Chapter 2: What They Think I Feel

He lived for the attention, the chaos. I’d gotten used to it by now.

I didn't feel anything.

I waited for jealousy or anger, but there was nothing. Just a dull ache, like I’d stubbed my toe.

Actually, I'd told Carter before—I didn't like him.

I’d said it more than once, but he always laughed it off, like it was just another joke.

But he never believed me.

He’d roll his eyes, call me a liar, and go right back to teasing me.

When I was ten,

My world fell apart in the space of a summer. I still remember the sound of my dad’s car peeling out of the driveway, the way my mom cried for days after.

My family went bankrupt. Dad ran off with a pile of debt. I took my mom's last name. Then she moved to Canada with a friend. My uncle took me in.

We packed up what little we had left and moved in with Uncle Ray. He tried his best, but he was struggling too, and I could feel it every day.

At that time, my uncle had just remarried—the Maddox family heiress, Carter's mom—making him Carter's stepdad.

It was awkward at first, learning to call a stranger “Aunt” and sharing a house with Carter. Their world was so different from mine.

Once the Maddoxes agreed, my uncle brought me over.

The Maddoxes were old money—big house, fancy cars, the kind of people who had rules for everything. I learned to keep my head down and my shoes clean.

Carter and I were the same age; he was a troublemaker, always teasing and messing with me.

He’d hide my backpack, switch the sugar for salt, anything to get a rise out of me. Sometimes I wondered if he even liked having me around.

After half a year, I couldn't stand Carter anymore.

His pranks wore me down. I started spending more time in my room, headphones on, pretending not to hear him.

He tossed some money my way.

"Lila, you really need money, right? Then be my sidekick, I'll pay you." He made it sound like a joke.

He made it sound like a joke, but I could tell he was half-serious. I hesitated, but the money was too good to pass up.

He guessed right.

I had no one to rely on. I couldn't depend on my uncle forever, and he was already in a tough spot with the Maddox family. I needed money.

I started doing little errands for Carter—laundry, homework, covering for him when he skipped class. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid.

With money, I could move out and have a safety net for myself.

I kept a stash of cash in a shoebox under my bed, counting it every night. It made me feel safe, even if just a little.

At first, Carter knew I did it for the money, so he let me be.

He didn’t tease me as much. Sometimes he’d even thank me, in his own way.

Later, he thought I really liked him.

I guess he couldn’t imagine anyone hanging around him for any other reason. His ego filled the whole house.

It started during a basketball game in our freshman year.

The gym was packed, the crowd roaring. Carter thrived on the attention, grinning as he sank shot after shot.

At that time, Mason and Carter lived in the same gated neighborhood and went to the same private high school.

Their school had everything—state-of-the-art gym, tutors, even a smoothie bar. I always felt like an outsider there.

I went to a public school on the edge of town.

Our gym was old, the bleachers creaked, and the vending machines barely worked. But I liked it. It felt real.

I could only go back to the Maddox house on weekends, and when I found out Carter and Mason had a game, I asked if he could take me.

I tried to sound casual, but I think Carter saw right through me. He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Carter looked at me, confused.

"Why? Didn't you say a few days ago you wanted to study and didn't want to go out?"

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, waiting for my answer.

I felt a little guilty. "It's just that I'm not that busy this week."

I looked away, hoping he wouldn’t push it. My voice was barely above a whisper.

Carter bent down close, his breath falling on my face. "Really not busy? I heard from Uncle Ray you've been staying up late to study lately."

He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

"I thought you wouldn't come back this week... Lila, you didn't come back just to watch my basketball game, did you?"

He sounded so sure of himself, like he was the center of my universe. It was almost funny.

As he spoke, his eyes grew warmer, like he'd discovered some secret.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "You don't like me, do you?"

"Come on, Lila, are you serious?!"

He straightened up, laughing. I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile.

Carter kept muttering, and I quickly waved my hands.

"No, you misunderstood, I don't like you..."

My voice was firm, but he didn’t seem convinced.

Carter looked surprised, but didn't listen at all. He took out his phone to call his buddy.

He dialed without looking, already smirking at me.

"Did you know? Lila is just like you guessed—she really likes me!"

He put the phone on speaker, letting his friends hear every word.

Me: "What?"

I tried to protest, but no one was listening.

"She dropped three spots in her grades this week, stayed up late to study all week, and even made time to come back just to watch my basketball game."

He rattled off the facts like they were proof of some grand theory.

"I admit defeat, you guys pick the place for dinner."

