Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 26

“Do you like her?” Matt asked, voice barely above the crickets.

I looked at him. “Do you?”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. I already knew. And I think he knew my answer too.

Now that Betty and I were together, he’d pulled back, not out of defeat, but maybe out of self-respect. Or respect for her. Or both. I appreciated it. I hated that I appreciated it.

I turned to look at her. Betty.

She was laughing at something Inez said, her balloon bouncing with every giggle. The sunlight kissed her collarbones, and the wind tugged at the edge of her sleeve. She looked at me then, and our eyes held the kind of peace I didn’t know I’d been starving for. I reached out and cupped her face with both hands, squishing her cheeks gently.

“What’s that for?” she asked, lips puckered like a fish.

“I just love you soooo much, babe.” I grinned, forehead resting against hers.

She shook her head but smiled, eyes warm and forgiving.

I pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

And in that moment, everything else, the noise, the sun, the guilt, the ghosts, faded into the background. Because all I knew was this: I wasn’t praying for peace anymore. I was living inside the answer.

The program began with a prayer, classic. Heads bowed, eyes closed, some kids pretending, others whispering behind cupped palms. But me? I always listened. Even if it was the same script every time, there was something sacred about hundreds of teenagers going still. Like maybe, just maybe, God still walked among us in school gyms with flickering fluorescent lights and echoing microphones. After the “Amen,” a girl went up to sing. She was off-key, a little shaky, but brave. We clapped anyway, not for the performance, but for her courage. Betty clapped the loudest. That’s her, I thought. Always the first to cheer for the brave. Mrs. Pamela, our dean, came up next. Her voice droned through the speakers, a string of motivational quotes stitched together without breath. No one listened. Not really. A few students clapped out of rhythm. Drake pretended to snore on my shoulder. Inez gave him a half-hearted slap with a balloon sword.

Then the real program began, the games.

Balloons flew. Whistles blew. Teachers scrambled. Mr. Oxford stood at the center like a general at war, clipboard in hand, trying to bring order to the chaos.

Then he saw her.

"Miss Finn," he called out.

Betty looked up, startled.

"You’re joining the next game," he added, with a playful smile that made it clear saying no wasn’t an option.

Betty looked at me uncertainly.

“Go on,” I said. “You’ve got this.”

She beamed, her eyes lighting up with something that looked like trust. That undid me, honestly. I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of look. Then they announced the rules, three-legged race. Pairs. Legs tied together, run across the auditorium without falling. Basic. Fun. Harmless.

Until I heard the name.

“Matthew Santos and Elizabeth Marie Finn.”

I nearly slid off my seat.

Betty turned toward me again, suddenly awkward. I could see the apology in her eyes even before I waved it off with a smile. I gave her a small nod. It’s okay. She smiled back, warm and soft, and jogged over to Matt. I tried to be cool about it, but it’s hard to pretend your heart isn’t clenching when it’s pounding like war drums in your chest. The students around us stirred. Chatter buzzed through the bleachers.