Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 42

-----Matt-----

The noise on campus hits me like a blunt force. Not loud, not sharp, just constant. A low-grade hum of movement and instruction and forced cheerfulness. Prom week. Everyone scrambling, like ants pretending they aren’t already buried under the weight of expectation. I sit on the edge of the gym platform, elbows on my knees, the concrete biting into my forearms. My head feels like it's wrapped in static. Too many voices. Too little sleep. A hangover still clawing at my skull like it has unfinished business.

Then.... thud. A bottle of cold water lands beside me. I don’t look up right away. I already know it’s her. The weight of her presence is always different. Lighter, but somehow heavier.

“They say cold water helps with hangovers,” she says.

I glance up. Betty. Her hair’s half-tucked behind her ear like she was in a rush this morning. Her fingers are red from carrying too many props. She sits beside me like she’s allowed to... like nothing has changed.

“Who told you that?” I ask, twisting the cap open.

“The internet.”

I scoff. “You shouldn’t believe everything on the internet.”

And yet, I drink. Because I’m parched. Because my mouth feels like it’s been sandpapered. The cold water rushes in, down my throat, and the chill anchors me, for a second.

“Inez said she’d help with the centerpieces,” she says.

My body stiffens. “I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“She’s too free-spirited. I can’t control her.”

Betty narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t have to control everything.”

I shrug. “I know. That’s why I only control the things I can control.”

“Like?”

“Myself.”

Silence. Her gaze lingers on me, like she’s trying to memorize a riddle with no answer. Then, she laughs. Not a big one. Just a puff of breath. And without warning, she reaches over and messes up my hair.

“Control this.”

I blink. Her fingers are warm. The touch, too casual to mean anything, too familiar not to.

I comb my hair back into place slowly. Deliberately. “See? I can’t control you. But I can manage my hair. Got my point?”

“Yeahhhh,” she draws it out, grinning. “Gosh, it’s hard to get through to you. You’re too smart sometimes.”

I pause. Just long enough to regret it.

“That’s why you didn’t choose me.”

It slips out like a truth I didn’t mean to say. Like a confession I buried under logic and restraint.

She tilts her head. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly. “We need to continue the layout. It’s due this afternoon.”

Then I see her.

Olive.

Across the gym, half-hidden behind a column. Phone angled, like she’s pretending to scroll, but her lens is tilted in our direction.

My heart clicks once, cold and mechanical. I don’t think. I just move.

I pull off my jacket and drape it over Betty’s head like a shield. She lets out a startled laugh.