitting beside me in English, asking if I understand the homework like I haven't spent the last week wondering whether she'd ever speak to me again.

"I think you're supposed to use the second paragraph," she says, pointing at my paper.

I look down. "I've been staring at this question for ten minutes."

"I noticed."

I look at her. "Were you watching me struggle?"

She shrugs. "It was hard not to."

I laugh, and she smiles.

I think that's when I realize we're actually okay again.

I'm careful not to make a big deal out of it. I don't want to ruin whatever this is by reminding her of what happened. If she wants to pretend everything is normal, I'll pretend too. Honestly, I don't mind. I missed this.

At lunch, I'm sitting with a few of the guys from basketball when I notice Nick at the table across from us. He's talking to some of the other players, laughing about something one of them said. I hesitate for a second before getting up and walking over.

"Hey, Nick."

He looks up. "What's up?"

"Coach said we're running extra drills after school tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Unless he changes his mind again."

I laugh. "Wouldn't surprise me."

He shakes his head, smiling. “You coming?”

“Definitely.”

“Good. We could use you.”

I grin. “Wow. Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I’ll try to remember this moment forever.”

After another few seconds, I head back toward my table.

As I sit down, I glance across the cafeteria and catch Quinn looking in my direction. I can't tell if she was watching me or just happened to look over at the same time, but I still feel a stupid little rush of excitement.

Maybe she noticed.

Maybe she thinks I'm finally getting better at this whole social thing.

For once, I don't feel like the awkward guy standing outside everyone else's circle. I'm actually starting to feel like I belong somewhere.

________________

After school, Quinn and I end up walking together for part of the way home. It's nothing special. We talk about homework, complain about our teachers, and argue about whether the cafeteria's pizza counts as actual food.

"It does not," Quinn says.

"It has cheese."

"That's not enough."

"It's the most important ingredient."

She shakes her head. "You're impossible."

"And yet you're still walking with me."

She looks at me for a second before smiling. "Unfortunately."

I grin.

I don't know what happened to us over the last few days, but I like it. I like talking to her without constantly wondering whether I'm annoying her. I like that she doesn't seem to mind when I walk beside her. I like that sometimes she even starts the conversation.

Maybe I've been overthinking everything.

Maybe things are finally starting to feel normal again.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

By Wednesday morning, I'm convinced that whatever happened between Quinn and me is officially over.

She talks to me before class starts. She borrows my notes because she forgot to copy something from yesterday. She even laughs when I tell her about the disaster that was basketball practice yesterday.

"How bad was it?" she asks.

"Imagine twelve guys who are supposed to know what they're doing."

"That sounds promising."

"It wasn't."

She laughs, and I find myself smiling at her instead of paying attention to what she's saying.

I like making her laugh.

I've known that for a while, but lately it feels different. Maybe because now I know she actually enjoys being around me too.

The rest of the day passes without anything particularly interesting happening, but somehow that makes it better. I don't feel like I'm constantly waiting for something to go wrong. Quinn talks to me between classes, asks about my weekend plans, and even makes a joke about one of our teachers that catches me completely off guard.

By the time school ends, I realize I've spent almost the entire day thinking about her.

I find her by the lockers.

"Hey."

She looks up. "Hey."

"You going straight home?"

"Probably."

I nod, suddenly aware that my heart is beating faster than it should.

There's something I've been wanting to say to her.

I've been thinking about it for weeks. I've imagined different ways to do it, different places, different versions of the conversation. Every time, I end up deciding that I'll wait until I'm more certain.

But lately, I've started wondering if I'll ever feel certain.

Quinn closes her locker and looks at me.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You look nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Okay. Maybe a little."

She smiles. "Why?"

I open my mouth.

This is it.

"Quinn, I..."

She waits.

I can feel the words sitting right there, but suddenly I can't make myself say them.

"I was just going to ask if you understood the history homework."

She stares at me for a second.

Then she laughs.

"You are terrible at lying."

"I know."

She shakes her head and starts walking, and I follow beside her.

For the rest of the walk, I keep thinking about how close I came.

I could have told her.

I almost did.

But maybe that's okay. Maybe I don't need to rush it.

Tomorrow, I'll do it.

When I get home that evening, I sit on my bed with my phone in my hand and open our messages. I type a few different versions of what I want to say, stare at them, and delete every single one.

Eventually, I toss my phone beside me.

