In the glittering world of Westbridge, where mansions line the streets and family legacies are worth their weight in gold, five childhood best friends-Lisa, Theo, Gabe, Gen, and Sam-have grown up in the shadow of privilege, bound by a friendship as...
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It was another morning at St. Augustine Prep, counting days before summer break started. Sam had always loved his hidden spot behind the gym. Tucked between the school's boundary wall and a thick cluster of trees, it felt like a tiny slice of privacy amid the hum of life at St. Augustine Prep. Here, the polished halls and endless layers of privilege felt miles away, and for a few minutes, he could be just Sam.
It was one of those days when he needed a breather—too many glances exchanged between Theo and Lisa in the hallways, too many moments of silence where laughter usually filled the air. Yesterday had been so easy, so full of sun and pool water and harmless teasing. Today, reality was pressing in, and Sam wanted to escape, just for a few minutes.
He rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks. Gen was there, standing by the wall with her back to him, her head tipped back like she was watching the clouds drift. Except, she wasn't. A faint curl of smoke floated upward, barely visible against the morning sky.
"Gen?" His voice came out more surprised than he'd intended.
Gen whipped around, eyes wide. For a moment, she looked like she might drop the cigarette, but then she just sighed, resigned. "Guess there's no point in hiding it now."
Sam stepped closer, his gaze flicking from her face to the cigarette between her fingers. He'd seen people smoke before, even some classmates sneaking it behind the bleachers, but Gen? Sweet, soft-spoken Gen? It didn't fit. Or maybe it did, and he'd just never noticed.
"Since when?" he asked, leaning back against the wall beside her.
"A while." She looked away, her eyes fixed somewhere distant. "Helps with...things."
The pause in her voice told him more than she meant to, and he didn't push. The silence settled between them, comfortable but heavy. He waited, sensing she had more to say, and eventually, she did.
"I started with cigarettes," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But now, sometimes...it's weed too." Her fingers tightened around the cigarette, and she looked down, like she couldn't bear to see his reaction.
Sam's heart twisted, but he kept his voice steady, casual. "Why?"
She inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he thought she might brush him off. But then she looked at him, really looked at him, her eyes shining with something raw and unguarded.
"My dad's sick, Sam. Like...really sick." Her voice cracked, and she glanced away, blinking rapidly. "And there's nothing I can do. It just—" She gestured with the cigarette, the movement shaky. "It makes it easier, you know?"
Sam didn't know, not exactly. But he knew enough to understand the hollow ache she was trying to fill, the way people tried to patch up the cracks in their lives with whatever they could find.
Without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Gen stiffened for a moment, but then she leaned into him, her arms looping around his waist and holding on tightly, like she was afraid of falling. He could feel her breathing, shaky and uneven, and he just held her, not saying a word, letting her take whatever she needed.
"I didn't want anyone to know," she murmured against his shoulder, her voice muffled. "Especially not you."
"Why not me?" he asked, resting his chin gently on her head.
"Because you're...Sam. You always look at things like they're going to be okay, like everything's just an adventure." Her fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt. "And I didn't want you to see me like this."
Sam's chest tightened. It wasn't like he didn't have his own ways of coping. The little things he'd pocketed over the years, moments when he'd felt that same helplessness gnawing at him, the need to make something his when everything else felt out of reach. But right now, this wasn't about him.
"Gen, you don't have to be perfect for me," he said quietly. "Or for anyone."
She let out a shaky breath, and for a long moment, they just stood there, the world narrowing down to the steady rhythm of her breathing against his chest.
Finally, Gen pulled back, brushing at her eyes and managing a shaky smile. "You're...you're not going to tell anyone, right?"
Sam held up an imaginary key and pretended to lock his lips, then tossed it away. "Your secret's safe."
Gen let out a small, relieved laugh, and he couldn't help but grin. For the first time, he felt like he'd really seen her—not just Gen, the quiet, put-together girl everyone admired, but the one with cracks and jagged edges, just like the rest of them.
They drifted into silence again, until Sam noticed she was still holding the cigarette. "So...are you, uh, done with that?"
Gen looked down at the cigarette like she'd forgotten it was even there. With a sigh, she dropped it to the ground and crushed it under her heel.
"Thanks, Sam," she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a look he couldn't quite read. "For being here."
"Anytime." He gave her a small smile. "And, you know...you don't have to go through this alone. You have us. You have me."
Gen didn't respond, but the way she held his gaze felt like an answer.
The rest of the day was a blur of classes and half-hearted small talk. Sam found himself drifting through his friend groups, barely listening to Naomi's chatter at lunch, his mind somewhere else entirely. Every now and then, his gaze would wander to Gen, sitting with her usual group, her face an unreadable mask. But he could see the subtle weight in her posture, the tension in her shoulders that hadn't been there before.
He wanted to do something, to reach out, but he knew better than to push. Gen had let him in once today, and that was enough for now.
When lunch was over, he found himself at the main group's table, the usual suspects scattered around, talking and laughing like any other day. Lisa leaned over her chair, chatting animatedly with Theo, while Gabe watched from across the table, a faint smirk on his face.
"Earth to Sam," Naomi teased, nudging him with her elbow. "You're spacing out again."
He blinked, forcing a smile. "Sorry, just...thinking."
"Oh, no. Not 'just thinking' again," she teased, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Sam. You're always thinking."
"I can't help it," he replied, flashing a grin. "It's kind of my thing."
But as he laughed and joked along with the others, his gaze drifted back to Gen, and he felt that familiar ache settling in. The kind that came when he realized just how little he really knew about the people he cared about. He'd always seen them as invincible, untouched by anything real. But now, he wasn't so sure.
As the final bell rang, Sam found himself drawn back to his hidden spot, the quiet corner of the school where he'd stumbled upon Gen that morning. The smell of smoke still lingered faintly in the air, and he took a deep breath, leaning against the wall.
A part of him wanted to tell someone, to do something. But he knew Gen had trusted him, and that trust felt like a fragile thing, something he didn't want to break. Instead, he pulled out his camera, the familiar weight of it grounding him, and lifted it to his eye, focusing on the small, unremarkable scene in front of him.
The world through the lens felt simpler, reduced to shapes and lines, a moment suspended in time. It wasn't an escape, not really, but it was enough.
As he clicked the shutter, capturing the stillness of the empty space, he thought about Gen's quiet strength, the way she'd held onto him like he was a lifeline. And he felt a quiet resolve settle within him. He didn't have the answers, didn't know how to fix things, but he could be there, a steady presence in the background.
He could be her silent support, just like he'd promised.
