I escaped to the backyard. It was as meticulously landscaped as the front, with a pristine blue pool and an outdoor kitchen that probably cost more than my dad’s car. I found the furthest corner, by a tall wooden fence, and sank to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest. I just needed to breathe air that didn’t feel recycled by their presence.
“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you. The sprinklers have a mind of their own.”
The voice came from the other side of the fence. I looked up, startled. The boy from the cafeteria was standing there, on his side of the yard, holding a garden hose. He had dark, wavy hair and eyes the color of warm honey.
I immediately bristled. “Thanks for the tip,” I said, my tone clipped, daring him to say more.
He didn’t seem to notice my hostility. He just gave a lazy one-shouldered shrug. “Just a friendly warning. My dad’s prize-winning roses got drowned last week.” He gestured with the hose to a row of sad-looking bushes.
I said nothing, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. He didn’t. He leaned against the fence, coiling the hose slowly.
“You’re the new girl, right? Tala?”
“The ‘new spectacle’ is more accurate,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
He chuckled, a low, easy sound. “Yeah, that sounds about right for this town.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “That must suck. The whole town staring.”
His words hit me with an unexpected force. It wasn't pity. It was simple, direct acknowledgment. He wasn't telling me it would be okay or that people would forget. He was just stating the truth of my situation, seeing it for the ugly, uncomfortable thing it was. It was so disarming, I didn’t know how to respond. For the first time, my armor felt useless.
“I’m Kai, by the way,” he said, extending a hand over the top of the fence.
I stared at his hand for a moment before reluctantly reaching up and shaking it. His grip was firm and warm. “Tala,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.
“I know,” he said with a small smile. He wasn’t pushy or overly friendly. He just seemed… calm. Grounded. A small island of normal in my ocean of chaos. We stood in silence for a moment, the sound of a distant lawnmower filling the air. It wasn’t awkward. It was just quiet.
“Well,” he finally said, “I’ve got weeds to vanquish. Try not to get drowned.” He gave me one last look, that same direct, assessing gaze from the cafeteria, and then turned back to his yard.
I watched him go, a strange, unsettled feeling fluttering in my chest. I wasn’t sure if I liked it. As I turned to go back inside, my eyes caught a movement in an upstairs window of my house. My mother. She was standing there, watching us, her face a blank, unreadable mask. And in that moment, the unsettling feeling in my chest curdled into a familiar, cold dread. Nothing in this place was safe. Not even a simple conversation over a fence.