Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 26

“Hey, is that the president?”

“He and that girl look good together, right?”

“They look like the perfect couple!”

Shrieks. Giggles. Cheers. Phone cameras raised.

Their names, Betty and Matt, curled in the air like smoke I couldn’t blow away. And suddenly, everything in me felt too tight, my fists, my throat, my chest. It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. It wasn’t jealousy either, or at least not the childish kind.

It was fear.

Because the world seemed so quick to assign soulmates. To cheer for two people who looked right, even if they weren’t meant. Like the crowd knew better than the heart. I stared straight ahead, jaw tight. But I didn’t miss it, the way Inez glanced at me, her brow furrowed. Tim nudged Corey, and they both looked at me, like they were waiting to see if I’d crack. Drake shifted beside me and whispered, “You good, bro?”

I gave a short nod. But I wasn’t.

Because even if I knew Betty loved me, even if I trusted her… there’s something terrifying about watching the crowd root for a version of a story where you don’t exist. The moment they stood beside each other, my stomach sank. Matt tied the red fabric around their legs, careful, practiced, like he’d done it a hundred times. Betty laughed at something he said. I couldn't hear it over the crowd, but I saw her head tilt back, her braid swinging slightly, the sunlight catching the gold flower pendant on her neck. He steadied her as they took their place on the starting line. She stumbled a little and gripped his arm for balance. I clenched my jaw. They're just friends. I know that.
He knows we're together. I know that.
Then why does it still sting?

A teacher blew the whistle, sharp and quick.

The pairs took off like wild horses, chaotic, hilarious, limbs flailing. Betty and Matt found a rhythm for the first few steps. Left-right, left-right, her hand gripping his forearm, his voice coaching her through it.

I couldn’t look away.

But just before the halfway mark, Matt misstepped. They both went down hard, Betty falling sideways, nearly landing on her elbow. The crowd gasped, then erupted in laughter. Some clapped. Others jeered playfully. Matt quickly sat up, flustered. Betty was laughing, brushing her hair out of her face. He helped her up and apologized, but she just shook her head. “We tried,” I could hear her say faintly, through the buzz.

They walked back toward the bleachers, disqualified but smiling. Her cheeks were flushed, maybe from the fall, maybe from the attention. Maybe from him. I hated how good they looked next to each other.

“Dang,” Drake said beside me, “They wiped out hard.”

“They okay?” Inez asked.

“They’re fine,” I said. My voice was too even.

Betty was still laughing when she reached me, brushing off her skirt, the balloon sword tucked under her arm like a flag of surrender.

“Guess we’re not champions,” she said, plopping down beside me, her breath still catching from the run.

“Not today,” I replied, pulling her gently closer. “But you were my favorite team.”

She rested her head on my shoulder, and suddenly the weight in my chest lifted. Because yeah, Matt may have been beside her on that race… but it was me she ran back to and that mattered more than any cheer, any whisper, any comment the crowd had to offer.

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Everyone fanned out in groups, hands full of flyers, trying out booths, games, snacks. Colorful tarps and streamers danced in the wind above us like kites refusing to let go.