I like to think I know exactly what I'm worth. It's hard not to when you wake up every morning looking in the mirror and realizing the angles, the skin, the way your hair falls perfectly without effort—everything about me is calculated to turn heads. I'm the kind of girl people notice when I walk down the corridor, the kind who could get any guy I want, any time I want. And I've tested it, plenty of times, just to be sure it's not arrogance. Smiles returned, eyes lingering too long, boys tripping over their own words when I pass—I've got the proof. It makes me feel untouchable, like the world bends a little in my direction without even knowing it. But there's a crack in the reflection, a part of me that smirks when no one is watching, because it's not enough. Because there's one person I can't seem to catch. One boy who doesn't blink, doesn't stumble, doesn't offer the smallest flicker of his attention no matter how close I try to get. Elliot. He walks through this boarding school like he owns the calm inside every chaotic room, like he's carved out a little universe just for himself, and the frustrating thing is that nothing about him screams approachable, nothing says I'm interested, but I can feel it in my chest anyway, that pull I can't name. I catch myself thinking about him when I don't want to, imagining what it would be like if he looked at me the way other guys do, if he laughed at my jokes without that cool, distant shrug that makes every compliment feel like it bounced off an invisible wall. And it's ridiculous. I've had plenty of boys, plenty of flirts, plenty of moments that were supposed to sting or excite, and yet none of them matter because Elliot doesn't even try, and somehow that makes him more tempting than anyone else. I hate it, I hate myself a little for it, but I can't stop noticing, can't stop wondering what it would take to break that cool, indifferent shell, to pull him into my orbit, even just for one glance that lasted more than a fraction of a second.
I saw him near the courtyard, leaning against the wall with that easy, unreadable look, and I thought, okay, this is it, my moment. I walked toward him, hips swaying just enough, hair catching the sunlight like I meant to be noticed, and I smiled—my best, most effortless smile, the one that had worked countless times before. "Hey," I said, voice casual but carrying just enough warmth to make it linger. He didn't look up right away, and that tiny hesitation in me, that fraction of a second where I realized I might fail, hit harder than I expected. Finally, his eyes flicked to mine, calm, assessing, and not a single spark of recognition or interest passed between us. I felt the heat rise, frustration bubbling behind my perfect composure, because no matter how I tried—how I leaned in, how I laughed, how I let my gaze linger—he didn't blink. He didn't flirt back. He didn't fall into the little games I knew how to play like second nature. It was infuriating. The more I moved, the more he stayed the same: cool, untouchable, magnetic in a way I couldn't manipulate. I wanted to tease him, to throw a comment his way that would make him crack a smile, to pull him into my orbit just long enough to feel it, but he remained distant, deliberately neutral.
I tried again, shifting the conversation, testing his limits, asking about classes, the library, even something trivial about the cafeteria food. And every time, he gave answers that were precise, short, clipped, and somehow made me feel like I was speaking into a mirror that reflected only myself. I laughed at the jokes I made, hoping the sound would draw him in, hoping for a flicker, a twitch, anything, but it never came. The contrast was maddening. Every other boy would have tripped over themselves trying to catch my attention, but Elliot… he was like standing water: still, clear, impossible to disturb. My confidence, that solid sense of self I'd carried like armor, cracked a little with every glance he spared me. I wanted to shove the facade away and admit, just to myself, that I liked him, that maybe for once someone I couldn't bend to my will mattered more than all the others combined. But I couldn't. Not yet. Pride keeps me upright, even when it rattles inside like loose chains.
After a few minutes, I realized I was doing all the work, and he didn't even notice. Not really. I laughed a little too loudly, just to see if he'd react, and he didn't. He tilted his head slightly, glanced away at something behind me, and returned to that calm, unreadable pose that made my chest ache with irritation and longing all at once. I wanted to shake him, to demand that he see me, that he notice me the way everyone else did, but the truth was, I couldn't. And the maddening part? I didn't just want him to see me—I wanted him to want me. I wanted that cool, untouchable Elliot to feel the pull I felt, to recognize that for once, someone couldn't be ignored or swayed by charm, by beauty, by attention. I wanted him to be challenged, and yet, despite every strategy I tried, every calculated smile and shift of my body, I was met with perfection in its most frustrating form: indifference.
