Alex Dunphy had survived middle school, three science fairs sabotaged by jealous boys, and one semester of group projects with Haley.
But she wasn't sure she'd survive this.
Because no matter how fast she walked or how many classes she buried herself in, Elias's voice was everywhere.
The quad. The halls. The locker room. People were playing it on portable speakers, humming it in line for lunch, quoting the lyrics in Instagram captions like it was gospel.
> "People cheer for ghosts if they sing pretty enough."
"Silence is worse when you're alive."
Teen angst turned platinum.
She walked into AP Chem and immediately heard someone whisper, "I bet it's him. Elias. He's got that look."
Alex sat down hard.
She didn't look at Elias.
She hadn't looked at him all day.
Not since their last conversation — the one where he lied to her, twice, then stared at her like he wanted to be known and forgotten in the same breath.
Now he sat three rows away.
Still.
Silent.
Unmoved.
His hoodie up, earbud in one ear. Not plugged in. Just pretending.
But she knew he heard everything.
And she hated how much she still wanted to talk to him.
"Hey," said a voice beside her — Luke, of all people. "Why do you look like you've been haunted by a ballad?"
"I'm fine," Alex muttered.
"Is this about that SoundCloud guy? The ghost singer?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Luke squinted. "You're breathing like someone with regrets and repressed romance."
She glared at him. "You read one book."
"I skimmed Pride and Prejudice. Don't minimize my growth."
Across the room, Elias didn't move — but he was watching.
He always was.
After class, Alex nearly escaped out the side door before a girl in oversized headphones shoved her phone in Alex's face.
"Is it true he's from our school?"
Alex froze. "Who?"
"Eli Hart. Everyone says it's Elias. That new guy you're always near."
Alex's lips pressed into a line.
"I don't know who Eli Hart is."
The girl looked disappointed. "Oh. Okay."
She turned away.
Alex exhaled shakily.
Elias passed behind her without a word.
For the first time in weeks… he didn't look at her.
And it felt worse than anything he could've said.