Shattered ✓

F O R T Y

(This is the 3rd chapter I updated today, make sure you saw the other two)

Alexa

The gymnasium was stifling, the air thick with the combined heat of hundreds of bodies crammed together under a ceiling that had to be older than most of our grandparents. The folding chairs creaked beneath us, and the stage was decorated with the usual cheap streamers and an oversized "CONGRATULATIONS, CLASS OF 20XX" banner. It should have felt exciting—our last day together as middle schoolers, the first step toward high school and whatever came next—but instead, the whole thing felt like it was dragging under the weight of something unsaid.

I sat between Andrew and Elliot, half-listening to the principal drone on about "new beginnings" and "the limitless potential of the future." Andrew had leaned back in his chair, already zoning out, while Elliot sat stiffly, staring straight ahead like he was trying to will himself invisible.

Across the gym, Michael sat with his class, his leg bouncing so fast it made his chair rattle. He kept sneaking glances at Jackson, who sat a few rows behind him, arms crossed and eyes firmly fixed on the stage. The tension between them was so thick, it felt like the entire room was tuned into their silent drama—even if no one else knew what was really going on.

I couldn't help but glance over too, the awkwardness radiating from them like a beacon. Whatever had happened between them yesterday—whatever words were said—it had left a mark. Michael, usually so vibrant and loud, had been quieter today, like he was keeping something bottled up. And Jackson? He looked like a storm cloud ready to break.

"You're staring again," Andrew muttered, nudging me with his elbow.

"I'm not staring," I whispered back, trying to sound casual.

"You're definitely staring," Elliot chimed in, his voice low but sharp.

I sighed, sinking lower into my chair. "Don't you think it's weird?"

"What's weird?" Andrew asked, glancing over at Michael and Jackson before turning back to me.

"Just... them. The way they're acting. It's like someone flipped a switch, and now everything's... off."

Andrew shrugged. "Maybe they had a fight or something. It happens."

"Yeah, but not like this," I said, frowning. Michael and Jackson weren't just friends—they were inseparable, like two halves of the same whole. Seeing them like this, barely acknowledging each other, was like watching the sun and moon refuse to share the same sky.

Before Andrew could respond, the principal finally wrapped up his speech, and the first row of students stood to receive their diplomas. Polite applause rippled through the room as each name was called, but it was clear most people were just waiting for it to be over.

When Michael's name was announced, he stood quickly, his usual confidence dimmed by the weight he carried. He walked across the stage with his head held high, but I caught the way his eyes flicked to Jackson as he stepped down.

Jackson didn't look back.

The applause for Michael faded, and Jackson's name came next. He hesitated for just a fraction of a second before standing, his face a mask of indifference. As he crossed the stage, I saw Michael glance over again, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable crossing his face.

It hit me then, a sudden clarity that made my stomach twist. Whatever had happened, it wasn't just a fight. This was bigger—deeper. I swallowed. I was very aware of both of their feelings for each other. Michael told me, and for Jackson, it was so obvious. Could that have something to do with it?

By the time Jackson returned to his seat, the ceremony was already starting to blur together. Names were called, applause echoed, and students shuffled back and forth, but my attention stayed on them. The distance between them wasn't just physical—it was like a wall had gone up, and neither of them knew how to climb it.

Finally, the last name was called, and the principal invited us all to stand for the closing remarks. As soon as the applause died down, everyone scattered, eager to escape the gym and the heavy heat.

I caught up to Michael in the chaos, grabbing his arm before he could disappear into the crowd. "Hey," I said, keeping my voice low. "Are you okay?"

He forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've been acting weird all day," I said bluntly. "And so has Jackson. Did something happen?"

Michael hesitated, his smile faltering. "It's nothing," he said after a moment. "Just... stuff. You wouldn't get it."

"Try me," I said, crossing my arms.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then his gaze flicked over my shoulder. I turned to see Jackson standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

"Michael," Jackson said, his voice low and steady. "Can we talk?"

Michael looked at me, then back at Jackson. For a second, I thought he might say no, but then he nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

I stepped back, watching as they moved off to the side, their voices too quiet for me to hear. Whatever they were saying, it didn't look good. Jackson's shoulders were tense, his hands shoved into his pockets, while Michael gestured with his hands, his movements sharp and frustrated.

The conversation didn't last long. Jackson said something—something final—and Michael froze, his face crumpling for just a moment before he quickly turned away.

Jackson walked off without another word, disappearing into the crowd, while Michael stood there, staring at the floor like the world had just tilted off its axis.

I hesitated, unsure if I should go to him, but before I could make a decision, Andrew and Elliot appeared at my side.

"What's going on?" Andrew asked, glancing between me and Michael.

"I think..." I started, my throat tightening. "I think Jackson just broke his heart."

Michael finally looked up, his eyes glassy but determined. He gave me a weak smile, like he was trying to pretend everything was fine, and then walked past us, his head held high.

None of us said anything as we watched him go, the weight of what had just happened settling over us like a cloud. The graduation banner hung limply over the stage, its cheerful message feeling painfully out of place. For the first time all year, the end of middle school didn't feel like a new beginning. It felt like something had ended before it even had the chance to begin.