There isn't a perfect way to say it. If I keep trying to find one, I'll just keep putting it off.

So tomorrow, I'm going to tell her the truth.

I like her.

I've liked her for longer than I probably should admit.

Maybe she'll feel the same way. Maybe she won't. Either way, tomorrow I'll finally know.

For the first time in weeks, I'm actually excited about what tomorrow might bring.

15

Quinn

Thursday, October 29, 2015

I wake up before my alarm, which isn't unusual anymore. For a few seconds, I lie still and stare at the ceiling before remembering what day it is.

Thursday.

I've been waiting for this day for weeks, and now that it's finally here, I thought I’d be terrified when the day finally came. Instead, I feel almost peaceful.

I get dressed like I do every morning, brush my hair, pack my backpack, and go downstairs for breakfast. My mother asks me if I have everything I need for school, and I tell her yes. She reminds me not to forget my homework, and I tell her I won't.

At school, nothing feels different either. The hallways are crowded, teachers are already telling people to stop running, and someone nearly knocks my books out of my hands between first and second period. I go to class, take notes, answer questions, and pretend to care about whatever everyone else is talking about. I've spent so much time preparing for today that acting normal doesn't require any effort anymore.

I see Julie before first period.

She's standing near her locker with a few of her friends, laughing. Her art folder is tucked under one arm, and I can see the corner of a drawing sticking out from the top.

She looks exactly like she always does. She doesn't know that today is different. She doesn't know that I've already decided how this ends.

For a moment, I wonder if she ever suspected anything.

Probably not.

At lunch, I sit at my usual table and watch her from across the cafeteria. Nick is sitting with the basketball players, and Julie is with her friends. She doesn't even look in his direction this time. I should be happy about that, but instead I find myself waiting for something to change.

Then Milo appears beside me.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"You're already sitting down."

He looks at the chair, then back at me. "Good point."

He puts his tray down and looks at mine. "You're actually eating today."

"Should I be offended that you've been keeping track?"

"A little."

I shake my head, but I'm smiling. “How's your day going?”

“Better now.”

I look at him. “That was smooth.”

“I wasn't trying to be.”

“That's what makes it worse.”

He laughs. “I was going to ask if you finished the history assignment.”

“Of course I did.”

“I knew it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you're the kind of person who finishes homework before it's even assigned.”

I roll my eyes. “And you're the kind of person who starts it five minutes before class.”

“That's called efficiency.”

“That's called procrastinating.”

“Same thing.”

I laugh again, and he looks far too pleased with himself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're doing that face."

"What face?"

"The one where you're trying not to smile."

I roll my eyes. "Maybe you're just funny."

He pauses for a second, like I just told him something much more important than I meant to. "I'll take that."

We keep talking until the bell gets closer. For a few minutes, I forget about Julie. I forget about Nick. I forget about everything.

Then Milo looks at the clock and stands up. "I should probably get going before the cafeteria people start throwing us out."

"Probably."

He picks up his tray, then looks back at me. "See you later?"

"Yeah."

He smiles and heads back toward his table.

________________

The final bell rings a few hours later, and everyone spills into the hallway. I watch Julie leave with her art folder tucked against her chest. She heads toward the community arts center like she does every Thursday.

I don't follow immediately. I've already memorized how long it takes her to get there, and I've memorized how long her class lasts. There's no reason to rush.

I wait until I know she's inside before leaving school.

The afternoon passes exactly according to plan. I stay away from the arts center until her class is almost finished, then position myself along the route she always takes home. I've walked this path so many times that I know every turn, every shortcut, and every place where there are usually people.

When Julie finally leaves, she's alone.

She doesn't look back.

I follow her at a distance, keeping my pace steady. She takes the same streets she always does, passing the same houses and crossing the same intersections. There is something almost comforting about how predictable she is. Weeks of watching her have reduced this entire route to a series of familiar details.

Eventually, we reach the alley. I've imagined this place so many times that seeing it in front of me feels almost unreal. A few weeks ago, it was just another alley. Tonight, it feels like the end of a sentence I've been writing for weeks.

Julie slows down.

I do too.

She turns.

For the first time, she looks directly at me. There's a flicker of confusion in her expression, followed by something I recognize immediately.

Fear.

She knows. And strangely, that makes me feel calmer.

I don't say anything.

Neither does she.

I have imagined this moment so many times that I expected it to feel enormous. Terrifying. Impossible.

