The sky was painted in soft orange and lavender as the sun began to sink behind the rooftops. The soccer game had ended, but Elena's heart still beat like she was running laps. Liam had played like a storm—fast, sharp, unstoppable. And for a few seconds during the game, when the crowd had screamed and he'd glanced up, she could have sworn he looked at her.
Now, she was walking beside him. Not close enough to brush arms, but close enough to hear the quiet sound of his breath.
Liam kicked a pebble on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. "You don't have to follow me, you know. I'm not responsible for anyone getting lost."
Elena smiled. "I know the way."
He glanced sideways at her. "Then why are you still here?"
"Maybe I like the company."
He made a sound that might've been a scoff or a laugh. She couldn't tell.
They kept walking. The streets around Westbridge were nothing like the clean, trimmed avenues near St. Claire's. Here, kids rode rusted bikes past graffiti-covered walls. Dogs barked from behind chain-link fences. A pair of old men played chess on a folding table outside a corner store.
"You played well today," Elena said.
Liam shrugged. "It's just a game."
"You don't play like it's just a game."
He looked at her again, this time holding her gaze for a few seconds. His eyes were unreadable. Dark like ink but not empty.
"You're weird," he said.
Elena laughed. "You're not the first to say that."
"Most girls like you don't come here."
"Girls like me?"
"The type that smells like rose shampoo and wears shoes that have never touched dirt."
Elena looked down at her scuffed sneakers. "These have seen plenty of dirt lately."
"That still doesn't explain why you're walking with me."
She tilted her head. "Maybe I want to understand why everyone warns me about you."
That made him stop. He turned to face her. The fading sunlight hit the side of his face, casting one side in shadow.
"They warn you because they think I'm trouble. And they're probably right."
Elena didn't move. She just looked at him.
He looked down at the cracked pavement. "I've been suspended twice. Got into fights. My grades are barely passing. People assume things. I let them. It's easier that way."
She stepped closer. Not too close, but enough that her voice softened. "And are you really trouble?"
Liam didn't answer. A car passed behind them, music thumping through the open windows. When it was quiet again, he finally said, "You should go back to your perfect world. This—whatever this is—it doesn't mean anything. I walked you home because you looked lost. That's all."
Elena nodded slowly. "Alright. It doesn't mean anything."
They kept walking. The wind picked up slightly, brushing Elena's ponytail against her neck. She tucked it behind her ear and peeked at him from the corner of her eye.
He still looked ahead. Guarded. Silent. But his pace had slowed just a bit.
When they reached her street, she pointed at a house halfway down the block. "That's me."
He stopped at the corner. "You're good now?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Liam."
He looked at her again. This time, something shifted in his face. Not a smile, he didn't do full smiles, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Just a little.
"You're not like the others," he said quietly.
Elena's heart skipped.
He turned and walked away without another word.
She stood there, watching his figure grow smaller down the block. The streetlights flickered on, one by one. Somewhere nearby, a baby cried. A lawn sprinkler hissed to life.
And she smiled.
Not because he liked her. Not because he said something sweet. But because he didn't have to walk her home. He didn't have to talk to her.
But he did.
That tiny twitch of his mouth, that glance back, it was enough.
Inside her room later that night, Elena sat by the window with her sketchbook. She wasn't sure what she was drawing at first. Just lines. Shapes.
But slowly, the page filled with shadows. A street corner. A boy in a hoodie walking away.
And a girl left behind, smiling.
Bella's message popped up on her phone: Did he SMILE at you or was that your imagination???
Elena smiled again, typing back: It wasn't my imagination.
She closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest.
It didn't mean anything. Not to him.
But to her? It meant everything.