I used to think weekdays were tense just because Celestia was always hovering over —looming at my side, demanding attention, pushing herself into every corner of my day.
But today?
Today I knew what real tension was.
Because she wasn’t.
I got to school first. Walked into Halifax’s classroom with my usual half-dead shuffle, backpack slung low, earbuds in. But when the door opened again a few minutes later, when she walked in—head high, uniform immaculate, hair catching the morning light—she didn’t so much as glance at .
She didn’t co my way.
She didn’t slide into the seat beside like she always did, draping her bag across my desk as though she owned it.
Instead, she walked past, straight past and sat. Alone.
Well—"alone" in the Celestia Moreau sense of the word. A couple of girls imdiately shifted in their seats to make space, trying to be part of her orbit. But she didn’t look at them, didn’t talk. She just sat there, pen tapping idly against her notebook, eyes fixed on so point that wasn’t .
And for the first ti in a long ti, I didn’t feel like the room revolved around us. Around her dragging into chaos. Around trying to keep her in line.
For the first ti, she was quiet.
And it felt like the whole world noticed.
Through the first set of classes, I kept waiting for it—the inevitable performance. The way she’d throw her head back in laughter, tilt her chin just right, and let the world know she was unbothered. That she was radiant without . That I didn’t matter.
But it never ca.
She didn’t laugh, didn’t crack a sarcastic comnt, didn’t even roll her eyes at Halifax’s monotone lectures. She just... stayed. Still. Withdrawn in a way that looked wrong on her.
And the longer it went on, the heavier the guilt pressed against my chest.
By break, I couldn’t take it. I slumped forward on my desk, palms digging into my temples like maybe I could massage the weight out of my skull.
That’s when a voice cut in.
} "Okay. What did you do?"
I lifted my head to find Marina standing there, arms crossed. She didn’t look amused.
"What?" I tried, but even to my own ears, it sounded weak.
She narrowed her eyes. "Don’t play dumb with , Kai. You look like death ward over, and she—" she jerked her chin in Celestia’s direction— "looks like she’s about to declare war on the entire human race. So spill."
I hesitated. But Marina didn’t blink.
"Fine," I muttered. "We... argued."
Marina snorted. "You guys argue like breathing. That’s not news."
"Yeah, but this ti—" I exhaled, raking a hand through my hair. "This ti it’s different."
She leaned on the desk, her tone deceptively casual. "Different how?"
I hesitated again. Because saying it out loud made feel like an idiot.
Finally, I groaned. "I... gave Avery my number."
Marina blinked once. Twice. Then her jaw dropped. "You did what?"
"I wasn’t—look, it wasn’t like that, alright?" I rushed out. "She asked. She’s new. She said she didn’t understand Halifax’s class, and you know how he teaches, like we’re all supposed to have PhDs already. She looked like she needed help."
Marina stared at like I’d grown two heads. Then she dragged a hand down her face. "Oh my god. Kai."
"What?"
"You gave Prescott your number?" She leaned in closer, lowering her voice but not softening her tone. "Do you have a death wish? Because if you do, there are easier ways to go out than letting Celestia Moreau think you’re entertaining so other girl."
I winced.
Marina shook her head in disbelief. "Dumb move. So dumb. I can’t even—" She cut herself off with a frustrated groan. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking she needed help!" I shot back, maybe a little louder than I should’ve. A couple of kids glanced our way, and I ducked my head. "I just—she said she’d fall behind if soone didn’t explain things to her, and it was thirty seconds of my life to give her my number. It didn’t an anything."
Marina raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Tell that to Valentina Moreau."
I swallowed.
Because the thing was, she was right.
Celestia didn’t need facts, didn’t need context. All she needed was that one image: giving another girl my number.
And suddenly, all the guilt that had been building all morning pressed harde and heavier, like a stone in my chest.
---
The cafeteria was loud, buzzing the way it always did during lunch, but to it felt like white noise. Just the scrape of trays, the chatter of voices—all of it pressing in without aning.
