Chapter 5 The Sound of Shattered Glass
The walk to the public library was the longest twenty minutes of my life. My sneakers were still damp from the chocolate milk in the cafeteria. Every step I took made a faint, squelching sound that reminded me of the humiliation. I had spent the last two periods of the day in a daze. I didn't hear a word the teachers said. I just watched the clock, counting down the seconds until I could leave the building that had become a cage.
The downtown library was an old brick building with heavy wooden doors and a smell that always calmed me. It smelled like aging paper and floor wax. I chose a table in the very back, tucked behind the reference section. It was out of sight from the main entrance and the large front windows. I sat down and pulled out my spare Algebra book. I had spent my savings at a used bookstore after school to replace the one Knox had thrown away.
I checked my phone. It was 6:05 PM.
I expected him to be late. Or maybe he wouldn't show up at all. Maybe the reality of being an outcast was starting to sink in for him, and he was currently at Blaire’s house, begging for a do over. I wouldn't blame him. Being invisible was hard. Being hated was exhausting.
The heavy library doors groaned open. A moment later, Knox appeared around the corner of the bookshelves. He looked like he’d come straight from practice. He was wearing a black gym shirt and athletic shorts. His skin was flushed, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He spotted me and let out a long breath.
"You actually came," he said. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat.
"I said I would," I replied. I didn't look up from my book. "I don't break promises."
"Aria, about the cafeteria," he started. His voice was thick with guilt. "I saw the video. Someone posted it to the school story before I even got off the court."
"I don't want to talk about it, Knox." I opened the book to page eighty-four. "We have two hours before this place closes. We’re doing the practice test."
"She’s going too far," he said, ignoring the book. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Tripping you in the lunch line? That’s middle school crap. I told her to leave you out of it."
"And look how well that worked," I said. I finally looked at him. "Every time you try to protect me, it gets worse. Every time you speak to her, she finds a new way to remind me where I belong. So please, just open your book."
Knox stared at me for a long time. His jaw was tight. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he saw the look in my eyes and stopped. He pulled his textbook from his bag and flipped to the right page.
The next hour was quiet. The only sounds were the scratching of pencils and the occasional hum of the air conditioning. Knox was focused. He didn't complain about the difficulty. He didn't make jokes. He worked through the problems with a grim intensity. Every now and then, he’d get stuck and tap his pencil against his chin. I’d lean over and point out a sign error or a missed step.
He was smarter than he let people believe. He just didn't trust his own brain. He looked at every equation like it was an opponent trying to trick him.
"I think I got it," he whispered, sliding a sheet of paper toward me.
I checked the work. It was perfect. Not a single mistake. I looked up at him and saw a flicker of genuine pride in his eyes.
"You did," I said. "You’re ready for the test."
"Thanks to you," he said. He started packing up his things. "I mean it, Aria. You’re the only person who hasn't looked at me like I’m a broken machine this week."
"I just want to get through the semester," I said, trying to keep my distance.
We walked out of the library together. The sun had set, leaving the sky a deep, bruised purple. The streetlights flickered to life, casting long shadows across the pavement. Knox walked me to my car. The red spray paint was mostly gone, but the ghost of the letters was still visible if the light hit the glass just right.
"I'll follow you home," he said. "Just to be safe."
"I'm fine, Knox. It’s only a few miles."
"I'm following you," he repeated. It wasn't a suggestion.
I got into my car and started the engine. I watched his headlights in my rearview mirror the entire way. He stayed exactly two car lengths behind me. When I pulled into my driveway, he waited at the curb until I walked up to my front door and waved. Only then did he drive away.
I stepped inside and lean against the door. My heart was racing, but it wasn't from fear this time. It was something else. Something dangerous.
My phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number. My stomach dropped. I expected another threat from Blaire.
Instead, it was a photo. But it wasn't of me.
It was a picture of my front door, taken from the bushes across the street. The caption read: Pretty house. It would be a shame if something happened to it while you were sleeping.
I dropped the phone. It hit the hardwood floor with a sharp crack. I ran to the window and pulled the curtain back just an inch. The street was empty. The shadows under the trees looked deeper than usual.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a heavy flashlight. I checked the locks on the back door and the windows. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely turn the deadbolt. I felt like a prisoner in my own home.
I went up to my room and crawled into bed with my clothes still on. I left the lamp on. I stared at the ceiling, listening to every creak of the house. Every gust of wind sounded like a footstep.
Around midnight, a loud crash echoed from downstairs. It sounded like a window shattering.
I jumped out of bed, my heart screaming. I grabbed my phone and dialed the first number in my recent calls. I didn't even think about it.
"Aria?" Knox’s voice was groggy, but he sounded alert the second he heard me breathing. "What’s wrong?"
"Someone’s in the house," I whispered. "Knox, someone just broke in."
"I'm coming," he said. The line went dead.
I stood at the top of the stairs, clutching a heavy book in my hand. I could hear glass crunching under boots in the living room. Then, the sound of a heavy spray can being shaken.
Hiss. Hiss. Hiss.
