In Riptides

17 | drifting

L I A

The quad smells like freshly cut grass mixed with the faint tang of cheap cafeteria food wafting from the open doors. I'm half-listening to Rachel and the constant hum of her voice. Whatever she's saying blends with the lunchtime chatter and an occasional shout from a touch football game nearby. Her hands wave in the air as she talks, her laughter slipping into the spaces where mine used to fit. I nod when I think I should, picking at the sandwich in my lap one crumb at a time.

Her eyes sharpen on me. "You're not listening, are you?"

I force a smile. "Sorry... just tired."

She leans back on her elbows, squinting against the sun. "You've been tired for weeks."

"Can you blame me?" I mutter, staring out at the clusters of people sprawled across the grass.

Boys glance over, some with smirks that make my skin crawl, their comments just loud enough to carry. As usual, comments about me and what I've supposedly done. Matt's lies have spilled like poison through every hall in school. Through every cellphone screen, every classroom. They've spread faster than I can outrun them.

But I'm running on empty, and I don't know how much longer I can go before those lies start sounding like the truth to my own ears.

"No I don't blame you," Rachel answers. "But I know this isn't the only thing keeping you up at night. It's Nate."

The name hits like a stone skipping across a perfectly still lake, lashing me with ripples I don't want to feel. I shake my head, too quick, too sharp. "I told you that's over. I don't need to give people another reason to talk."

"Who cares what they have to say?" she pushes. "You obviously still have feelings for him—"

"Just drop it, Rachel," I warn.

She sighs, frustrated but trying not to be. That tight, careful patience grates on me the more she brings him up.

A group of boys walk by, laughing too loud. One of them throws me a wink, his gaze dragging over me. "Hey, Lia. Got time for a quickie, or do I have to go on the wait list?"

More laughing. My stomach twists. Rachel bristles, shooting them a glare as I stand.

"I have to go," I mumble.

She sits up. "So you can go eat lunch in the music room or something? You can't let them get to you."

"I'm fine. I just have to get some books from my locker before class."

"Then I'll come with you."

"I don't need a babysitter!" I snap, glimpsing her stunned face before I turn.

I walk away faster than necessary, like I can leave their voices behind if I just move quick enough. My heart thuds in my chest, fast and uneven. But in all honesty, I'm only using this as an excuse to be alone.

Rachel is part of the normalcy I can't return to. It's like I've been drifting further and further away from her, sitting on an iceberg while she stands on the shore with this vast never-ending ocean of everything I can't say bobbing between us. I haven't even told her about my dad, how that's another thing keeping me awake, how conflicted I am about whether I should reach out to him or not. I don't know how to talk about it, and Rob apparently doesn't know either because all he's been doing is adding to the tension at home with Mom and doubling his time with Clara.

But with Rachel, it's not just the deeper things I can't talk about anymore. Her stories about classes, gossip, weekend plans; they fall flat. They used to feel like threads weaving us together, like they really mattered. Now they're just noise. Distant and irrelevant.