By the time the bell rang, I realized I hadn't moved him even an inch, not emotionally, not mentally. And yet, my pulse hadn't slowed, my thoughts hadn't stopped. Every step I took away from him felt like a retreat, a concession I didn't want to make. I wanted to turn back, throw all caution aside, and demand his attention the way no one ever had. But I couldn't. Not here, not now. All I could do was simmer in the quiet ache of wanting someone who didn't even know I wanted them, someone whose indifference had somehow become the most intoxicating thing I'd ever tasted.
I was passing the hallway near the old library when I spotted them, Elliot and Anna, slipping into the back room—the one nobody ever used. My stomach twisted in a way I tried to tell myself was curiosity, but the truth was sharper, a sting I didn't like admitting. I ducked behind a corner, pressed against the wall, careful not to make a sound, and watched. The room was too small, and even from my hiding spot, I could see the way their bodies moved together, too close, too intimate, like they were the only two people in the world. Anna's expression was complicated—at first startled, then something else I couldn't name. Fear? Shock? Desire? All of it and none of it, rolled together in a way that made my chest tighten. I wanted to call out, to grab Elliot and drag him away, or maybe just shove Anna aside and demand an explanation, but I couldn't. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe properly either, the way my heart pounded in my chest like it was trying to escape.
I saw her pull away quickly at some point, anger flashing across her features, mixed with that unreadable something else in her eyes that made my mind twist with questions. I tried to step closer, to call her name softly, "Anna—wait—" but she was faster than light, moving out of that room with a speed that left me frozen in place, too late. I couldn't reach her. My words caught in my throat, my mouth open, nothing coming out. She didn't even glance back, not once, as if she had sensed my presence but refused to acknowledge it. I wanted to follow her, to ask her what the hell had just happened in there, but the second I moved, Elliot's head appeared at the doorway, scanning the hall like a sentinel, and I froze again. My body refused to betray me, even as my mind screamed.
I stayed hidden a little longer, watching them as Elliot stepped out after her, calm as ever, cool as always, with that indifferent expression that made me want to shake him until he broke. Anna's cheeks were still flushed, her eyes wide, sharp, unreadable, and the tension radiating off her made me feel like I was standing in the center of something forbidden, something I wasn't meant to witness. I wanted to yell, to run in and demand answers, but I also wanted to disappear and pretend I hadn't seen a thing, because seeing them like that made something ache inside me I didn't know how to name. Envy, frustration, desire, confusion—all twisted together.
Finally, I let myself move, inching away slowly, pretending to be going somewhere else, though my thoughts were stuck on what I had seen. I couldn't stop replaying it—the closeness, the way Anna had reacted, the look Elliot gave her that made it clear he was in control, the tiny tremors in her expression that hinted at things she wasn't saying. I wanted to confront Anna, ask her what had just happened, tell her to watch out, but she had disappeared too fast for anything to reach her. My fingers curled into my palms, knuckles whitening, because it wasn't fair. Not that anything about life here ever was fair, but this… this cut differently. I had wanted Elliot's attention, craved it, and yet watching him with her made it clear that attention wasn't mine to have.
I stayed in the corridor a moment longer, heart still pounding, and whispered under my breath, "Damn it, Anna… what the hell is going on?" My voice sounded small, almost fragile, even to me, but the words carried all the frustration, envy, and longing I felt in that moment. She was fast, untouchable in ways I couldn't decipher, and Elliot… well, he was always untouchable. And somehow, watching them together, I realized that no matter how beautiful I thought I was, no matter how many boys I could charm, there were lines I couldn't cross, walls I couldn't break, and moments I could only witness from the shadows.