Chapter 3
Eight PM. The underground prop room reeked of acrylic paint, dark and damp.
The school was nearly empty. Racing to finish before tonight's final inspection, I crouched alone on the concrete floor, hands trembling as I applied gold paint to the last plaster angel.
Jason's unnerving stare from earlier still haunted me.
"BANG!"
The iron door slammed open.
Jason strode in with two lackeys, chewing gum, eyes vicious. An aluminum bat dangled from one hand, scraping the floor with a grating shriek.
"Look who's still slaving away down here." He kicked over the paint bucket beside me.
Red paint splashed across my shoes like blood.
I stood, gripping my paintbrush until my knuckles went white. "Get out."
"You giving me orders?" Jason sneered, stepping closer. "You think because Michael's got your back, you can do whatever you want? He's just a transfer student. You really think he runs this school?"
He didn't waste more words. He walked straight to my freshly finished plaster angel and raised the bat high.
"Don't!" I screamed, lunging to stop him.
Too late.
"CRACK!"
The angel shattered into pieces, white fragments scattering everywhere. I'd spent three sleepless nights making that main prop.
My whole body shook. Rage and humiliation crashed over me.
"What a shame." Jason shrugged without a trace of sincerity. "Looks like the prop department's gonna come up empty for tomorrow's Arts Festival. Wonder how the faculty advisor will punish their screw-up?"
"What do you want?" I bit out through clenched teeth, my voice hoarse.
Jason leaned in close, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Stay away from Michael. He's in my way. And if you don't..." He leaned in close enough that I could smell the mint on his breath. "Let's just say next time, it won't be plaster."
Just as he was about to leave with his crew, a cold voice came from the doorway.
"Won't be plaster? What exactly are you planning?"
Jason whipped around.
Michael stood in the doorway, one hand casually in his suit pocket, the other holding a black phone. The dim hallway light carved out the hard line of his jaw.
"Michael?" Jason instinctively stepped back, forcing a casual tone. "I was just checking on the prop prep. Knocked it over by accident."
"By accident?" Michael walked into the prop room. He didn't even glance at Jason. His eyes swept over the debris on the floor, checking that I wasn't hurt before locking onto Jason's baseball bat.
His fingers swiped across his phone screen twice.
"I got it all on video. Everything you just did, everything you just said." Michael's voice was utterly flat. "School board already has it in their inbox."
Jason's face went pale, but he still tried to bluff. "You think the board's gonna expel me over some broken plaster? My dad is—"
"Your dad can definitely keep you enrolled here." Michael cut him off, ice flashing in his eyes. "But what if that footage ends up in the Ivy League admissions offices? Think they'll keep your interview slot because of your dad?"
Jason's hand froze mid-air. His whole body trembled. He knew Michael meant every word.
"Fine. Have it your way." Jason ground out through clenched teeth, jabbing a finger at me. "But this isn't over."
He and his lackeys slunk away.
The basement fell silent again.
I stared at the fragments scattered across the floor. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over. I knelt down, trying to piece the chunks back together, but it was hopeless.
"Stop. You'll cut yourself."
Michael crouched beside me, gently grasping my wrist and taking a sharp piece of plaster from my hand.
"I'm sorry..." I choked out. "I always mess things up. I always need you to save me."
"Look at me." He cupped my face firmly but gently, and through my mask, his thumb brushed away the tears at the corner of my eye.
"This isn't your fault. The fault lies with the people who hurt you."
He stood and pulled me to my feet. "Come on. I'll drive you home."
That night, I sat in the passenger seat of Michael's black SUV. Low classical music played through the speakers, the heater was turned up high, chasing away the chill from my body.
The car stopped in front of my shabby apartment building.
I clicked the seatbelt open but couldn't bring myself to reach for the door.
"Michael." I kept my head down, voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you so good to me? I'm not worth it. You don't even know what I look like under this mask. I'm ugly, I—"
"I know."
He cut me off abruptly.
I jerked my head up, staring at him in shock.
The car's interior was dim, but his eyes were impossibly bright.
"Four years ago. That chemical plant fire—I was the one who pulled you out." Michael's voice dropped lower, carrying something like four years of suppressed pain. "How could I not know what you look like?"
My breath caught in my throat.
I'd known it was him. But hearing him admit he'd never forgotten—that he still remembered every detail of my face from that night—
"You..." My voice barely worked. "You never forgot?"
"Forget you?" He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Believe me, I tried. You have no idea how hard I tried."
His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
"Every single day for four years, I've thought—if I'd been faster, if I'd gotten there sooner—" His voice cracked. "Maybe you wouldn't have to hide behind a mask. Maybe you wouldn't have to endure all this."
He suddenly leaned across the center console, closing the distance between us. His breath fell warm against my forehead.
"Elsa, I didn't come back to St. Oak High for Yale. Not for Model UN. Not for any of that."
He reached over, his hand hovering near my face, close enough that I could feel its warmth.
"I came back because staying away was killing me."
All the air left my lungs.
He threw away everything—his future, his perfect life—for what? For someone too broken to even show her face.
"Don't." My voice shattered. "You don't owe me anything. I'm nothing—just some scarred girl who—"
"I didn't throw anything away." His voice turned fierce. "This is exactly what I want."
His fingers brushed the edge of my mask. Something inside me broke.
"I have to go." I fumbled for the door handle, tears already blurring my vision. "Thanks for the ride."
"Elsa—"
I didn't let him finish. I shoved the door open and ran.
I didn't stop until I'd climbed three flights of stairs. Inside the apartment, I slid down against the locked door, shaking uncontrollably in the darkness.
He came back for me.
Michael gave up everything just to find me again.
And I was nothing. A coward hiding behind a mask.
I buried my face in my knees, letting tears soak through my clothes, until my phone suddenly started buzzing frantically.
The screen lit up with a school-wide email:
[SUBJECT: MANDATORY ASSEMBLY - Tomorrow 8AM
All students and staff required to attend. No exceptions.]
Before I could process it, a text from an unknown number popped up:
[Think your boyfriend can save you?]
[Tomorrow's assembly? You're both done.]
[Oh, and the whole school's about to see what's under that mask.]
Staring at the vicious words on the screen, I clutched my phone so tightly my nails dug into my palm.