He sounded resigned, but there was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

Only then did I realize it was Carter's friends who said that I was so obedient to him, it couldn't just be for money.

I pieced it together—every little thing I did became evidence in their eyes. It was exhausting.

It must be a secret crush on him.

That was the story they told themselves, and no one bothered to ask me what I actually felt.

At the basketball court, I didn't look at Carter once.

I kept my eyes on the floor, pretending not to hear the chants. My focus was elsewhere.

I kept carefully watching Mason.

He moved with a quiet intensity, every motion precise. There was something magnetic about him, even in the chaos of the game.

He wore a light-colored jersey, his fingers strong and slender as he held the ball, and when he jumped you could see the lean muscles under his jersey.

He looked effortless, almost graceful. I wondered if he knew how many people were watching him.

I lowered my head, afraid of being noticed.

I tucked my hair behind my ear, heart pounding. I hoped no one saw the way my eyes followed Mason across the court.

Actually,

No one would ever connect me with Mason.

We came from different worlds. I was the girl who worked two jobs and counted every penny. He was the golden boy, destined for bigger things.

No one knew that in the summer when I was fifteen, I snuck out after dark to dig through the trash bins in the neighborhood.

It sounds worse than it was. The rich folks threw away perfectly good stuff—sometimes even brand-new clothes or unopened perfume.

The bins here weren't gross; there were often fresh flowers, old bags, clothes, sometimes even jewelry.

I learned to be quick, moving quietly so the neighbors wouldn’t notice. Sometimes I’d find treasures—a designer bag, a pair of nearly-new sneakers.

If I was lucky, I could find things that were almost new.

I sold what I could online, saving every dollar for college. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept me afloat.

(none)

I became an expert at spotting value in other people’s castoffs. It was my little secret.

When I got to the last trash bin, I saw a ring in the storm drain outside a house. After a lot of effort, I fished it out.

My hands were dirty and scraped, but I was proud of myself. That’s when I heard the door open.

And ran into Mason, who came running out in his pajamas.

He looked half-asleep, hair tousled, but his eyes were sharp. He stopped short when he saw me, surprise written all over his face.

He was tall and thin, with a faint clean scent—a sharp contrast to me, holding a trash bag. His face flushed instantly.

I felt a pang of embarrassment, wishing I could disappear. But Mason didn’t laugh or judge—he just looked relieved.

When he saw the ring in my hand, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. I realized how important the ring must have been.

When he turned to me, his eyes showed no judgment, and he asked, slightly out of breath but sincerely,

"Sorry, could you sell me that ring?"

His voice was soft, almost apologetic. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"My parents were fighting and just threw the ring away. I thought it was lost."

He glanced at the house behind him, shoulders tense. I wondered what it was like to live in a place like that.

"I can buy it from you. If it weren't for you, it might have been washed away."

He reached for his phone, but I shook my head, not wanting to make things awkward.

Maybe that was the first time Mason noticed me.

It felt like a turning point, even if he didn’t remember it the same way I did.

But I'd known about Mason since I came to the neighborhood.

I’d heard stories about him—straight-A student, basketball star, the kind of guy parents compared their kids to.

He was too good.

He made it look easy, like everything just fell into place for him.

(none)

She’d sigh and say, “Why can’t you be more like Mason?” I’d just smile and nod.

Unlike us regular kids.

He seemed untouched by the messiness of real life. I envied him for that.

Sensible and well-behaved, excellent grades, always planning ahead.

He was the kind of person who made lists and actually checked things off. I admired that about him.

He didn't have Carter's arrogance, nor his friends' over-the-top ways.

He was quieter, steadier—a safe harbor in a sea of chaos.

I handed the ring to Mason, realized it was dirty, and wrapped it in a napkin for him.

I fished a crumpled napkin from my pocket, careful not to smudge the ring any more than it already was.

"Here you go."

Our fingers brushed, and I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. He smiled, genuine and grateful.

"Thank you, can you wait for me to get my phone? I'll Venmo you..."

He started to turn away, but I shook my head, already backing up.

"No need."

I forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t see how flustered I was.

After saying that, I hurriedly packed up the things I'd collected and left in a rush.

I ducked my head, clutching my bag tighter. My heart pounded as I hurried down the sidewalk, trying not to look back.

Sometimes I felt out of place and embarrassed around Mason.

He was everything I wasn’t, and I felt the gap between us like a chasm. But he never made me feel small—maybe that’s why I liked him.

That night I thought,

Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over. My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

It's okay to feel out of place now.