Shattered ✓

T H I R T Y - E I G H T

Alexa

Everyone was acting on edge, like the air itself was charged with electricity, ready to spark at any moment. I couldn't tell if it was just my anxiety clouding everything or if everyone around me was feeling it too. The last week of school was supposed to be exciting, right? A countdown to summer, freedom, and maybe a bit of fun. Instead, it felt like we were all waiting for something to break.

I sat with my usual group at lunch, poking at the spaghetti on my plate. It was Michael's turn to be the loudest, as usual. He was trying to get Jackson to crack a smile with some ridiculous joke about teachers being robots sent to spy on students. Jackson wasn't having it, though. He kept avoiding Michael's eyes, which was strange. Normally, Jackson would roll his eyes and tell Michael to shut up, but now... nothing.

"Jackson, seriously. Do you even know how to smile?" Michael teased, but there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. He reached out to flick Jackson's arm.

"Can you not?" Jackson muttered, pulling away and going back to his sandwich.

Michael's face fell for a moment, but he quickly plastered on a grin, pretending it didn't bother him. I could tell it did, though. He always wore his emotions so openly, even when he tried to hide them.

I glanced at Andrew, who was sitting next to me, quietly watching the exchange. He leaned closer and whispered, "Something's up with those two."

I nodded, but before I could say anything, Elliot spoke up from across the table. "Michael, maybe give Jackson a break."

Michael shot him a sharp look, but it softened almost immediately. "Fine, whatever," he said, leaning back dramatically in his chair. "You're no fun either."

The tension between them was strange. Normally, Jackson would fire back some sarcastic comment, and Michael would laugh it off. But today, everything just felt... off.

"Hey, are we still on up for hanging out this Friday after graduation?" Andrew asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," Elliot said, not looking up from his book. "If everyone survives the week."

"Very optimistic," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"It's realistic," Elliot replied, finally glancing up at me. His gaze lingered for a moment, and I felt my cheeks heat up. "Everyone's acting like they're walking on eggshells."

"Well, it's the last week of school," Michael said, his usual cheerfulness creeping back into his voice. "Tensions are high. Teachers are extra cranky, and everyone's trying to figure out how to coast through finals."

"That's not what I meant," Elliot said flatly, and Michael frowned.

I decided to jump in before things got more awkward. "So, uh, Andrew... are you going to ask her out or what?"

Andrew nearly choked on his drink. "What? Who?"

"Oh, please," I said with a smirk. This morning, I caught Andrew blushing crazy over some encounter with a girl.

Michael's face lit up. "Ooooh, spill the tea! Who is it?"

"Don't," Andrew said quickly, his face turning red. "It's no one."

"Sure, it's no one," I teased. "That's why you're blushing."

"Alexa!" Andrew groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Can you not?"

"Aw, come on," Michael said, leaning closer with a grin. "We just want to know who's captured our dear Andrew's heart."

"Drop it," Andrew said, though his voice was more embarrassed than angry. I laughed, and even Jackson cracked a small smile at Andrew's expense.

For a moment, it felt normal again—like we were just a group of friends teasing each other about crushes. But the feeling didn't last. The bell rang, and we all stood to leave, the weight of reality settling back in.

As we walked to our next classes, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. It wasn't just the normal end-of-year chaos; it was something bigger, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. But it was there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

After School, I was waiting with Andrew near the parking lot, watching as students flooded out of the building. Zach was running late picking us up, so we stood near the edge of the sidewalk, trying to stay out of the crowd.

I looked around the parking lot, half-expecting Benny to show up out of nowhere. I hated that he had this power over me, this ability to make me second-guess everything. It wasn't fair. I just wanted to finish the week, graduate, and move on to high school. Was that too much to ask?

"There he is," Andrew muttered, nodding toward Zach's old sedan as it rumbled to a stop at the curb. The car looked as tired as I felt—scratched paint, a slight dent in the bumper, and a faint, uneven hum that probably meant it needed work.

We slid into the backseat, and I pulled the door shut with more force than necessary. The familiar smell of stale coffee and air freshener filled the space, but instead of being comforting, it made my stomach churn. I slumped into the seat, exhaling shakily as I fastened my seatbelt.

Zach glanced at us through the rearview mirror, his sharp eyes flicking between me and Andrew. "You guys okay?" he asked, his voice casual but with an edge of concern.

"Yeah," Andrew replied quickly, too quickly. "Just tired."

Zach's gaze lingered for a moment, like he didn't quite buy it, but he didn't push. He nodded and turned back to the road, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual.

The drive home was quiet—too quiet. The usual banter, the casual chatter about nothing important, was gone. All I could hear was the low hum of the engine, the occasional crackle of the radio, and the faint sound of Zach tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. I stared out the window at the passing houses, the neat lawns and driveways that all blurred together. Normally, this was the part of the day where I'd feel relief, like I could finally let go of the stress of school. But instead, the unease clung to me, heavy and suffocating, like the car was filled with invisible smoke.

I wondered if Zach felt it too. He didn't say anything, but the way his jaw tightened when we stopped at a red light made me think he did.

When we finally pulled into the driveway, I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed open the door like the car itself was too confining. I didn't even wait for Andrew or Zach—I just headed straight for the house, my shoes scuffing against the pavement.

Once inside, I skipped the kitchen, the living room, everything. I went straight to my room and shut the door behind me with a soft click. The quiet felt overwhelming, but I didn't want to go back downstairs, where Zach's concerned glances and Andrew's fidgeting would only make it worse.

I flopped onto my bed, the springs creaking beneath me, and stared up at the ceiling. The faint glow of the evening sun slipped through the cracks in my blinds, cutting thin lines of light across the room. I watched as dust floated in the beams, trying to focus on their lazy movements instead of the storm in my head.

But the feeling wouldn't go away—that weird, unshakable tension that had been hanging over the day like a storm cloud. It wasn't just stress or nerves or even the usual middle school drama. It was something bigger, something I couldn't name.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and closed my eyes. Maybe if I just stayed here long enough, everything would start to feel normal again. But even as I lay there, the thought crept in: What even is normal?