They walked in silence at first, taking the path behind the dorms that led to a somewhat secluded spot. The fog made everything feel a bit close and claustrophobic, too. It was like the world had shrunk to just the few feet of visible pavement in front of them. Stella’s haze (or whatever she was on…) was starting to wear off, leaving behind the sharp edges of reality she’d been trying to blur.

“So,” she said finally, her voice too loud in the muffled quiet, “how was… uh… your date?”

Nathan’s head whipped toward her, his expression somewhere between murderous and panicked. “What?”

“Erm, sorry. Your, uh, ‘encounter.’ I mean, yeah, you know, how was your seven-hour ape marathon with Warren?”

“Are you seriously—” Nathan’s jaw clenched. “We watched movies. That’s it. Stop fucking trying to make it something it’s not.”

“I’m not making it anything. I’m just asking how it went.”

Nathan gave her a look that could strip paint. Not a great look, admittedly, but it was one that usually made people back off, shut up, and remember who they were dealing with. Stella understood this; Nathan seemed not at all impressed with her insinuations, whatever they were. Ah, what was she thinking, talking to him like that? However, Stella was too tired, and honestly too sad, to care about Nathan Prescott’s intimidation tactics.

She sighed, stopping near a bench that was too wet to sit on. Oops. “Look, I’m sorry. That was shitty of me.” She wrapped her arms around herself, letting the cold finally breeze into her hoodie. “I just… Kate, you know? I mean, she was my friend. Well, is my friend. Fuck, I don’t even know what tense to use.”

Nathan went very still beside her.

“H-how did I not know?” Stella continued, her voice cracking slightly. “How did I see her every day and not notice she was that far gone? I thought she was just stressed about classes and stuff, but it was so much more than that and I just…” She trailed off, staring into the fog.

Perhaps she could’ve been a better friend. Sure, she saw Kate every day, but when was the last time they actually spoke to each other? A few days, surely. Maybe a week at worst. This wouldn’t necessarily be an issue if, well, Stella didn’t consider Kate one of her closest friends. She assumed Kate saw it the same way, but all of this made it seem like she was guilty of something that, well, she did more often than she wanted to admit.

Ignoring people.

“You couldn’t have known,” Nathan said. His voice was a tad too tight, however.

“But I should have. That’s what friends do, right? They notice. They help.” She laughed bitterly. “Except I’m apparently shit at being a friend. Just ask Dana and Courtney.”

Nathan shifted his weight, and when Stella glanced at him, she saw goosebumps on his arms despite his jacket. Was it that cold? A bit, sure, but nothing too unusual for either of them. His hands were shaking slightly where they’d emerged from his pockets, and he kept clenching and unclenching them like he was trying to hold onto something that kept slipping away.

“Nathan?”

“I’m fine.”

“…you’re literally shaking.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Stella studied him in the dim light from the distant street lamps. She had answers to many things, but not everything. Whatever was happening in his head, whatever made him go gray and silent at times — oh, no, she wasn’t going to get it out of him tonight. Maybe ever.

waa Of course, she eventually came to the realization that perhaps he, like she was a couple of hours ago, was freaked out. And Stella understood this — to be fair, it’s not like most of them had lived through this, and it could’ve been much more tragic. Hell, they were barely 18 and, ironically, she was trying to do what Warren did to her, pretending that he was now her therapist.

“You should go,” she said finally.

He looked confused. “What?”

“Go back. Uh, I mean, you should go to sleep. We’re not going to accomplish anything standing in the fog at midnight having a feelings talk, y’know.” She attempted a smile. “Not really our strong suit anyway.”

“Right. Yeah.” But he didn’t move.

“Well, did you have a good time? With Warren, at the movies, or…”

He seemed surprised that she was going back to this question, assuming Stella was asking genuinely instead of fishing for gossip. (She was very well capable of both.) “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We did. It was… good.”

A faint blush crept up his neck, visible even in the bad light, and Stella felt something in her chest twist. Whatever this thing was between Nathan and Warren — friendship or… uh… something that hadn’t figured itself out yet — well, it seemed real. And probably doomed, too, because everything at Blackwell was doomed, but real nonetheless.

“Ah, good,” she said. “Warren needs good things.”

Nathan nodded, already turning to leave.

“Nathan?” she called after him.

He paused, looking back.

“You should probably stay with a friend tonight. Uh, you know, someone who might need you.” She chose her words carefully. “Victoria is, uh, really really down. About Kate and… probably other stuff, see. I would check in on her, but you’re closer to her so I think you might help with that.”

Something flickered across Nathan’s face; whatever it was, he seemed to understand what she meant. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll… yeah, I’ll look for her.”

