Chapter 3 The Watcher

The teenager in the hoodie smiled at me from the back of the bus, and my entire body turned to stone.

I knew that smile. I'd seen it a hundred times in the hallway, across the cafeteria, at the edge of every cruel joke whispered about my weight.

Maren Voss pulled down her hood, her blonde hair catching the fluorescent light.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Ivy," she said sweetly.

The bus lurched forward, and I grabbed the seat harder. My phone was still in my hand, the blackmail messages glowing on the screen.

See you at school, Ivy.

Maren stood up and walked toward me, her ballet flats silent on the grimy floor. The other passengers—the sleeping woman, the man with headphones—didn't exist anymore. There was only Maren, sliding into the seat across from me like she owned it.

"Don't bother running," she said, crossing her legs. "The next stop is six blocks away. Plenty of time to talk."

My throat closed. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" She tilted her head, pretending to think. "I want Beck back. But since he won't even look at me anymore, I'll settle for watching him burn." She tapped my phone. "And you're the match, Ivy. The confession page. The post that ruined him. The little babysitting arrangement you think no one knows about."

My blood went cold. "How did you—"

"I see everything." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I saw you leave his apartment tonight. I saw him walk you to the bus stop. I saw the way he looked at you." Her voice dropped. "Like you mattered."

The bus hit a pothole. I barely felt it.

"So here's how this works," Maren continued, pulling out her own phone. She swiped to a photo—a screenshot of the confession page admin panel, with my email address visible. "You do what I say, when I say it. First task: tomorrow, you post a new confession. Anonymous. About Beck's father. The fraud. The prison time."

"No." The word came out before I could stop it.

Maren's smile vanished. "Then I release these screenshots. Everyone knows you're the admin. Beck finds out you're the one who approved that post." She leaned closer. "What do you think he'll do to you then, Ivy? The boy who swore he'd destroy the person who ruined his life?"

I couldn't breathe.

"Post it by noon," she said, standing up. "Or everyone finds out the fat girl has been lying to everyone." She walked toward the back door as the bus slowed for her stop. Before stepping off, she looked back. "Oh, and Ivy? Nice drawing of that wolf. Leo's getting good."

The doors hissed shut.

She knew about Leo's drawing.

She'd been inside the apartment.

I don't remember getting off the bus. I don't remember walking home. I just remember collapsing on my bed, staring at the ceiling, Maren's words echoing in my skull.

Post it by noon.

I couldn't. Posting about Beck's father would destroy his family. His mother would lose her job. Leo would lose his therapy. Beck would lose everything he'd fought for.

But if I didn't post it, Maren would expose me. Beck would find out the truth. He'd hate me. He'd never trust anyone again.

There was no good choice.

My phone buzzed. Not Maren. Beck.

"Leo asked for you. By name. He wrote 'Ivy' on his whiteboard."

A sob caught in my throat.

"Can you come tomorrow night?" he added. "Same time?"*

I stared at the message. He was letting me in. Trusting me. And I was holding a bomb that would blow his life apart.

I typed back: "Yes. See you then."

Then I opened the confession page admin panel.

Maren's demand sat there, waiting. A draft she'd already written, ready for me to approve. Lies mixed with truth. Enough to ruin Beck's father forever.

My finger hovered over "delete."

A knock on my bedroom door made me jump.

"Ivy?" My mother's voice. "You okay? You look pale."

I shoved my phone under my pillow. "Fine. Just tired."

She didn't believe me. I could see it in her eyes. But she didn't push. She never pushed. That was our family's way—silence instead of confrontation.

"Your sister had a good day," she said softly. "She pointed at your drawing of the galaxy. The one on your wall."

I looked at the drawing. Swirls of blue and purple, a tiny moon in the corner.

"Can I get you anything?" my mom asked.

Yes. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to be brave.

"No," I said. "I'm fine."

She closed the door. I pulled out my phone and stared at Maren's draft again.

Then I made a decision.

I wouldn't post it. But I wouldn't delete it either.

I would find another way.

The next morning, I got to school early. Before Maren. Before Beck. Before anyone.

I went to the art room—my sanctuary, the only place I felt safe. Mrs. Patterson, the art teacher, was setting up supplies. She looked up when I walked in.

"Ivy? You're here early."

"I need to use the printer," I said.

She nodded toward the back. No questions. Mrs. Patterson was like that. She saw things and didn't push.

I printed twenty copies of a new flyer. Black ink on white paper. Simple words.

Body Positive Zine – First Issue

Share your story. No shame. No names.

Submissions to the art room dropbox.

Below that, a drawing I'd done last night. A girl with curves, standing tall, her arms open. The word "Enough" written beneath her.

I posted the flyers in every bathroom stall before first period.

Maren found me by my locker at 9:15 AM.

"What is this?" She waved a flyer in my face. "You think a zine is going to save you?"

"I'm not posting your draft," I said quietly. "Find someone else to do your dirty work."

Maren's eyes narrowed. "You think you have a choice?"

"I think you don't want to expose me." I forced myself to meet her gaze. "Because if you do, everyone finds out you've been blackmailing me. And then they start asking why. What are you so afraid of them seeing, Maren?"

Something flickered across her face. Fear. Just for a second.

Then it was gone.

"You're making a mistake," she whispered. "A big one."

She walked away. But her hands were shaking.

I'd hit something. I just didn't know what.

At 6 PM, I knocked on Beck's door.

He opened it looking exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. But when he saw me, something softened.

"Leo's been asking about you all day," he said. "He drew this."

He handed me a piece of paper. A crayon drawing of three figures—one tall with messy hair (Beck), one small with a wolf (Leo), and one with long dark hair and a purple shirt.

Me.

Leo had drawn me into his family.

I looked up, my eyes burning. Beck was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.

"He's never done that before," Beck said quietly. "Drawn someone new. You're the first."

I didn't know what to say. The guilt was crushing me.

"Ivy." Beck stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his soap. "Thank you. For... I don't know. For seeing him."

His hand brushed mine. Just the slightest touch. But it sent electricity up my arm.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen. His face went pale.

"What is it?" I asked.

He turned the phone toward me. A text message from an unknown number.

"Ask your babysitter about the confession page.

She knows more than she's telling you. – A Friend"

Beck's eyes met mine.

"Ivy," he said slowly. "What is she talking about?"

The floor dropped out from under me.