(Trish's POV)
The Monday following the funeral felt like walking through a dream where the floor was made of glass.
Every step I took in the hallways of Mthland High felt precarious, as if the slightest vibration would shatter the fragile peace I was trying to maintain. My mother was gone. The earth was fresh over her grave, and yet, the world kept turning. The bells kept ringing, students kept laughing, and the sun had the audacity to keep shining.
Joseph hadn't been home when I left. Miss Britney had needed him to run errands; thank-you notes for the funeral flowers, picking up groceries, and helping her manage the influx of neighbors stopping by to offer their condolences.
He had looked at me before I walked out the door, his eyes lingering on mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter. He didn't want to let me go to school alone, but I had insisted. I needed to feel normal. I needed to be something other than the poor girl who lost her mom.
I was heading toward my locker before first period, the heavy straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. The hallway was unusually quiet, most students already gathered in the cafeteria or the quad. I tried to focus on the mechanical rhythm of my breathing, trying to drown out the echoes of the "ashes to ashes" speech that still played on a loop in my mind.
Then a voice echoed.
"So, the charity case finally shows her face."
The voice was like a silk ribbon dipped in acid. I stopped, my hand hovering over my locker dial. I didn't need to turn around to know it was ANAYA.
She was leaning against the lockers, looking like she had stepped off a runway. Her hair was perfectly sleek, her makeup flawless, and her eyes were narrowed into predatory slits. She had been spying, I could feel it. The way she watched me wasn't accidental, and it wasn't the first time.
"I'm not in the mood, Anaya. Move." I shot her a quick side-eye before opening my locker.
I didn't give her the satisfaction of looking at her. I just wanted to get my books and disappear into the back row of my English lit class. But Anaya wasn't a girl who allowed herself to be ignored. She stepped forward, her expensive perfume filling my senses, a scent that felt aggressive and suffocating compared to the earthy, honest smell of the rain-soaked cemetery I had stood in just days ago.
"I saw the way you're all over him," she hissed, stepping into my personal space. "I've been watching you for days at school. The way you follow him. The way you look at him. I know exactly what you're doing. Using your little tragedy to crawl into his bed."
I felt a surge of white-hot rage, but I clamped down on it. My mother had taught me that dignity was the one thing no one could take from you unless you handed it over. I turned to face her, standing as tall as my five-foot-four frame would allow.
"It's called being a decent human being. You should try it sometime. Perhaps it would help you find a personality that doesn't revolve around stalking people."
"Don't play the saint with me," she snarled, her face contorting. "Joseph is mine. We were together long before you dragged your pathetic life across the border. He's my boyfriend. Everyone in this school knows it. He belongs to the elite of Mthland, not to some stray who doesn't even have a black dress that fits her properly."
The thought that this witch had even spied on us during my mother's funeral was despicable.
At least she didn't know we shared the same home. If she did, she'd make a scene without hesitation.
I leaned back against my locker, crossing my arms. I remembered the stories about Lara. We were never friends, just classmates. But she was the only one I'd ever had real encounters with, and somehow, that made her harder to ignore.
She had told me, how Joseph went through girls like water, how Anaya was just the most persistent of the flock, the one who couldn't accept that the "King of Mthland" didn't want a queen who acted like a jailer.
"He WAS the boyfriend of many, Anaya. Not just you." I smirked on purpose, mirroring hers just to irritate her.
"And frankly, I don't care about your history. I'm just trying to finish my senior year without being a part of your delusional soap opera. You think you own him, but Joseph doesn't seem like the kind of person who can be owned. He's a person, not a trophy."
"Delusional?" Anaya laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that drew the attention of a few passing students.
"If I tell the school that the King of Mthland is getting involved with a girl who has no mother, no protection, and too much grief clinging to her, your life here will turn into hell. I'll make sure every filthy rumor this campus thrives on starts with your name. I'll ruin him too. I'll tell everyone he's exploiting a grieving girl for attention. How do you think that looks to his football scouts? You think they want a scandal like that attached to their star quarterback?"
I stiffened. I could handle the shame. I had survived poverty and the death of my parents. I had survived being the outsider. But Joseph... he was finally trying. He was trying to be better, to be the man he promised he could be during those quiet nights in the kitchen and that devastating moment at the grave.
I wouldn't let her drag him down into the mud because of me. The thought of him losing his future, his ticket out of this town, because of a lie Anaya would spin made my blood run cold.
"Leave him out of this," I said quietly. "My grief isn't your leverage. Do you have any soul?"
"I had a soul, and it belonged to Joseph," she countered, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm level. "Stay away from him, Trish. If I see you near him, I'll make sure the name Trish Carpenter is synonymous with homewrecker. You'll be the girl who used a funeral to get close to a rich boy."
The threat hung in the air, toxic and heavy. I looked at her, at the desperation in her eyes, the obsession that had turned her into something monstrous.
She was willing to burn the whole school down just to possess a boy who didn't even want to look at her. She was the embodiment of why this school was nicknamed "Pervy Mthland." It wasn't just about the boys; it was about the twisted, obsessive games people played with each other's lives.
"Fine," I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "You want me to stay away from him at school? Fine. I won't talk to him. I won't sit with him. I'll be the ghost you want me to be. Just keep your mouth shut and don't cause any problems, okay?"
Anaya smirked, the victor's glow returning to her face. She reached out, patting my cheek with a mock-sympathy that made my skin crawl.
"Smart girl. I knew you were a fast learner. Remember, I'm always watching. And if you break the rules, everyone finds out exactly what you are."
She turned on her heel and strutted away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the linoleum. I stood there for a long time, my forehead pressed against the cool metal of my locker, my breath coming in jagged hitches.
The victory she felt was hollow, but the weight on my chest was real. I was back to being a secret. I was back to hiding.
The bell rang, signaling the start of class, but I didn't move. I felt a strange, rebellious heat rising in my chest, a fire that hadn't been there before the funeral. She thought she had won. She thought she could dictate the terms of my life because she had a loud mouth.
"I'll have you know we're already dating, you obsessed freak. WE'RE LITERALLY LIVE TOGETHER." I didn't know when I barked it, watching her disappear down the hallway.
I gripped my backpack straps until my knuckles turned white, feeling the ghost of Joseph's hand in mine from the cemetery. The memory of his strength gave me a sudden, sharp clarity.
"Yes, we're a couple. He's not your Joseph. He's mine."
The realization of my own words hit me like a physical shock. I hadn't said it out loud before. I hadn't even admitted it to myself fully until the threat of losing him was dangled in front of me.
But it was true. In the middle of the grief and the chaos, Joseph had become the only thing that felt like home. He was the one who tied my shoes. He was the one who caught me when I fell.
As I entered the classroom, I saw Lara waving at me from the middle row. I sat down next to her, ignoring the curious glances from the other students.
I was Trish Carpenter, and I was a survivor. And if Joseph Roland was the prize Anaya wanted to play for, she was going to find out that I didn't play by Mthland's rules. I played by my own.