The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)

Chapter 23: Cracks in the Ice

The classroom buzzed with noise as students settled into their seats, the sound punctuated by the teacher's voice droning on about the day's lesson. I sat at my desk, my gaze drifting out the window, watching as clouds rolled in overhead, gray and brooding, mirroring my own mood. I traced the outline of a raindrop racing down the glass, its uneven path a reflection of the tumult within me, feeling a familiar heaviness settle in my chest.

I forced myself to focus on the lesson, squinting at the whiteboard where the teacher scribbled facts and figures that felt as dull as the rain pattering against the window. But my thoughts kept circling back to AnnMarie and our unexpected conversation from the night before. It felt foreign and unsettling, like a gentle thawing of the ice I had encased myself in for so long, the frost of my indifference beginning to melt under the warmth of her kindness.

Just then, the door swung open, and AnnMarie walked in, her presence radiating warmth that made my chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. She caught my eye and, without missing a beat, flashed me a bright smile that seemed to slice through the gloom. I couldn't help but return the gesture, feeling a flicker of something hopeful in my heart before I quickly turned my attention back to the teacher, pretending to take notes.

"You're really not going to pay attention, are you?" she whispered, leaning closer, her voice barely above a murmur. The proximity sent a shiver of awareness down my spine, stirring feelings I wasn't ready to confront.

"Not exactly riveting material," I replied, shooting her a sidelong glance. "If I wanted to hear about dead people's mistakes, I'd ask my parents." The words came out sharper than I intended, a defensive shield I wielded like a sword.

AnnMarie chuckled softly, unfazed by the bite in my tone. "I can't blame you for that. But maybe try to pretend for the sake of your GPA? I hear they can be strict about those sorts of things." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, a spark of light that made it hard to keep my guard up.

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile crept onto my face despite myself. "Yeah, because that's what's really going to save me in life."

As the lesson continued, I found myself gradually loosening up. AnnMarie leaned in now and then, whispering clever comments or making playful faces whenever the teacher turned away. Each shared moment felt like a crack in the ice surrounding my heart, a tiny fracture in my carefully constructed defenses. It was as if the warmth of her presence was slowly thawing the layers of armor I had wrapped around myself, and I found myself wanting to lean into that warmth.

But with each laugh and fleeting connection, I felt an instinctive urge to rebuild those walls. It was a habit ingrained in me, a reflex developed over years of shielding myself from the pain of vulnerability. The laughter felt good, but it also scared me. It reminded me that I wasn't as alone as I thought, and the thought of opening up felt perilous, like stepping onto thin ice.

I glanced at AnnMarie, who was jotting down notes with a look of genuine concentration, her brow furrowed slightly. I couldn't help but admire the way she approached the world with an openness I had long abandoned. It was both enviable and irritating, the contrast of our perspectives stark. I was buried beneath layers of guardedness while she floated above the surface, free and unencumbered.

"Seriously," AnnMarie whispered, nudging me lightly with her elbow, "don't you have any riveting commentary on this riveting lecture?" Her teasing tone coaxed a reluctant chuckle from my lips.

I smirked, feigning deep thought. "Let me think... how about 'wow, that guy really messed up,' or 'there's a reason they don't put this stuff on TV'?"

AnnMarie laughed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Now that's some quality commentary. Maybe you should start a blog." Her enthusiasm was infectious, wrapping around me like a warm blanket.