“Sure. Library works.”
“Cool.”
He walked away. I turned and saw Madison twenty feet down the hall, staring, her face pale. That night at dinner, she barely spoke, just pushed food around her plate. Mom kept asking if she felt okay. Madison would shrug. Say nothing. I should have known silence from her was more dangerous than tears. On Thursday, I had a visiting lecturer in my biology class, Dr. Eleanor Smith from State University. She was talking about educational equity research. I stayed after to ask questions. She seemed impressed.
“You have a curious mind,” she said, handing me her card. “Don’t let anyone dim that light.”
I smiled, thanked her, and had no idea she would save my life.
A week later, that Friday, the storm warnings started. Big one coming. Everyone was preparing, stocking up, battening down. Madison still wasn’t talking to me. Wouldn’t even look at me. I remember thinking, At least I’ll have the weekend to catch up on homework in peace. I had no idea what she was planning. Friday night, the rain started around six. We ate dinner in near silence. The weather alert kept buzzing on Dad’s phone. Wind advisories, flood warnings. Everyone was tense. Madison picked at her pasta. I could feel her watching me. When I glanced up, she’d look away. After dinner, I went to my room and started my English homework. Outside, the wind was picking up. Rain hammered the windows. The kind of storm where you’re grateful to be inside. Around eight, I heard crying downstairs. Madison. Loud, heaving sobs. I froze, put down my pen, listened. Mom’s voice turned soothing.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
More crying. I waited. Maybe she’d twisted her ankle. Maybe she’d failed another test.
“Olivia!”
Dad’s voice. Sharp. Angry.
“Get down here now.”
My stomach dropped. I walked downstairs slowly. Each step felt heavy. Madison was on the couch, face buried in Mom’s shoulder. Mom was stroking her hair. Dad stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, face red.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Madison looked up, eyes swollen, tears streaming. She looked at me, and for just a second, less than a second, I saw something else behind those tears. Something cold. Then it was gone.
“Tell her what you told us,” Dad said.
His voice was ice. Madison’s lip trembled.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“What?”
I stepped closer.
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then why?”
She hiccuped, sobbed.
“Why have you been spreading rumors about me at school?”
My mind went blank.
“What rumors?”
“About me and Jake. About me cheating on that quiz. About me being… being a liar.”
The floor tilted.
“Madison, I never—”
“Don’t lie to her,” Mom said quietly. “Just don’t.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I was about to find out, and it would cost me everything.
“I didn’t spread any rumors,” I said. My voice shook. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Madison pulled out her phone, hands trembling.
“Then explain this.”
She showed Mom a screenshot. Some group chat. Messages I’d supposedly sent, vicious stuff about Madison, things I would never say. But there was my name. My profile picture.
“I didn’t write those,” I said. “Someone’s using my account.”
“Stop.”
Dad’s voice cracked like thunder.
“Just stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“And Jake,” Madison whispered. “You knew I liked him. But you’ve been flirting with him, trying to make me look stupid.”
“He asked me for help with chemistry. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
Madison’s voice rose.
“You’ve been staying after class with him, meeting him at the library. He told his friend he thinks you’re pretty.”