He walked away quickly, disappearing into the fog like he’d never been there at all. Stella stood alone for a moment, thinking about their conversation. It went surprisingly well, although given the time of night and the circumstances that led to it, she couldn’t have expected anything better to happen. With that settled, she then turned and headed back to the dorms, her feet carrying her automatically toward the boys’ wing.

She needed to do something there first.

Warren’s door was unlocked. Well, of course it was; the kid had no sense of self-preservation. She knocked anyway before entering, finding him sitting on his bed in the dark, phone in hand, staring at a screen that showed nothing too interesting; it was just his lock screen. Either his phone’s brightness was too low or Stella’s vision had declined dramatically, because she couldn’t really recognize what was on it.

“S-Stella?” He looked up, confused. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“So did I.” She closed the door behind her and sat on the floor. It was kind of ironic, too; this would be something Warren would do, and yet here she was. “Can I just… be here for a while?”

“Yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Well… not really. Are you?”

“…nope.”

They sat in silence. Warren on his bed and Stella on his floor, both of them not okay together. It was, in a weird way, comforting.

“I hate my life sometimes,” Stella said eventually. “Not in a dramatic way, but… I can’t just look at it and not think this is exhausting and I don’t know why I’m doing it.”

“I get that.”

“My friendships are shit. Dana and Courtney pretend I exist when it’s convenient. I love them, but… it’s weird. And the Vortex Club tolerates me because I know how to stay quiet. You’re…” She paused. “You’re probably the closest thing I have to a real friend here, and we basically only hang out when you’re having a crisis at 1 a.m.”

This may have been an exaggeration on her part, but there was a grain of truth to it. It seemed most of her life lately revolved around Warren’s issues, his involvement with Nathan, and her own inability to do anything else unrelated to it. It was poor character development, one could say.

In retrospect, it could’ve been worse. She could have been the side character in a horror movie with a chance of dying within the first five minutes. She was very much alive, but Stella felt like at least half of her brain had died a long time ago and the other half was running on 15-year-old cooking oil.

Warren raised his eyebrows.

“Hey! That’s not true. Sometimes it’s midnight…”

She laughed despite herself. “And my family keeps calling asking when I’m going to do something with my life, like whatever I’m doing here is just a phase before I become a lawyer or a doctor or whatever crap thing they’ve decided on this week.”

“You know, my parents wanted me to be an engineer,” Warren offered. “Something practical, something that makes money, too. I just don’t think it fits me.”

“Pfft. Do they know you just spend your time watching movies like, well, I Am Sam, instead of doing your homework?”

“God, no. That would kill them.”

Probably.

“My mom cried when I said I wanted to study photography. For real, real. She said I was throwing my life away or something.” Stella picked at the carpet. “Maybe she was right? I mean, I submitted that photo of Samuel and I knew the second I sent it that it wasn’t good enough. And I was too scared to actually say anything—”

“Did Jefferson like it?”

“Well— uh, he said he did. But he says a lot of things; doesn’t mean any of them are true, unfortunately.” She leaned her head back against the wall. “I feel like I’m just going through the motions. It’s really strange. I’m just doing things here and there, and for what? So I can graduate and do it all over again in the real world?”

Warren was quiet for a moment. “Well, uh… you want to watch something? I’ve got…” He gestured vaguely at his laptop. “Stuff. A lot of stuff, I think. We could watch stuff.”

“Honestly, the best movie I could watch right now would be whatever my brain decides to project onto the inside of my eyelids when I finally pass out.” She smiled sadly. “But thanks.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

They lapsed into silence again.

“Kate’s going to be okay,” Warren said suddenly. “She has to be.”

“Yeah,” Stella agreed. “I know she will.”

When morning came, it was fairly gray and heavy, though slightly lees so compared to the previous night. Stella woke up on Warren’s floor, her neck killing her, to find him passed out on his bed fully clothed.

Sleeping on the floor was a bad idea. If she was in a better frame of mind, she would have realized there was a couch just to her left. Maybe she slept there and fell off? Hmm. She couldn’t recall, but probably not. Couch or no couch, she was certain she didn’t sleep on his bed. While Warren probably wouldn’t have cared, the very idea of a pseudo-sleepover with him had never really entered her brain.

As much as she respected Warren as a friend — and in spite of what she may have thought of him over time (as the line between them was frequently blurred) —, she didn’t think she’d be ready to share a bed with him, for God’s sake. Leaving all other reasons aside, she never thought she was Warren’s number-one go-to person. At least outside of their ‘therapy sessions’… it seemed this idea would keep revolving in her head for a little longer, unfortunately.

She left quietly, making her way back to her room. Surprisingly, Stella also had other things to attend to that didn’t involve her pseudo-patient and her sort-of dealer.