Instead, everything becomes very small.

Her face. My breathing. The sound of a car passing somewhere beyond the buildings. The decision I've already made.

Then I act.

It happens quickly.

There is no dramatic revelation. No sudden voice in my head telling me to stop. No part of me steps forward to save her.

That's the part I will remember. Not what I did. The fact that I could have stopped. And didn't.

When it's over, I stand there for a moment, looking down at her. She isn't moving.

I wait for the horror.

It doesn't come.

I wait for guilt.

Nothing.

What comes instead is a horrible, quiet thought:

It's done.

And somehow, that is worse.

I spent so much time imagining what killing someone would feel like that I convinced myself there had to be some overwhelming reaction waiting for me.

Instead, I'm calm.

I look at the time and know I can't stay here much longer. The cemetery is only a short distance away, and I've already planned the route. I know which entrance I'll use, where I'll leave her, and how long I have before anyone at home starts wondering where I am.

I crouch beside her and reach for her.

This is the part I didn't imagine properly. The weight. The awkwardness. The fact that a person is not something you can simply pick up and carry away like an object.

My arms begin to ache almost immediately.

I have to stop once, then again, breathing hard as I stare down at her.

For a second, I wonder whether I can actually do this. Then I think about Nick. I keep going.

Every few steps, my grip slips and I have to adjust. My hands hurt. My shoulders hurt. Everything hurts. But I don't turn back.

I told myself killing her was the difficult part.

Now that it's done, I realize it was only the point where everything stopped being hypothetical.

Now I just have to finish what I started.

16

Milo

Thursday, October 29, 2015

I wake up before my alarm, and the first thing that comes to mind is Quinn.

More specifically, I remember what I decided two nights ago. Today is the day I'm finally going to tell her how I feel. I've spent so long thinking about it that the idea of actually saying it feels unreal. Every time I've imagined the conversation, I've come up with a different opening line, and somehow every single one sounds terrible.

I lie there staring at the ceiling, running through a few possibilities in my head. I could keep it simple and just tell her. I could make a joke first so it doesn't feel so serious. I could wait until we're walking home together, because that would probably be less awkward than saying it at school. Then again, maybe waiting would just give me another excuse to chicken out.

Today, though, I'm not going to chicken out.

I really hope I don't.

I decide to write it down instead. Not because I'm planning to give her a note—I still want to tell her in person—but because if I write down what I'm trying to say, maybe I won't completely lose my nerve when the time comes.

I open my notebook and start writing.

Dear Quinn,

I stare at her name for a few seconds before continuing.

I like you.

I stop.

That's probably the simplest way to say it.

I keep writing anyway.

________________

School feels different when you have something you're looking forward to. The classes are the same, the teachers are still assigning too much homework, and the clock somehow moves slower than usual, but I don't really care. Every time I see Quinn in the hallway, I find myself wondering whether now would be a good time to tell her.

It never is.

During English, she turns around to ask me when the essay is due, and I answer her question, but I’m barely paying attention to what I’m saying because I’m too focused on the fact that she keeps turning to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"You look weird," she says.

"I always look weird."

"More than usual."

"That's concerning," I say, acting surprised.

She rolls her eyes and turns back around, but I catch the tiny smile on her face.

Okay. Maybe today really will be the day.

At lunch, she sits at her usual table, and I join her for a while. We talk about completely unimportant things, which somehow makes me like being around her even more. She complains about the cafeteria food, I tell her my sandwich tastes like cardboard.

"That's probably because you keep buying the same one every day."

"It's reliable," I argue.

"It's depressing."

"Reliable and depressing."

She laughs, and I decide that if I can make her laugh like that when I tell her, maybe it won't go horribly.

At one point, I almost say it. I actually open my mouth, ready to start, but then someone at the next table drops a tray and the entire cafeteria erupts into noise. Quinn turns toward the commotion, and I lose my chance.

"It's funny," she says without turning around.

"That the kid dropped his food?"

"That it's not you who dropped something this time."

"Should I be offended?" I say, with a hand on my chest.

"Maybe a little." She smiles, then gets up to leave.

Fine, I'll do it after school.

By the time the final bell rings, I've convinced myself that I'll find her before she leaves and finally tell her.

I leave the classroom a few minutes after everyone else and notice something underneath the desk Quinn was sitting at earlier. I bend down and pick it up.