I sat at the edge of one of the tables, untouched tray in front of . Staring at the steam rising from the food I wasn’t hungry for.
Marina slid into the seat beside like she owned the space. Dropped her tray with a sharp clatter that made flinch. She propped her chin in her palm, watching like I was a puzzle she already knew how to solve.
"So," she started, casual, almost bored. "You’re sulking."
I shot her a look. "I’m not—"
"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You’re staring at mashed potatoes like they personally betrayed you. If that’s not sulking, I don’t know what is."
I exhaled through my nose, dragging a hand down my face. "Marina—"
She cut off, tilting her head. "Let guess. Val still isn’t talking to you?"
I didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
Her mouth curved, not into a smile but sothing sharper. "Of course she isn’t. You gave Avery Prescott your number. Tell , Kai, do you enjoy playing Russian roulette with your own relationship, or is this just natural talent?"
I groaned. "Can we not—"
"No, we can. We should." She jabbed her fork at . "Do you even realize what you’ve done? You put your phone number into the hands of the one girl on this planet Celestia Moreau would set on fire just for breathing the sa air."
My head snapped toward her. "...What are you talking about?"
Marina leaned back, crossing her legs under the table, eyes flicking across the cafeteria. I followed her gaze, and there she was—Avery Brooke Prescott. Sitting pretty on the far side of the room, laughing lightly with a group of girls like she didn’t have a care in the world. Innocent, sweet and untouchable.
Except her eyes kept drifting over. Just once or twice but quick enough that anyone else might miss it. But not Marina.
Marina’s lips quirked. "You really don’t see it, do you?"
"See what?" I muttered.
"That." She gestured with her fork again, subtle but sharp. "Avery Prescott and Celestia Moreau? Oil and fire. They don’t mix. They were already circling each other like sworn enemies, and you—you went and handed Avery the matches."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "I didn’t—"
"Yes, you did." Marina didn’t soften. "You can tell yourself it was just helping with howork, you can swear it ant nothing, but to Celestia? To her, it ans everything. You gave another girl access. That’s it. That’s the cri. And you—" she jabbed my chest with the handle of her fork, making wince— "you of all people should’ve known better."
The guilt in my stomach twisted tighter.
"Look, Kai," Marina sighed, softer now but no less direct. "Celestia’s not a saint. She’s dramatic, she’s reckless, she’s exhausting. But she’s yours. And you just made her feel like she wasn’t."
I slumped back in my chair, staring at the floor. She was right. God, she was right.
"Where is she, anyway?" Marina asked after a beat, scanning the cafeteria again. "Because she’s not here."
I blinked, glancing around as if Celestia might suddenly appear. But she wasn’t. Not at our table. Not at hers. Not anywhere.
Marina’s gaze cut back to , sharp. "So where’s your girlfriend, Kai?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
"I... I don’t know," I admitted quietly.
Marina shoved her tray away and fixed with a look that could drill holes in steel. "Then go find her."
"What—now?"
"Yes, now." Her tone left no room for argunt. "You’ve already ssed up once. Don’t sit here wallowing while she spirals. She needs you, and you’re sitting here pretending cafeteria walls are going to magically fix your relationship. Go. Fix it."
I swallowed, pushing back my chair. As I stood, Avery’s laughter carried faintly across the cafeteria. Light, pretty... probably practiced. And for half a second, I caught her eyes on again before she turned back to her group, pretending she hadn’t been watching at all.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and forced myself to look away then walked out of the cafeteria without looking back.
Marina stayed behind with her tray, head bent like the food suddenly mattered more than anything else. To anyone watching, she probably looked calm, like she didn’t care.
But if soone had been close enough—closer than —they would’ve seen it. The way her eyes followed the doors after I left, the way her lips pressed together like she was holding back words that would never co out. It wasn’t jealousy or anger. It was quieter than that, sothing softer, almost hidden, before she dropped her gaze again.
Marina Godfrey had already accepted the truth...
Kai Tanaka was never going to be hers.
---
To be continued...
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