Her name was Ivy.
She was beautiful in a sharp, expensive way. Long legs. Red lips. Nails that could slice a throat.
I saw her talking to Chase by the bike racks.
He laughed. She touched his arm.
Something burned in my chest.
That night, I didn't talk to him.
He noticed. Of course he did.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're quiet."
"Maybe I'm just tired."
He didn't push.
But later, I heard him slam the door to his room.