Lovebirds

MRS. FINE- BUT WITHOUT HE 'R'

She's just sitting there. Eating her lunch and talking about classes as if absolutely nothing has changed. It makes Edith's jaw drop; Felicity's brow fall with worry.

"What?" Spencer asks, seeing her friends' expressions.

"So we're not going to talk about it?" Edith blurts.

"I mean, we should probably talk about the history test, given the studying we need to do..."

Edith flaps her hands around as Felicity sits back to dodge.

"No no—stop with all the school stuff! What happened with Vince?"

Spencer's gaze drops as she rubs her fingers together to rid them of crumbs; merely shrugs.

"What's there to say?"

"You're not even a little upset?" Felicity's quiet voice feels like a pin drop in an empty auditorium. Spencer shoves away the image of Vincent's handsome face as she says the word 'upset.'

"No," Spencer lies, "I'm fine."

"Fine, fine, Mrs. Fine— but without the 'R'! No attachments, no break-up—how on earth are you still sane!"

The two of them stare at Edith, as surprised as she that she's suddenly standing: arms flailing in the air with exasperation, eyes wide in shock.

Catching herself, Edith glances around at the looks she's attracted, pulling her hands from the air to smoothe down her hair on the way down. Picking up her tray, Edith makes use of her standing state to go drop it in the return.

"I really don't know how to help you," Felicity continues in her absence. "There are no books, no movies about your situation—"

"There never is. About anyone's, Fe."

"Still," Felicity continues carefully, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I know you can't be okay. Nobody who's that close to someone can walk away unscathed. What happened, Spence?"

Edith sits down at the table again. Tray-less, expression making the same inquiry.

Spencer looks at her hands. At her food. Takes another bite.

"We talked," is all she tells them.

A beat.

A couple blinks.

"About?" Edith presses.

"About us. About 'officiality,'" rolling her eyes at the term, "and about what we want." Collecting her garbage, "turns out we don't see as eye-to-eye as I thought."

Spencer escapes the watchful eyes of her friends a split second before the lump in her throat bears a tear. Falling down her cheek, she does nothing to wipe it away until she's reached the garbage can on the other side of the cafeteria. It's loud here. No peace of mind. Desperately, she wishes to be back in the woods. Back up the tree, staring out at everything around, feeling small and insignificant.

But the thing about those woods is...

Vincent. He was with her. He'd made it perfect.

In a split second decision, Spencer whips out her phone. Taps open Instagram and slides over to her messages. Scrolling to the last one she received from the hacker, through Instagram's official account, she types out—

are you happy now?

And waits a moment.

Deep breaths, she walks over to the water fountain. Bends her head as if drinking from the spout, but never lets a drop touch her lips. She breathes again. Her phone dings: A response.

No.

Is all it says.