Chapter 5: Starting Over (Sort Of)

It’s been almost two weeks since I transferred. I rented an apartment near the new school. My parents, afraid Caleb would get mad if he saw me again, told me not to come home. The place smelled like old paint and microwave popcorn, but for the first time, it was quiet. No shouting. Just me and the hum of the fridge.

East and west sides of town—if you don’t go looking, you won’t run into each other. I walk to class past the gas station, picking up burnt coffee and day-old doughnuts, pretending I’m someone else.

“Hey, Natalie, come watch me play basketball today.”

The boy calling out wore a black and white jersey, his sly eyes sparkling with mischief. He tossed the ball from hand to hand, grinning.

When I first arrived, a girl in class told me: “That’s Marcus. He’s famous for being cute—and a total flirt.” She giggled, nudging my arm.

The classmates around seemed busy, but their eyes flicked over to us now and then. I could feel the curiosity buzzing in the air.

These days, I can’t count how many times Marcus has come to talk to me. He’s relentless, but in a goofy, harmless way.

They say this is the first time Marcus has really chased after a girl, and he’s been at it for a while. Sometimes, his confidence made me laugh.

At this age, everyone fantasizes, more or less, about high school love stories happening to themselves or their friends. I used to, too, before everything fell apart.

They say Marcus is a bad boy trying to go straight. He’s got a reputation, but he’s trying to shake it off.

But even if the bad boy changes, he’s still got baggage. I know that better than anyone.

I shook my head. “I’m not going. I’ve got homework.” I waved my worksheet in the air for proof.

He glanced at the worksheet on my desk and raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, Nat, just one game. I’ll even let you wear my lucky jersey.”

“So?”

He laughed. “So why do you still turn me down?” He grinned, but his eyes were warm.

By then, most of the class had left. The sunset outside was painting the sky orange. The whole room glowed, like it was dipped in honey.

Suddenly, I remembered something I’d read: the evening breeze is free, the sunset is free, and I am one of a kind.

“Natalie, you know, there’s always this contradiction about you...”

A whistle from the basketball court cut through the quiet. I looked at him. He smirked: “A kind of sadness, and at the same time, a fierce stubbornness.”

“So, I’m even more interested in you.”

I wanted to tell him no, to keep my walls up. But his grin was so easy, so different from the storm I’d left behind. I shot him a look and said, “The game’s starting.” I tried not to smile.

“Today’s game is against Riverbend High.” His voice was low, with a hint of something I couldn’t place. Maybe hope.

No one noticed.

I looked down at my homework. He found it boring, clicked his tongue, and left. His sneakers squeaked down the hall.

After he left, I looked up at the silent clock on the wall. I had a hunch who’d posted that message on the confessions page. Some truths are easy to guess, even if you never say them out loud.

But what good would it do him?

Lincoln High is different from Riverbend. The classroom lights go out at a set time, so at 6:30, the room went dark, leaving just a little sunset glow outside. I liked the silence.

I packed my books, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and headed downstairs. The halls were quiet, just the distant sound of shoes on tile.

The gentle evening breeze blew petals from the crabapple trees onto the ground. The petals scattered, then were swept away again. The air smelled like spring and something bittersweet.

I stood there, blinking.

Looking back on my short teenage years, everything felt as powerless and helpless as those petals. But maybe I could start over.

“Hey, is that Natalie?”

The shout pulled me back. I was about to leave.

But I was stopped. Two familiar faces looked surprised to see me here. Their voices were a jolt—reminders of the life I’d left behind.

I used to hang around Caleb, so I knew his friends, and we’d always gotten along. We’d shared sodas and laughter behind the bleachers, trading stories and secrets.

Both of them were holding Gatorade bottles, probably just back from the corner store. They grinned at me, like nothing had changed.

“Natalie, you really transferred here?”

I looked at him, not sure what he meant by ‘really,’ and just nodded. My throat felt tight.

One with spiky hair nudged the other: “You and Caleb grew up together. He’s here today too. Maybe you can use this chance to clear things up.”

Everyone thought I’d never do something like that, but Caleb, who grew up with me, believed I did. The unfairness of it all made my jaw clench.

“No...”

Before I could finish, Caleb cut in coldly from a few feet away: “Does it take that long to get drinks, or do you want to keep talking to random people?” His voice was sharp, unfamiliar.

He stood not far away, eyes cold as steel as he glanced at me, like I was a stranger. It hurt more than I expected.

Hearing this, they looked at me awkwardly. I smiled. “I’ll go. See you.” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Yeah, see you.”

I turned and walked toward the sunset, feeling the weight of the past, but also a little lighter for having survived it. The ache was still there—but for the first time, it didn’t feel like the end. Maybe, just maybe, it was a beginning.