Chapter 1: The Block Heard 'Round the School

Two years chasing the most popular guy in school—and just like that, he posts his new girlfriend for the world to see. I was already halfway down the hall, ready to demand an answer.

My heart hammered as I marched down the linoleum hallway, every step echoing off the lockers. The smell of cafeteria pizza and cheap perfume hung in the air. Someone’s laughter bounced off the lockers, too loud, making my own silence feel even heavier. My hands gripped my phone so tight my knuckles went white against the cracked screen protector.

Suddenly, a flood of pop-up comments scrolled across my vision:

[Here it comes—this is the final test for the main guy. If she passes, it’s happily ever after.]

[He said he’d spend her birthday together, then went Insta-official with someone else a month early just to see if she’d stick around. Messed up, right?]

[Don’t fall for the cold act. Guys like him? Deep down they’re a mess, just hoping someone will never give up on them.]

[Girl, this is your moment! If you cry, he’ll give you the world.]

I stared, stunned, at the cozy photo of the two of them on his Instagram story.

The image glowed on my phone—Jason, his arm around Melissa, both of them grinning at some downtown coffee shop I recognized. His smile was softer than I’d ever seen in person, his eyes almost gentle. Melissa’s cheeks were pink, and someone in the comments had tagged it: #relationshipgoals.

My thumb hovered over his handle—part of me wanting to message, the rest of me screaming not to give him another second of my time. I could feel my pulse in my ears, sharp and hot. He was smiling so softly—gentle in a way I’d never seen before.

A weird sort of numbness swept over me. I blinked, forced my face into a smile I barely felt, double-tapped the post in some twisted act of closure, then deleted and blocked him on Instagram. My thumb hesitated for a second before I hit ‘block’—but it felt good, clean, final.

I posted a story of my own: “Insecurity and sensitivity are issues. If you need help, go get it.”

My hands shook as I typed it, but my jaw set. This time, I wasn’t hiding behind any filter. I pressed ‘Share.’ I didn’t care who saw. It wasn’t for him anymore—it was for me, for anyone else who needed to hear it. For a split second, I stared at my own reflection in the phone’s black screen, chin lifted like I’d just given a speech in front of the whole school.

That night, the school heartthrob blew up my phone with calls.