Her notebook.

I recognize it immediately.

For a second, I just stand there holding it. I've seen her writing in this thing countless times, and I've always wondered what she puts in it. Especially lately. She's been writing more than usual, and sometimes she'll close it the second anyone comes near her.

I could take a quick look.

Just one page.

I turn the notebook over in my hands, considering it.

Then I remember the library.

I remember how angry she was when I followed her home. I remember her telling me that I should have listened when she said she wanted to be alone. I remember how awful I felt afterward

I don't know what's inside. And for once, I'm okay with not knowing. Quinn doesn't owe me every thought that crosses her mind. Whatever she writes in here, it's hers.

I close the notebook and tuck it under my arm.

I'll just give it back to her.

I catch up with her outside the school gates. She's already walking away, her backpack over one shoulder.

"Quinn!"

She turns around.

I hold up the notebook. "You forgot this."

Her eyes widen slightly when she sees it.

"Oh."

She walks back toward me and takes it from my hands.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

She slips it into her backpack, and for a second, neither of us says anything.

This would be a good moment.

I could tell her now.

I could finally stop thinking about it and just say the words.

But then she gives me a small smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

She turns and starts walking.

I watch her for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. I guess that's it. I've got basketball practice, and she clearly has somewhere else to be. Maybe tomorrow I'll finally get the chance.

I turn toward the gym and start walking.

I make it a few steps before I stop.

Tomorrow?

I've been telling myself that for weeks. Every time I decide I'm going to tell her, I find another reason to wait. I could go to practice, spend the next two hours thinking about what I should have said, and then do the exact same thing tomorrow.

I look back at Quinn.

She's already heading toward the community arts center, getting farther away with every step.

I could still catch her.

I should just do it. I don't need some perfect moment. I don't need a perfect speech. I just need to tell her.

I turn around and start walking after her.

I keep a little distance between us at first, mostly because I don't want to scare her by suddenly appearing beside her. I'm still trying to figure out how to start when I notice how ridiculous I'm being. I've spent the entire day telling myself I'd do this, and now I'm worrying about the first sentence.

I take a breath and speed up.

Maybe I'll start by telling her that I like being around her. Maybe I'll tell her that somewhere along the way, she became the person I look for first whenever I walk into a room. Maybe I'll just say the words and let everything else happen afterward.

My heart starts beating faster as I get closer. I'm finally going to do it. After months of wondering what she might say, I'm finally going to tell her.

I take another step.

Before I can say anything, a hand clamps over my mouth.

I barely have time to react before something strikes the back of my head.

The world tilts.

Everything goes black.

17

Quinn

By the time I leave the alley, the sun is already beginning to disappear. I don't take the main road. There's no reason to. I already know the quieter route to the cemetery, and I stick to it.

The streets are mostly empty here, and every so often I hear a car in the distance, but otherwise there's nothing but the sound of my footsteps.

Julie is heavier than I expected. My arms ache, and I have to adjust my grip more than once, but I don't stop for long. I knew this part would be difficult.

I check the time and see that I'm still fine, so I keep moving.

The cemetery is getting closer.

By the time I reach the entrance, it's almost completely dark. I stop for a moment and look through the gates. Nothing seems out of place, so I walk inside.

The cemetery is quieter than the streets outside. The sound of the town fades behind me until all I can hear is the occasional rustle of leaves and my own breathing.

I keep going until I reach the spot I've chosen, then carefully lower Julie to the ground and straighten up. My arms are trembling slightly now, so I roll my shoulders and take a breath before continuing.

The first few minutes pass without anything unexpected. I focus on what I'm doing and ignore the ache spreading through my arms and back.

There's no reason to think about anything beyond the next step. I've already come this far, and I'm not going to stop now.

I glance at Julie.

For the first time since leaving the alley, I let myself look at her properly. She looks different now. Not frightening. Not threatening. Just still. It's strange to think that a few hours ago, she was walking around school, laughing with her friends and carrying that same art folder against her chest. Now she's here.

I look away and continue.

The cemetery remains completely silent until I hear something.

At first, I think it's just the wind, but then I hear it again. A footstep.

I straighten slowly and listen. Another one follows, closer this time. My heart immediately starts pounding.

Someone is here.

I look around the cemetery, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. For the first time tonight, I don't know what to do next. I glance at Julie, then back toward the path. If someone finds me here with her, there is no explanation I could possibly give that would make sense.

