Chapter 2: Shattered Gifts and Broken Beliefs

When I met Matt’s gaze, his face stiffened, startled—like he’d seen a ghost from a past he wished he’d left behind. For a second, regret flickered in his eyes, but then his jaw set and he looked away.

The boy with the watch scratched his head, shifting awkwardly. “Uh... do you want it back?”

He shuffled, cheeks burning, trying to laugh it off, but his voice sounded thin—like he knew he’d stepped into something ugly. The hallway, usually alive between bells, felt like it’d been vacuum-sealed.

I stared at the watch in his hand—battered, bent, one fake gem missing. It looked like something you’d find at the bottom of a lost-and-found bin at the Maple Heights Y. My stomach knotted, realizing how little it ever meant to him.

It wasn’t fancy, just under a hundred bucks, but every penny had come from skipping snacks and brown-bagging PB&J for months.

That watch was a piece of every small sacrifice—every time I’d walked past the ice cream truck, every time I’d whispered “not today.” It wasn’t the money. It was hope, and I felt it slipping with every scuff on the face.

My eyes slid to Matt’s wrist—he wore a watch, gleaming in the fluorescent light, way nicer than the one I’d bought. Probably a graduation gift, something his dad picked up at SouthPark Mall. It made me feel like a kid who’d brought a finger painting to an art show.

I took the watch from his friend, looked at Matt, and said, steady but soft, “Sorry. I’ll take care of it myself.”

My hands shook as I dropped the watch into my backpack. The words tasted bitter, but I forced myself to meet Matt’s eyes, searching for an apology that never came.

Matt lowered his head, lips pressed tight, saying nothing.

He stared at the floor, jaw locked, white-knuckled around his backpack straps. For a second, I thought he’d speak, but the silence just grew heavier.

Embarrassed, I fiddled with the watch and turned to go.

My footsteps echoed down the hall, cheeks burning. I blinked back tears, still feeling their eyes on my back and laughter trailing after me like a bad smell. I hugged myself, wishing I could disappear.

At the first trash can by the parking lot, I forced myself to throw the watch in.

The lid banged shut, sending a couple of crows flapping. It felt final, like dropping the last piece of something I’d tried too hard to hold together. The late afternoon wind whipped my hair as I stood there, bracing myself.

I turned back. Matt was leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, face half-shadowed. He watched me, narrowed eyes waiting to see if I’d cry or yell—so far away, unreachable.

He barely looked at me, just flicked his eyes up and let a crooked smirk crawl across his face—like he was in on a joke I’d never get.

It was the look I’d seen on TV bullies—a smirk that said I never mattered. It cut deeper than words.

I froze, then dropped my gaze.

Couldn’t meet his eyes. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, breath hitching in my throat.

It was humiliating—my secret crush.

I felt my heart shrink, shame crawling up my neck. All those afternoons daydreaming about him, all those glances—it all turned to ash. I wanted to vanish, to start over somewhere no one knew my name.

Back then, I didn’t know Matt’s look would haunt me for years.

If I’d known how long it’d stick, maybe I’d have tried harder to forget. But teenage heartbreak leaves fingerprints you never really scrub away.