Around ten, she received an email from the school administration confirming that, fortunately, Kate was stable and recovering at the hospital. N real details, but it was just enough information to stop the wildest rumors (while fueling new ones). Stella read it about three times before putting her phone down.

My God, she thought. What have I been doing?

This was a good question, and also one she had no answer to.

For better or worse, she also had plenty of time to think on that question.

Although she had her morning classes as usual, attendance had plunged to unbelievably low levels (for obvious reasons). It would have been better to just suspend classes for the rest of the day; no one was in a good mood to do anything, really.

Even Victoria wasn’t herself, which said a lot. Stella spotted her just outside the dorm, talking with someone she didn’t really pay much attention to (probably Taylor). Unlike her usual self, she just seemed tired and maybe a tad scared, leaning against her friend like she was the only thing holding her up.

Although unaware if Victoria and Kate were closer than she expected, even Victoria wasn’t oblivious enough to miss that, likewise, no one was in a good mood that day. If that wasn’t obvious to her, she was sure of it when she received an announcement via the Vortex Club group text she was in around noon: “Party postponed until further notice. Not in the mood. -V”

Amen to that.

Stella spent the afternoon in her room, trying to focus on homework and failing. Around five, she pulled out a blank card she’d bought at the campus store weeks ago for a purpose she couldn’t remember. (Turns out she couldn’t really recall why she was doing a lot of the things she’d done lately.) Get well cards weren’t really erm, appropriate for suicide attempts — especially because most stores didn’t have a “Sorry you wanted to die” section — but doing nothing felt worse.

She drew terribly. Her drawings had stopped evolving when she was about ten, so everything Stella had drawn since was a poorly made, recycled version of the scissor-legged stick people she used to create. It was funny, but also quite unfortunate, and being terrible at drawing was part of why she’d gravitated toward photography; better to let the camera do the hard work of capturing reality.

But she tried anyway, sketching out clumsy rabbits (Kate loved rabbits) and flowers (generic, but inoffensive) and a sun (because…. uh, optimism? The, uh, light and everything. So much light, huge ball of light. Everything is light. Jesus, this was bad).

At least Kate’s drawings were nice, especially compared to whatever this was.

Inside, she wrote: “Kate — I’m so glad you’re okay. We all are. Take all the time you need. Love, Stella”

She stared at it for a long time. “Love” felt too intimate for their actual relationship, but “Sincerely” felt too formal for someone who’d almost died. She left it as love. Fuck it.

All she had to do was find someone to deliver it tomorrow. Maybe Warren. Or rather, Max — Max had actually been there, had apparently talked Kate down. Stella only vaguely recalled this piece of information; her brain had filtered out the rest. Either way, maybe she would know what to say.

Of course, it would’ve been better if she stopped being too indecisive and went to visit Kate herself. She thought about this possibility, although her mind fought back against the idea of even discussing it. At least for now.

Eventually, at 6:07 p.m., a knock came.

Ah, shit, here we go again.

Stella assumed it was Warren, coming by for their apparently established dinner-time check-ins. It could be anyone at that point, though most likely him. Her room seemed to have been turned into some sort of common room some time ago, given how everyone just waltzed in and out. It was painfully ridiculous. At least she could pretend she was aware he was coming and get some bonus points.

She opened the door mid-sentence. “Hey, I was just—”

To her surprise, it was Mr. Jefferson.

He stood in her doorway, looking exactly as put-together as always, like he’d never heard of anything that had occurred in the last 24 hours. This man was like a time machine. And a good one, too…

“Oh.” Stella’s brain short-circuited. “O-oh. Hi. Mr. Jefferson. Sir. I mean, not sir, just… uh, hi.”

She could already imagine it. Hell, she’d read articles about this. A teacher shows up at a student’s door, blurs professional boundaries, and a lot of weird things happened. This had never happened to her before. She’d never even seen a teacher near the dorm, either. This was impressive. At worst, she’d end up as another subject of a true crime podcast. But at best… ah…

“Stella.” He smiled. That smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring. “Sorry to drop by unannounced. I tried calling, but, well…”

He held up her phone. Her phone. The one, great, big, beautiful phone with a cracked screen and the case covered in puns that had seemed funny when she was seventeen. (And still were, now that she was seventeen and a half.)

“Oh my God.” She took it from him. “I-I left it in class?”

“A few hours ago, yes. You were the last one out, and it was sitting on your desk.” He glanced past her into the room, and she instinctively stepped into the doorway, blocking his view. Not that there was anything incriminating in there, of course, just principle.

“Thank you! I was wondering where that went.”

She hadn’t, actually. In fact, Stella had only realized her phone was missing right now. She thought she’d lost it somewhere in her room. “But I appreciate you bringing it.”