Another footstep.

Closer.

I feel a sharp rush of panic and force myself to breathe. I can't lose control now. I need to think. Maybe whoever it is will walk past. Maybe they haven't seen me yet.

Then I hear something scraping against the ground.

My stomach drops.

I turn toward the sound and stare into the darkness between the graves.

A figure appears.

They're moving slowly, dragging something behind them. For a moment, I can't make out what I'm looking at. The figure takes another step, and whatever they're pulling shifts across the ground with them.

I freeze.

The person keeps coming, and something about the way they walk feels strangely familiar. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out their face, but the darkness makes it impossible.

Then they step far enough into the moonlight for me to see them properly.

I stare at them.

For a second, my mind refuses to make the connection. I know that face. I've seen it almost every day for years, but seeing it here, in the middle of a cemetery, makes it feel like I'm looking at a stranger.

My heart is still pounding, but now it's for a completely different reason.

I take a small step backward.

This was not part of the plan...

18

Nick

Quinn is staring at me. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I expected her to be surprised to see me here, but I didn't expect that expression. Her eyes keep moving between me and the person lying on the ground behind me.

Milo.

I follow her gaze and then look back at her. “You know him?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “Right. Stupid question.”

She finally looks at me. “Nick…” Her voice is barely audible.

I don't understand why she's looking at me like that. I thought she'd be relieved.

“I didn't know what else to do,” I say.

She takes a step backward. “Why is he here?”

“Because he was following you.”

Her expression changes. “What?”

“I saw him.”

I hadn't planned on telling her any of this. I didn't think I'd have to. But the way she's looking at me makes me realize she doesn't understand what happened, so I start explaining.

“I've noticed Milo for a while. At first, he didn't bother me. He was just another guy at school, and I didn't think much of him. Then I started noticing how often he was around you. He'd sit beside you in class, talk to you between periods, wait for you after school. Even when you tried to push him away, he kept coming back.”

Quinn doesn't say anything.

“I started watching him because I wanted to understand what he wanted from you. Eventually, it became obvious. He liked you.”

She looks at me, and something in her expression changes. “He... liked me?”

“Yeah.”

She looks back at Milo, almost as if she's seeing him differently now.

“That’s what he'd been trying to tell you these past few days.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“He was going to tell you how he felt.”

She stares at Milo again. For a moment, she doesn't say anything, and I can see the realization settling across her face.

“You cared about him.”

She looks back at me. “No.”

The answer comes too quickly. I almost laugh, but I don't. “You did.”

“I didn't.”

“Then why are you looking at him like that?”

Her eyes move back to Milo. I can see something in her expression that wasn't there before. Guilt. Shock. Maybe even regret.

I look at Milo again. “It wasn't just that he liked you. It was how close he was getting.”

Quinn shakes her head. “He wasn't doing anything.”

“He didn't have to.”

She looks confused.

“I knew what he wanted,” I continue. “I saw the way he looked at you. I saw how comfortable you were around him. You started talking to him again. You laughed with him. You walked with him. You let him get closer.”

I glance at Milo. “He wasn't going to stop.”

“You killed him.” Her voice is starting to break.

I nod. “Yes.”

She looks at me like she doesn't recognize me, and for some reason, that bothers me more than I expect.

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“Because he was getting between us.”

She stares at me.

“I know you don't like people getting too close to you. I've seen the way you react when someone won't leave you alone. I knew he was becoming a problem.”

“You don't know anything about me.”

I let out the tiniest smirk. “I know more than you think.”

She doesn't answer.

I don't tell her everything. Not yet. I don't tell her how long I've been watching her, or how many times I've seen her walking home alone. I don't tell her about the afternoons I've spent wondering where she was or who she was talking to. I don't tell her how often I've noticed the smallest things about her, things she probably never realized anyone else noticed.

She doesn't need to know all of that yet.

I look at her and say, “You thought I liked Julie, didn't you?”

She goes completely still.

I already know the answer. I've known for weeks. I've watched the way she looked at Julie, the way she followed her, the way she always seemed to know where she was. I knew Quinn thought Julie was getting between us long before I ever came here tonight.

“That’s why she's here,” I say quietly.

Quinn looks away.

I glance toward Julie, then back at her. “I never cared about her.”

She looks at me, her eyes widening. “...What?”

