Desire

IV.

Lea

The next morning, I wake up with a dull ache in my hand, a reminder of the chaos from yesterday. I glance at the bandage and sigh, rolling out of bed slowly. Yesterday had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Isabel driving me home felt strangely normal, even though we barely talked. No insults, no snide comments—just silence and the hum of my car's engine. It almost made me uneasy, like we were both waiting for the other to break the quiet, but no one did.

I shake the thought off as I get dressed, opting for something simple but cute—a fitted top and leggings, nothing too flashy. I don't even recall the drive to school, my mind drifting back to rehearsal and Isabel. It still doesn't make sense. We're supposed to hate each other, right? That's what we've done for years. But now, things feel... different. I can't even place why.

When I arrive at the studio, I expect the usual—Isabel already warming up, probably ignoring me like she always does. But when I walk in, I find her sitting on the floor, stretching her legs and staring into space. For a split second, she looks almost... approachable. I push the thought away as quickly as it comes. Everybody is already in their respective pairs, so I make my way over to her.

"Morning," I say, reaching past her to set my stuff down.

"Morning," she replies, her voice dull, not laced with the usual attitude.

I wait for something more, but she doesn't say anything. I sit down, adjusting my bandage, wondering how this is going to play out today. Yesterday was too smooth for us. It's like we're both holding our breath, waiting for something to snap us back to normal.

Rehearsal starts, and everyone scatters. Some people are working on their choreographies, some are writing songs, and some people are just sitting on their phones. Regardless, everything's professional, almost mechanical. We run through our routine, Isabel's movements sharp, precise, but there's no energy, no fire. I can tell she feels it too. Usually, there's a tension that fuels us, pushing us to outdo one another, but today it's flat. And it's bothering me.

During a break, I sit on the floor, massaging my hand carefully. Isabel glances over at me from across the room but doesn't say anything. That's when Avery, one of the stage techs, slides up next to me, always observant.

"So, what's up with you and Isabel?" she asks, pulling her long, wavy pink hair to one side, not even bothering with small talk.

I roll my eyes, giving her an unentertained look. "Nothing. We're just working on the showcase."

"Uh-huh. I'm not blind, Lea," she says, nudging me with her elbow. "Yesterday, Rosie told me you were all wound up about her, and now... nothing?"

I'm going to choke that girl.

I sigh, glancing over at Isabel, who's now adjusting her hair in front of the mirror. "I don't know. We didn't argue yesterday. She just drove me home, and it was... fine. I guess."

"Fine?" Avery repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you and Isabel do 'fine'? And since when do you two get into a car together?!"

"I don't know," I admit, more to myself than to her. "It's just weird. But I'd rather have it like this than fight with her all the time."

Avery watches me for a second before smirking. "You sure that's all it is?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says, raising her hands in defense, but I can see the glint in her eyes. "Just seems like there's more going on than you're willing to admit."

I snort. "There's nothing to admit. We hate each other. End of story."

Avery shrugs, still smiling, but doesn't push further. I turn my attention back to my hand, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach.