Chapter 2 target on my back

I sat in the plastic chair of the guidance office the silence of the room heavier than the noise from Knox's exit. Mrs. Higgins offered a small smile. She didn't understand. To her, this was a project. To me, it was a death sentence.

"He’s a good kid, Aria," she said. "He’s just under a lot of pressure."

"I’m sure," I replied. I gripped my backpack straps. "I should get to class."

I stood and walked out before she could offer more excuses. The hallway was empty now. The sounds of muffled lectures leaked through heavy classroom doors. I walked toward my locker, my footsteps echoing. I felt exposed. Being noticed by a counselor was one thing. Being tied to Knox Hale was another.

I reached my locker and spun the dial. The metal door groaned. I shoved my dirty history essay inside, right on top of a stack of library books. My hand brushed against the sketchpad in my bag. I thought about the bird I had drawn and how Blaire’s friend had laughed at it. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cool metal.

My plan for three years was simple. Graduate without leaving a trace. No clubs, no drama, no enemies. Now, I was the girl keeping the star athlete on the court. That made me a player in a game I hadn't signed up for.

I headed to my next class. I felt eyes on me the entire way. It wasn't my imagination. People were looking at me. They whispered as I passed. News traveled at the speed of light in this building. By the time I reached the cafeteria for lunch, the shift was official.

I took my usual seat near the back exit. I pulled out a sandwich and a book, hoping the routine would shield me. It didn't work.

"So, it’s true?"

I looked up. A girl from my chemistry class stood there holding a tray. I didn't even know her name.

"Is what true?" I asked.

"You’re the one," she said, leaning in. "You’re tutoring Knox. I heard he was failing big time. Is he as dumb as people say?"

"He’s just busy," I said. I looked back at my book. The words were a blur.

"Blaire is going to lose it," the girl giggled. "She doesn't like other girls in Knox's space. Even for homework."

She walked away to join a table of friends. They immediately started glancing in my direction. I lost my appetite. I wrapped my sandwich and shoved it into my bag. I needed air.

I spent the rest of lunch hiding in the stairwell of the music wing. It was the only place that stayed quiet. I sat on the concrete steps and stared at my phone. I had a notification from the school portal. A new calendar invite was there. Tutoring Session. Room 302. 3:30 PM.

The rest of the school day was a slow. In every class, I felt the weight of the assignment. When the final bell rang, I didn't join the rush toward the parking lot. I moved against the current. I headed toward the third floor.

Room 302 was an old math classroom. It smelled like dry erase markers and stale coffee. I pushed the door open. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows. It highlighted dust motes dancing in the air.

Knox was already there.

He sat at a desk in the back corner. His long legs stretched out. He had his earbuds in. His head leaned back against the wall. He looked different without the varsity jacket. He wore a plain grey hoodie with the sleeves pushed up. He didn't look like a captain. He looked like someone who hadn't slept in a week.

I walked over and dropped my bag on the desk next to him. The thud made him jump. He pulled out one earbud and looked at me.

"You're late," he said.

"The bell rang two minutes ago," I countered. I pulled out my Algebra textbook. "I'm exactly on time."

Knox let out a huff. He looked at the pile of books on my desk. "Do we have to do this today? I have a game tomorrow. My head isn't in this."

"If your head isn't in this, your feet won't be on the court," I said. I opened the book to the section on quadratic equations. "Mrs. Higgins was clear. No progress, no playing."

Knox groaned and sat up. He reached into his bag and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It was a worksheet from two days ago. It was mostly blank. There were a few frustrated scribbles in the margins.

"I don't get this stuff," he muttered. He wasn't looking at me. He looked at the paper like it was written in code. "It doesn't make sense."

"It makes sense if you want to graduate," I said. I picked up a pencil and pointed to the first problem. "Start here. Show me what you know."

He grabbed the pencil. His hand was large. His knuckles were scarred from years of sports. He stared at the numbers for a long time. He didn't move. He didn't write a single digit. I watched his jaw clench. The silence in the room stretched out. It became heavy.

He finally threw the pencil down. It bounced off the desk and rolled onto the floor.

"I can't do it," he snapped. He stood up so fast his chair screeched. He walked to the window and stared at the parking lot. "This is a waste of time."

I stayed in my seat. I didn't pick up the pencil. I just looked at his back.

"It’s not magic, Knox. It’s just practice."

"It’s easy for you," he said, turning around. His eyes were dark with anger. "You’ve always been the smart girl. Nobody expects anything from you but an A. Everyone expects me to be perfect."

I opened my mouth to respond. A sound at the door stopped me.

The small window in the classroom door was blocked by a face. Blaire Kensington was standing in the hallway. Her hands were cupped around her eyes so she could see inside. Her expression wasn't bored anymore. Her eyes were narrowed. She tracked every movement between Knox and me.

She didn't move. She didn't knock. She just watched.

Knox didn't see her. He was still looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I looked from him to the door. Blaire reached out. She tapped a long, manicured fingernail against the glass. The sound was sharp. It sounded like a bone snapping.

She mouthed three words through the glass before turning away.

I knew exactly what she said. You are dead.

"What?" Knox asked, noticing my face. He turned toward the door, but the hallway was already empty.

I looked down at the blank worksheet. My hands were cold.

"Nothing," I said. My voice was barely a whisper. "Let's just work."

I reached for my bag to pull out a notebook, but my hand brushed against something wet. I looked

down. A thick, red liquid was leaking out of my backpack and pooling onto my math book.