Bruises, Rumors, and Goodbyes

His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, dripping with mockery. A few kids nearby snickered. I felt my cheeks flush. I wanted to disappear.

Autumn glanced at me, looked away calmly, and her lips glossy, spat out two words: “Boring.”

She said it like a curse, her eyes cold. I felt something inside me snap, but I didn’t let it show. I just kept walking, pretending not to care. But it hurt.

The next day, Autumn’s parents were called in. Word spread fast. By lunch, everyone knew there’d been a fight. People gathered in the hallways, whispering, waiting to see what would happen next. It was like a reality show, and we were all trapped inside it.

She’d gotten into a fight with a delinquent girl at school over Mason. It wasn’t just any fight. There was yelling, shoving, and someone threw a punch. The teachers had to pull them apart, and Autumn’s hair was a mess, her cheek red. I heard about it from three different people before the bell even rang.

That girl was Mason’s ex-girlfriend, and couldn’t help but taunt them when she saw them together. The ex had always been trouble, but this time she went too far. She called Autumn a homewrecker, spat some words I won’t repeat. Autumn snapped.

Autumn couldn’t stand it, slapped her so hard her lip split. The slap echoed down the hall. Blood trickled from the other girl’s mouth. Everyone stared, shocked, but Autumn didn’t back down. She just stood there, daring anyone to say something.

Autumn’s mom, always the pampered, elegant lady, was humbly apologizing to teachers and parents, her eyes red and swollen. She looked out of place in the principal’s office—her pearls and pressed blouse at odds with the chaos. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, voice trembling as she begged for forgiveness.

Autumn stood to the side, tightly holding Mason’s hand. She looked defiant, chin up, her grip on Mason’s hand like a dare to anyone who’d try to separate them. I’d never seen her so stubborn.

The homeroom teacher was furious, couldn’t help but stand up and lay into her: “Look at how much your grades dropped this time—over 200 places!”

He slammed the grade sheet on the desk. The numbers didn’t lie. The disappointment in his voice was sharper than any punishment. Autumn didn’t flinch.

"Do you realize the SATs are like a thousand people trying to squeeze through a single door? A difference of 0.1 points can mean a whole gym full of kids. How can you be so irresponsible with your own future!"

His voice rose, echoing off the walls. Even the secretary poked her head in to see what was going on. The tension was suffocating.

"Even if we take ten thousand steps back, if you insist on dating, you should’ve chosen Noah Evans. Isn’t he always close to you? Why pick someone like—"

She looked at Mason, who was chewing gum indifferently, frowned, and swallowed her words. Everyone knew what she meant.

"Autumn, this is being irresponsible to yourself!"

The room was silent for a beat. You could almost hear everyone holding their breath, waiting for Autumn’s reply. I clenched my fists, wishing I could disappear.

Autumn looked up, her tone almost mocking. She tossed her hair, smirked a little. “How could Noah compare to Mason?”

The teacher slammed the test papers onto the desk. The papers scattered. The teacher’s patience had finally run out.

"Why can’t he compare to Mason? Noah is top of the class now!"

Her voice was sharp, slicing through the tension. I felt a dozen pairs of eyes on me, but I kept my gaze on the floor.

Autumn’s face was expressionless. She shrugged, lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s just a nerd who only knows how to study. So boring.”

"That’s right, Teacher," Mason raised his eyebrows, flashing a careless grin. He leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up, daring anyone to challenge him. “If youth isn’t wild, then what’s the point? Otherwise, you’re just wasting your life.”

Autumn was a little annoyed. She rolled her eyes, shifting her weight. “Can you stop always tying me and Noah together? We’ve never really had much to do with each other—”

She stopped when she saw me coming in from outside, holding a pile of homework books. The door creaked. I stepped in, arms full, trying not to draw attention, but everyone looked up anyway. Autumn’s words hung between us like a wall.

I lowered my eyes and said nothing. I wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. I kept my head down, pretending the homework was the only thing that mattered.

She was right, I thought. We’d never really had much to do with each other.

We just grew up together for the first ten-plus years of our lives, that’s all. It sounded so simple, so dismissive. But for me, those years meant everything. I guess they didn’t mean the same to her anymore.

Autumn and I were childhood sweethearts, born one after the other in the same hospital, inseparable from the moment we opened our eyes. Our moms still joked about it—how we shared a crib in the nursery, how we used to hold hands before we could even talk. There are baby pictures somewhere of us drooling on the same teddy bear.

From childhood until now, Autumn and I had almost identical life paths. We were the kind of kids who finished each other’s sentences, who fought over the last piece of pizza, who knew each other’s secrets without saying a word. Every science fair, every spelling bee—we were always side by side.

