Broken Hands

42. Off

The cacophony of Marvin High's bustling hallway seemed to pulse around Russell as he made his way to his locker. His thoughts swirled, a blend of frustration over the endless math assignments and an ache of disappointment for Grayson's absence in what should've been their shared final year. He wanted his cousin to thrive, to be on the same page for once, but Grayson's past carried a weight too heavy to shake off easily.

As Russell yanked his locker open, the squeak of the hinges barely registered over the noise of the hallway. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Judas walking past. The once overbearing and cruel figure had become a shadow of his former self. Grayson's brutal takedown had apparently reset something deep in Judas' psyche. Russell smirked faintly, finding the irony both satisfying and grim.

Sliding his books into the metal compartment, Russell caught a flash of blond hair moving toward him. His chest tightened as Emily's voice broke through the din.

"Russell," she began softly, her tone hesitant yet insistent.

He didn't bother to look at her. The memory of her betrayal was fresh, a wound that refused to heal. "You can't keep ignoring me," she pressed.

The sharp slam of his locker startled her, but Russell didn't care. His voice was steady but biting as he turned to face her. "Really, Emily? This is how you want to do this?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Listen, I'm sorry. It was a mistake—"

"No, Emily, it wasn't a mistake." His words cut through her excuses like a blade. "You were with him. Repeatedly. Do you think I didn't know? The excuses, the lies—you made your choice."

Emily's face faltered, but she pressed on. "Russell, we have a future together. These things—they're just trials."

Russell shook his head, the hurt flashing across his eyes for just a moment before hardening into resolve. "You destroyed what little we had left. Good luck with Cooper." His tone softened, not out of kindness, but out of a desire to end the conversation. "Please, stop chasing something that's already broken."

As he turned to leave, he nearly bumped into someone. "Sorry," he muttered, his eyes locking briefly with Amber's cool gaze. She said nothing, her expression unreadable as she stepped around him.

Russell pushed the encounter from his mind, heading toward the lunchroom, still stewing over Emily's audacity. Distracted, he failed to notice the figure in front of him until it was too late. A lightweight collided with him, and a tray of food clattered to the floor. Gasps and laughter rippled through the crowd.

Grace, small and frail, struggled to sit up amid the mess. Her jelly-streaked sweater and the scattered remnants of her lunch made her look even more out of place. Her glasses had skidded across the tiles, and Russell immediately crouched to retrieve them.

"Here," he said, handing them over as she adjusted them on her face. She recoiled slightly but managed a quiet, "Um, thanks."

Russell's guilt hit like a truck. He began picking up the remnants of her lunch. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

Grace waved it off with a small, awkward smile. "It's fine. I mean, not like many people see me anyway." Her tone was light, self-deprecating, but Russell could sense the weight behind her words.

"No, seriously, I feel awful," he muttered, his voice low, more to himself than to her.

Grace tilted her head, her braces flashing in the fluorescent light as she smiled wider. "Chill, it's okay. I'm Grace, by the way. Or, as people call me, the shadow of Grace."

Russell chuckled despite himself. "I know who you are. I've read your stories on the board. They're really good."

Her eyes widened, her face flushing a deep red. "No way! You know about those?"