Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 6

Didn’t even make it to trigonometry before the intercom crackled my social death sentence: “Zoey Hale, report to Administration.”

Nobody looked. The gossip network had already distributed the memo.

The secretary handed me the slip like it might contaminate her manicure. Mouth pursed so tight she looked constipated. I walked that hallway with the kind of zen that only comes from accepting you’re about to get crucified for the crime of existing loudly.

Mrs. Peterson sat behind her desk with a manila folder that definitely had my name on it. She gestured to the chair like we were about to discuss my weekend book report instead of my apparent moral decay.

“We’ve received concerning feedback about your weekend activities,” she said, hands clasped like she was praying for my soul. “Multiple parents contacted us after seeing… photos.”

“What exactly did I do wrong?”

She blinked. Clearly hadn’t rehearsed for direct questions. “It’s not about specific actions. It’s about image. You’ve always been exemplary, Zoey. This transformation is… troubling.”

Transformation. Like I’d grown horns overnight instead of just growing a backbone.

“Are we talking about the same photos where I stood next to a boy?” I asked. “Because last I checked, that wasn’t illegal.”

“This isn’t disciplinary,” she said quickly. “It’s preventative. We’re monitoring the situation.”

Translation: Step out of line again and we’ll destroy your college prospects.

I nodded like a good little soldier and walked out. But my hands were shaking and my mouth tasted like pennies.

That’s when Miles materialized by the lockers like a bad rash that wouldn’t clear up.

“They suspend you?” he asked, scanning my face for cracks in the armor.

“No. Disappointed?”

He stepped directly into my path. Blocking me like he still had rights. “You know this isn’t you.”

“What isn’t me?”

“This.” He gestured at my existence like it personally offended him. “The makeup. The attitude. That burnout you’re slumming with.”

“His name is Chase.”

“Right. Very original.” His smirk made me want to commit violence. “You’re not built for this kind of attention, Z. You don’t know how to handle it.”

“You mean the kind of attention you were giving Amber while we were still together?”

Direct hit. His face flickered before the smugness returned. “I made a mistake. But at least I didn’t completely reinvent myself to make a point.”

My throat closed. Words disappeared.

He stepped closer, voice dropping to that manipulative whisper he’d perfected. “Everyone can see what you’re doing. You’re having a breakdown and calling it empowerment. This version of you? It’s pathetic.”

Pathetic. The word hit like a slap.

I stared at him—this boy who’d held my hand through two years of movie dates and family dinners, who’d known exactly which buttons to press to make me doubt everything about myself.

“Just… be careful,” he said, like he was doing me a favor. “This won’t end well.”

I walked away without giving him the satisfaction of a response.

The rest of the day was a blur of whispers and sideways glances. Former friends suddenly fascinated by their shoelaces. Teachers who used to smile now looking concerned about my “choices.”

I skipped my locker, walked home under a sky too bright for how hollow I felt inside.

Mom was home but buried in hospital charts. I went straight to my room, sat on my bed, and stared at my phone for ten solid minutes.

I didn’t want explanations. Didn’t want comfort. Didn’t want someone to tell me this was all part of growing up.

I wanted something real.

Opened a new message. Typed two words:

Come get me.

Sent it before I could overthink it.

My phone buzzed thirty seconds later:

On my way.