“Julie. I didn't like her. I never wanted her. She was new, she was trying to make friends, and she happened to talk to me a lot. That's all.”

Quinn's expression changes.

“You didn't... like her?”

“No.”

She looks toward Julie again.

“You thought I wanted her,” I say. “I knew you did. I saw it every time you looked at her. I knew you were watching her, and I knew you were trying to figure out how to get her away from me.”

She doesn't answer.

I don't need her to.

“I knew you were going to do something eventually,” I continue. “I just didn't know exactly what.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew.”

She looks horrified.

“I knew why you hated her. I knew why you kept watching her. I knew why you learned her routine. I knew you thought she was standing between us.”

I glance toward Julie again.

“And when I saw you here tonight, I knew I was right.”

Quinn doesn't say anything.

“You did it for me.”

Her expression twists.

“You don't understand.”

“I do.”

I look at Milo.

“He was doing the same thing to you that Julie was doing to me. He was getting closer. He was becoming someone you couldn't get rid of.”

“That isn't what he was doing.”

“Then what was he doing?”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

I wait.

She looks at Milo again, and something in her expression changes. It's not the same look she had when she was talking about Julie. There's something else there.

I don't like it.

“I thought I was protecting you.”

She says nothing.

“I saw him following you. I saw him getting closer to you, and I knew where it was going. I wasn't going to let him take you away from me.”

Quinn stares at me. “You've been watching me?”

The question sounds different from everything else she's asked.

I hesitate for a second. Then I nod.

“For a while.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

She looks unsettled.

I don't understand why. I've never wanted to hurt her. Everything I've done has been because I care about her.

“I noticed you before you ever noticed me,” I tell her. “You always thought I was surrounded by people, but I noticed you too. I knew where you sat at lunch. I knew when you stayed late after school. I knew which days you walked home alone.”

Her face goes pale.

“I noticed you watching me, too.”

She looks at me.

“I knew you liked me. I just didn't know how much.”

She quickly looks down at her shoes and turns red. She looks almost embarrassed, but there's another feeling mixed into her expression now. For the first time since I arrived at the cemetery, Quinn looks completely lost.

I understand that feeling. The truth is a lot to take in all at once.

“But we're not that different, Quinn.”

She shakes her head. “Yes, we are.”

“No.” I look toward Julie, then Milo. “You watched her because you thought she was a threat to me. I watched him because I thought he was a threat to you. You learned her routine. I learned his. You removed her because you thought she was standing between us, and I removed him for the same reason.”

She doesn't say anything.

The silence between us feels different now.

“You thought you were protecting me,” I say. “I thought I was protecting you.”

Quinn looks at Julie, then at Milo. I can see that she's trying to make sense of everything.

Maybe she's finally realizing what I've known for a long time. We were never going to be normal. That's why finding someone who understood us felt so inevitable.

I look at Quinn.

“I think we found each other for a reason.”

19

Quinn

For a few seconds, I don't move. Nick's words keep repeating in my head.

I think we found each other for a reason.

I look at him, trying to understand how I ended up standing here with him in the middle of a cemetery, surrounded by everything we've done. A few hours ago, I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only person who thought this way. The only person who watched someone so closely that their routine became easier to remember than my own. The only person who could convince herself that something terrible was necessary because it was the only way to protect the person she loved.

But Nick knew.

He didn't just know. He understood.

My eyes drift toward Milo.

He liked me.

The thought still doesn't feel real. All this time, I thought he was just being persistent. I thought he was ignoring my boundaries because he didn't understand what I wanted. I thought he followed me because he was curious, or because he didn't trust me, or because he wanted to know what I was doing.

He was trying to tell me. He had been trying to tell me for days, and I never knew. I remember the way he looked at me earlier today, the way he kept smiling, the way he almost said something before stopping himself.

I'll see you tomorrow.

He thought he would.

My chest tightens, and I look away.

Nick doesn't say anything. He seems to understand that I need a moment.

I stare down at the ground, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to feel. Sadness. Guilt. Regret. I expected all of them.

Instead, there's something else underneath everything: relief.

I don't understand it at first.

Then I look at Nick.

There is blood on his hands. It's smeared across his fingers and darkening the cuffs of his sleeves. There's some on his cheek too, and for a moment, I can't stop looking at it. I don't need to ask whose blood it is. I know.

My eyes drop to my own hands.

Julie's blood is still there.