After school, we did homework together, went to the public library during holidays, and competed for first place on every test. We’d sprawl out on the living room carpet, books open, snacks scattered everywhere. On weekends, we’d ride our bikes to the library, race down the aisles, and see who could check out the most books. It was a game, but also something more.

Autumn’s mom often joked about wanting me as her son-in-law. She’d wink at me over dinner, teasing, “Noah, you’re practically family already.” I’d blush so hard my ears burned, and Autumn would just laugh.

I always blushed and protested, but deep down, I was secretly happy. I’d stammer out a denial, but inside, I liked the idea more than I’d admit. The thought made my chest feel tight and warm.

Who wouldn’t like Autumn? She was beautiful, bright, lively, and full of a kind of energy that made everyone around her feel alive. She had this way of lighting up a room—her laughter was infectious, her smile impossible to ignore. Even teachers couldn’t stay mad at her for long.

When she did better than me on a test, she’d bop me on the head with the paper and call me an idiot. She’d wave her score in my face, teasing me mercilessly. “Come on, Noah, you can do better than that!”

Then, question by question, she’d patiently explain where I went wrong. She never made me feel stupid, though. She’d sit with me for hours, her patience endless, until I finally got it.

At night, she’d sneak through my window, lie on my bed with her hands behind her head, and ask me: “Noah, let’s both get into Stanford together someday!”

She’d say it like it was the easiest thing in the world, as if our futures were already mapped out. The moonlight would catch in her hair, and for a second, I’d forget to breathe.

I always felt a little embarrassed, never willing to answer directly. I’d mumble something about not knowing yet, hoping she couldn’t see how red my face was in the dark. “I haven’t decided where I want to go yet.”

She’d roll over, prop up her chin, look at me seriously, her eyes full of laughter: “Come on, we’ve been together for over ten years. Could you really bear to part with me?”

She’d say it like a challenge, but there was something soft in her voice, too. I’d look away, heart pounding, not trusting myself to answer.

I looked into her hazel eyes, and in that moment, my heart started pounding. There was a warmth there, a promise I didn’t know how to keep. I wanted to say yes—wanted it more than anything.

“What if I don’t get in?” I asked her. My voice was barely above a whisper. I couldn’t meet her eyes, afraid of what I’d see there.

Autumn grinned, showing her white teeth. She nudged my shoulder, grinning like she had the whole world in her hands. “Then I’ll wait for you. I’ll repeat the year with you.”

“Noah, we have to go to Stanford together!” She said it like a vow. For the first time, I started to believe it might really happen.

I never had a particular plan for which college I wanted to attend. I’d always figured I’d go wherever I got in, maybe stay close to home. But with Autumn, everything felt possible.

But from that day on, Stanford became my goal. It was like a switch flipped inside me. Every late night, every practice test—I did it for her, for us.

I always thought that the summer we turned eighteen, Autumn and I would walk onto the Stanford campus together. I pictured it in my mind a thousand times—us standing under the red-tiled arches, sunlight in our hair, the future wide open. It was my favorite daydream.

Until she met Mason.

Everything changed the day Mason Carter showed up. He was trouble wrapped in a leather jacket, with a crooked smile that made girls swoon and teachers sigh. Mason transferred to our school in our junior year. On his first day, nearly half the girls in the school crowded outside his classroom to catch a glimpse of him.

It was like a scene from a teen drama—girls giggling, passing notes, daring each other to talk to him. Even the lunch ladies were curious. “That’s the new guy? Dang, he’s cute,” I overheard one say.

That very day, everyone knew our school had a new heartthrob. His reputation spread like wildfire. By sixth period, he was already a legend.

When he introduced himself at the front of the room, the silver earring in his ear sparkled, and his handsome face made all the girls blush. He had this cocky way of looking at everyone, like he owned the place. Even the teacher looked a little flustered.

I turned and saw that even Autumn, who used to care about nothing but studying, had looked up. She usually ignored new kids, but this time she was paying attention. I felt a pang of something—jealousy, maybe, or just fear.

In that gray, dull adolescence, Mason was a different kind of scenery. He was a flash of color in a black-and-white world. Everyone wanted a piece of him, even if it was just a smile or a nod.

He was nothing like the other boys. He always styled his hair with gel, tailored his baggy jeans to fit, took girls for rides on his motorcycle after school, making them scream with excitement. You could hear his engine from blocks away, the roar announcing his arrival. He was reckless, and everyone loved him for it.

He was very interested in Autumn. During gym, when we played badminton, he volunteered to be her partner. He sauntered over, tossing his racket from hand to hand, flashing that lazy grin.

He chewed his gum and smiled: “Hey Autumn, I heard you’re good at badminton.”

“I’m terrible at it—teach me!” He winked, like it was their private joke. The girls on the sidelines giggled.