Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 42

But it was enough.

The gym reeked of sweat, glue sticks, and stress.

All week, we’d been buried in prom prep, crepe paper explosions, half-deflated balloons, tangled fairy lights that threatened to strangle someone if pulled the wrong way. I was already on edge. Inez made sure to keep me there.

“No, Matt. The gold streamers go left, not dead center. What part of 'visual symmetry' don’t you get?” she snapped, holding a roll of ribbon like a sword.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Symmetry is subjective.”

“Only to people who failed art in preschool.”

“Okay, Picasso,” I muttered. “I’ll move your divine ribbon an inch to the left. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she said, tossing her braid over her shoulder like she was the lead in some rom-com where streamers decided fate.

Corey showed up, arms full of fast food. “Peace offering,” he grinned.

“Bribery,” Inez corrected, snatching a fry. “Still works.”

Betty sat cross-legged by the stage, laughing into her phone. Her eyes lit up in that way they only did when it was him on the other side. I looked away.

Still, despite the chaos, the music tests, layout debates, even my near breakdown over the wrong shade of navy, I couldn’t shake it.

Olive.

Always nearby. Lurking. Watching. Her phone constantly out, camera lens reflecting fluorescent light like a glinting knife.

Like she was waiting.

For the perfect frame. For the perfect fall.

I told myself I was being paranoid. But paranoia is just pattern recognition, dialed up for survival.

I was heading to the storage room to grab zip ties when she appeared. As if summoned by thought.

She stepped into the corridor, blocking my path.

My breath hitched.

The hallway lights buzzed above us, one flickering like it couldn’t make up its mind. The walls smelled of paint and time, and the floor beneath my boots squeaked faintly as I stopped.

Olive’s arms were crossed, back leaned casually against the hardwood door, like she owned time itself.

I squared my stance.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice even. Low. Controlled.

She tilted her head, a slow, feline motion. “Relax, Matt. I’m not here to bite.”

“No,” I said. “You’re here to bury.”

She smiled like I amused her.

“Forget your stupid plan, Olive. Leave Betty alone.”

“Tsk tsk tsk.” She clicked her tongue. “You know, my mom used to say there are two kinds of women in the world. Those who sit with their pain… and those who claw for what they want.” Her eyes gleamed. “Guess which one I am.”

I stepped forward, arms still folded. “You’re desperate. That’s what you are.”

Her face barely moved, but I caught it. That twitch in her jaw.

“You could’ve done this with me,” she said, voice quieter now. “You were the first person I trusted.”

“And you were the first person I could’ve sunk with. But I didn’t.” My throat tightened. “Because you and I are different. I might not be Betty’s first choice but at least I chose myself. I don’t have to ruin people to feel like I matter.”

Her mouth parted. For a second, I thought she might cry. But no. Olive was the kind of pain that sharpens, not softens.

“Gloat all you want,” she whispered, eyes narrowing. “But everything is falling exactly the way I planned.”

A chill scraped down my spine.

My voice dropped to a whisper. “What did you do?”

No response.

I stepped forward and pinned her against the wall, not forcefully, just firmly. My palm against the cold concrete beside her face, close enough to smell her perfume: citrus, laced with something metallic underneath.

She didn’t flinch. Not Olive. She looked me in the eye like she’d already played this scene a thousand times in her head.

“What. Did. You. Do,” I growled.

She shoved me back with a practiced grace. “You’ll see.”

And then she was gone. Down the hall. Phone in hand. Shadows swallowing her whole.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it rang.

I turned around just in time to find Inez standing at the end of the hallway, sipping soda like she’d watched the whole thing.

“Was that... intense flirting or an exorcism?” she asked flatly.

I let out a breath. “Can’t it be both?”

“You’re too dramatic for someone who wears the same boots every day.”

I blinked. “These are combat boots. They’re functional.”

“They look like you’re compensating.”

I was too tired to argue. “Please tell me you didn’t hear the whole thing.”

“Oh no,” she said. “Just the wall pinning and the 'You'll see' between the two of you, are you both now a thing?”

I stared down the hallway where Olive vanished.

And for the first time in a long while, I couldn’t logic my way out of what I was feeling.

A storm was coming.

And somehow, I’d handed Olive the match.

I watched them from a distance, Betty sitting cross-legged on the gym floor, sketching out the revised layout on a crumpled piece of paper, her lips pursed in quiet determination. Inez hovered beside her like a storm in motion, throwing fabric samples around with theatrical sighs and half-formed ideas. She was arguing with Corey about lighting again, and Betty just laughed, shaking her head, the sound soft, effortless.

For a second, I let myself breathe in the normalcy of it. The push and pull, the tiny bursts of chaos, the strange sense of family we’ve built in the wreckage of everything else. But it didn’t last.

Because underneath it, under the paper lanterns and hot glue fumes, something rotted quietly. Olive’s silence.

If she really has something… it could ruin everything. That thought has been pressing against the walls of my skull all day, dull and relentless, like a low-grade fever I can’t sweat out. She’s too quiet lately, not the harmless kind of quiet, the kind that folds into the background. No, this is deliberate. Calculated. Like a lit fuse you can’t see, but you know is burning somewhere.

If she goes through with whatever she’s planning, Betty might hate me. Not Olive, but me. Because I saw it coming. Because I stood too still for too long. And once that trust is gone, there’s no equation to fix it. No clean logic to explain how my silence was meant to protect her.

And James… God, James could implode. He’s already balancing on a thread, acting like he’s fine while the ground beneath him keeps breaking. If Olive drops this bomb, it won’t just mess with him, it’ll tear through every fragile piece he’s taped together. He’ll spiral. Into the dark, into rage, into whatever it is he turns to when reality cuts too deep.

And I’ll just be there. Watching. Powerless.

That’s what scares me most, not the fallout, not even the blame. Just the unbearable knowing that I might not be able to stop any of it. That I tried to hold the pieces, but the cracks ran too deep. That despite all my control, all my plans, everything could still burn.

Betty looked up and caught my gaze, smiling faintly before turning back to her notes. And I stood still, hands clenched in my pockets, the weight of what might come pressing down harder than ever.

Because I could feel it now. Something was coming. And we were all standing too close to the edge.