It's dried in places, darker than it was when I first left the alley, but it's unmistakable. I rub my thumb against the palm of my other hand, as if I could somehow make it disappear.

It doesn't.

I look at Nick again.

I've spent so long thinking there was something wrong with me. I've spent so long wondering why I couldn't stop watching Nick, why I needed to know where he was, who he was talking to, what he was doing. I thought that if anyone ever found out what was going on inside my head, they'd look at me differently.

Nick doesn't.

He looks at me like he understands. Because he does.

He did the same things I did. He watched. He followed. He learned. He obsessed. And when someone got between him and the person he wanted, he did what he thought he had to do.

The realization should terrify me. Instead, something inside me settles.

Maybe I'm not the only one.

Maybe I'm not as broken as I thought.

Maybe I'm just like him.

“When did you start?” I ask.

He knows what I'm asking. “Watching you?”

I nod.

He looks away for a moment, thinking. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“I noticed you before you noticed me.”

“How?”

“You were always quiet.”

I almost laugh. “I'm not quiet.”

“You are when you don't know people.”

I don't know what to say to that.

“I noticed you sitting alone sometimes,” he continues. “You'd have your headphones in, or you'd be writing something. You always looked like you were somewhere else.”

I look down.

“I started wondering what you were thinking about.”

“And then?”

“I started paying attention.”

There is something unsettlingly comforting about hearing him say it.

Not because it should be comforting.

It shouldn't.

But it is.

“What about Julie?” I ask.

Nick looks toward her body. “I told you. I never cared about her.”

“You didn't hate her?”

“No.”

The answer is immediate.

“She was never the problem,” he says. “You were just convinced she was.”

I look away.

“I know.”

“You thought she wanted me.”

“She did.”

“She liked me, maybe. But that doesn't mean I wanted her.”

I nod slowly. I knew that. I just never wanted to believe it.

“And Milo?” I ask.

Nick's expression changes slightly.

“He was different.”

“How?”

“He actually had a chance.”

My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

“He was close to you. You trusted him.”

I don't answer.

Nick looks at me. “I saw the way you looked at him.”

I think about Milo again. The way he made me laugh. The way he never seemed to run out of things to say. The way he kept trying even when I pushed him away.

And then I remember what Nick told me.

He liked you.

I swallow.

“I didn't know.”

“I know.”

“He was going to tell me.”

“Yes.”

I close my eyes for a moment.

Maybe if I had known, things would have been different. Maybe I would've listened. Maybe I would've told him I didn't feel the same way. Maybe he would've walked away. Maybe he'd still be alive.

The thoughts come too quickly, and I force myself to stop.

I can't change any of it.

When I open my eyes again, Nick is still watching me.

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

I know exactly what he means.

I look toward Julie.

For a long moment, I don't answer.

“I don't know.”

It's the first completely honest answer I've given all night.

I don't regret wanting Nick. I don't regret protecting what I thought was mine. But looking at Julie now, I can't pretend that killing someone is nothing.

Nick doesn't push me for an answer. Instead, he steps closer.

“You don't have to be afraid of me.”

I look at him.

“I'm not.”

It's true.

That should scare me more than anything.

But it doesn't.

I've spent years imagining what it would feel like if Nick ever knew how I felt about him. I imagined embarrassment. Rejection. Maybe disgust. I never imagined this. Someone who knows what I've done and doesn't recoil, someone who has been watching me too, someone whose mind seems to work in ways I recognize.

I look at his bloodstained hands again, then at mine.

Two people standing in the same cemetery, surrounded by the consequences of their obsessions.

I've spent years wondering what was wrong with me. Why knowing where Nick was made me feel safer. Why I couldn't stop watching him. Why the thought of someone else getting close to him could turn something inside me violent.

I thought those things made me different from everyone else.

Now I know they don't.

They make me like him.

And somehow, that's the most comforting thing I've ever realized.

Nick reaches his hand toward me. For a second, I stare at it before taking it. His fingers close around mine. His hand is still warm.

I don't know what will happen after tonight. I don't know how we're supposed to explain any of this, or how we're supposed to go back to school and pretend we're the same people we were yesterday.

Maybe we aren't.

Maybe we stopped being those people a long time ago.

I look at Nick. For the first time, I don't feel like I'm chasing him. He's standing right here, and he's looking at me the way I've always wanted him to.

I squeeze his hand.