“Of course.” He paused, and Stella recognized that pause. That was his “I’m about to say something important” pause. Oh my! She’d seen it in class before he delivered criticism disguised as encouragement. Many had been victims of this; poor Daniel. “Actually, while I’m here, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

A date proposition, she was expecting it. It was almost unbelievable, an encounter with Blackwell’s golden boy. Mr. Jefferson— erm, Mark, would take her to Broadway in matching Carolina Herrera suits to watch the greatest musical of all time, Shrek the Musical. And if she didn’t like it, he would take her to watch a movie like Avatar or something. She could already feel his words coming in…

…Avatar. Think about that, Stella. You leave your old body behind and become blue. You become blue and huge and beautiful. You, um, ride… dragon…

“Your photograph,” he said, and her brain screeched to a halt. “For the contest. It’s been on my mind.”

“Ah. Okay?”

“I know I said it was good but safe. It is, and I stand by that assessment. But I’ve been thinking about the judging panel, the kind of work they typically respond to, and… uh, I think you have a real shot.”

Stella blinked. “I do?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re talented, Stella. You just need to believe in yourself as much as I believe in you.” He delivered the line perfectly, like he’d been practicing. He probably had, to be fair; either that or he’d said it so many times to so many students that it came out smooth as silk.

“That’s… thank you. That means a lot.”

“The thing is,” he continued, leaning against the doorframe in a way that was probably meant to look casual but instead felt a bit off, “we need to keep morale up around here. After yesterday’s events, everyone’s in a dark place. The school needs something to look forward to, you get that?”

“Right. Yeah, I uh, get that. Kate—”

“Is recovering, thankfully. But the student body needs a distraction. Something, you see, positive.” He fixed her with a rather intense gaze. “I heard the Vortex Club party was postponed, which I understand, but I think we need to reconsider that decision.”

Oh. OH. This wasn’t about her photograph, or even about their “date” (or whatever she was imagining, come to think of it…)

This was about Victoria.

“You want me to convince Victoria to have the party?” Stella asked slowly.

“I can’t reach her. She’s not answering calls or emails. I understand the, um, circumstances, but… you have influence with that crowd. You could help her see that moving forward is healthier than dwelling.”

Stella almost laughed. Influence? Her? With the Vortex Club of all things? She was tolerated at best and occasionally useful at worst. If Jefferson had asked someone like Dana or Taylor or even Nathan, he’d have more luck than getting her to do it. But she also knew that Jefferson wasn’t really asking.

“Um, I really don’t know if I’m the right person—”

“You are,” he said with such certainty that she almost believed him. “You’re respected, Stella. People listen to you, even if you don’t realize it.”

“For real, real?”

He sighed. “Yes, for ‘real, real,’ not for ‘play, play.’ And right now… Victoria needs someone to help her see past her grief.”

Grief? Was it really grief, or was it just guilt? From what Stella had seen, that look on Victoria’s face wasn’t just sadness about Kate. No, that was something deeper, more complicated. At least this was how she interpreted it… but still. This was a tad odd.

“Why do you care about the party?” The question came out before she could stop it.

Jefferson didn’t miss a beat. “Because my students’ wellbeing matters to me. All of them, too. And right now, everyone needs something to hope for. A return to normalcy, if you could—”

“Kate tried to kill herself less than twenty-four hours ago.”

“Which is exactly why we need to help students process and move forward, not wallow.” His voice was gentle but firm, the tone of someone who knew they were right. “Trust me on this, Stella. I’ve been teaching for a long time. I know what students need.”

Stella wanted to argue. She wanted to say that maybe what students needed was not to pretend everything was fine when it very clearly wasn’t. But as ironic as it was, she was doing exactly that. The realization dawning on her for most of the day did not help make up her mind about the series of things she needed to discuss, but it did nudge her a bit in this discussion toward Jefferson.

“Alright. I’ll talk to Victoria,” she heard herself say.

“Tomorrow,” he added. “Give her tonight to process, but tomorrow we need to start moving forward.”

“Tomorrow, uh, right.”

He smiled, satisfied. “I knew I could count on you. You’re going to do great things, Stella. I can see it.”

He left before she could respond, hearing his footsteps already echoing down the hallway. Stella closed the door and stood there for a moment, phone in hand, the get-well card on her desk, and the whole interaction replaying in her head.

She’d just been played, probably. Expertly, professionally played. Jefferson had returned her phone — which, now that she thought about it, he could have easily given to the office or left in the classroom — and used it as an excuse to rope her into his agenda. And she’d agreed because… why? Because he’d complimented her photograph? Because he’d said she was talented? Because some pathetic part of her still wanted to impress him?

“Fuck,” she muttered to the empty room.

At least she could play Flappy Bird again. Her brain would needle her for this, among her many other poor life decisions, for the rest of the evening.