I've spent years thinking that loving Nick meant wanting him from a distance. Watching him. Waiting for him. Hoping that one day he'd finally see me.

I never imagined he'd see all of me.

The ugly parts. The broken parts. The parts I spent so long trying to hide.

And somehow, he's still holding my hand.

I look at him and realize that, for the first time, I don't feel the need to hide any part of myself.

That's what scares me most.

I don't feel forgiven.

I feel understood.

Is this what love feels like?

Epilogue

Quinn

Two weeks later

I find the letter in Milo's notebook.

I don't know why I'm looking through it. Maybe because I still can't understand how someone can disappear from your life so completely.

One day, he's there.

The next, he's not.

His handwriting fills most of the last page.

At the top, there's a date.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

The same day he died.

I almost close the notebook.

Instead, I keep reading.

________________

Dear Quinn,

Okay. I've already rewritten this three times.

The first version was way too long. The second sounded like something from a terrible romantic movie. The third was just me writing "I like you" and staring at it for ten minutes, so I'm pretty sure that one doesn't count.

So I'm going with this.

I like you.

I've liked you for a while.

I don't know exactly when it started. I think it happened slowly. It was probably all the little things.

The way you always finish your math tests before everyone else.

The way you say "fine" whenever you don't want to explain how you're actually feeling.

The way you try not to laugh when you think something is funny.

You always look away first.

I've noticed.

I know I can be annoying. I've probably given you enough reasons to think I don't take anything seriously. But I do.

Especially when it comes to you.

I also know I've messed up. I know I haven't always listened when you told me to give you space, and I'm sorry. I keep thinking that if I try hard enough, I'll figure out what you're thinking, but I know people aren't puzzles you're supposed to solve.

You're allowed to have things you don't want to tell me.

I just hope that someday, you'll want to tell me anyway.

I don't expect you to feel the same way.

Honestly, I'm terrified you don't.

But I don't want to keep wondering.

So tomorrow, I'm going to tell you.

No perfect speech. No rehearsed opening line. I'm just going to tell you.

Maybe you'll laugh.

Maybe you'll tell me you never thought about me that way.

Maybe you'll stare at me for five seconds and say "fine," which would honestly be the most Quinn response possible.

And if that's what happens, I'll survive.

Because I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything just because I like you.

I just wanted you to know that there's someone who notices you.

Not because you're the prettiest girl in the room. Not because everyone else notices you.

I notice you because you're you.

And somehow, that became my favorite thing.

I don't know what happens after I give you this.

Maybe nothing changes.

Maybe everything changes.

Either way, at least I'll finally know.

So... that's it.

I like you, Quinn.

I've liked you for longer than I probably should admit.

And I really hope that when I tell you tomorrow, I don't completely forget how words work.

I'll see you tomorrow.

-Milo

________________

I stare at the last line.

I'll see you tomorrow.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the notebook.

Milo liked me. Really liked me. And for the first time, I wonder if I might have liked him too.

Not the way I've always liked Nick. I don't think I even knew what I felt about Milo. I just know that he made me laugh, that I liked having him around, and that somewhere along the way, talking to him stopped feeling annoying.

Maybe if he'd told me how he felt, I would've said no. Maybe I would've said yes.

I'll never know now.

I look toward the window.

Nick is downstairs.

For years, I've wanted exactly this. I've imagined what it would feel like to finally have him, to finally know that he chooses me. And now that I do, I should be happy.

I am happy.

I think.

But then I look at Milo's letter again, and I remember the way he noticed things about me that Nick never had to notice. The way he cared without asking for anything in return. The way he would've accepted whatever answer I gave him.

Nick understands me because he's like me.

Milo cared about me even when he didn't understand me.

I close the notebook.

I got the person I've spent years dreaming about.

But I can't stop thinking about the boy I never gave myself the chance to love.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating the literary talents of writers worldwide. The competition is a confluence of diverse voices and creative expressions, inviting participants to share their unique stories and poetic reflections. It is a space where emerging writers can showcase their work on a global stage, engaging with a vibrant community of literary enthusiasts.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Antonella Maher for her compelling entry, "The Things We Notice," in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her narrative invites readers to explore the depths of human emotions through a mystery thriller lens, leaving a lasting impression. We are honored to feature such a poignant and thought-provoking piece. Thank you, Antonella, for sharing your creative vision with us.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.