When I walk past, conversations pause mid-sentence. Eyes linger longer than they should.
There is a tightness in the air, like everyone is waiting for something to fall and crush someone.
Even Ms. Clarke notices.
"People can be jealous, Ash," she says quietly after rehearsal. "Ignore the noise and focus on the work."
I nod, even though none of it makes sense yet.
It only hits me when I reach my locker.
A girl tilts her phone toward her friend. My name flashes in a group chat. Lena's name too.
The message disappears before I can read it, but I catch one word.
Rumor.
Then laughter. Soft. Cruel. Certain.
Something inside me sinks. The warm feeling from earlier drains out as if someone pulled a plug in my chest.
I tell myself it is nothing. I tell myself it will fade.
It does not.
By morning, it has multiplied.
I feel it before I even hear it. The way the hallway quiets when I step in. The way people swallow their smiles when I look their way.
I keep walking. I pretend everything is normal.
Then I see the first phone.
A picture of Lena and me on stage. Her hand on my cheek. Our eyes locked.
The caption reads:
Guess rehearsals are not the only thing heating up.
The comments below sting worse.
Someone claims they saw us kissing backstage.
Someone else says Lena sneaks out to meet me.
Another claims she is cheating on her boyfriend with me.
My throat tightens. I cannot breathe right.
Lena is not even here yet, and her name is already being torn apart.
In the hall, a girl laughs.
"Can you blame her? He is cute."
Her friend whispers something, and they both look at me with the kind of smile that is not really a smile.
By lunch, the whispering is everywhere.
In the bathroom, someone has written STARBOY LOVES TAKEN GIRLS on the wall.
Alice finds me near the vending machine.
"Ash, what the hell is going on?"
"It is not true," I say automatically.
She sighs. "I did not ask that. People are being vicious. Just be careful."
Her voice softens, but her eyes stay sharp.
"Did Lena say anything?"
"She has not been seen all morning."
The rest of the day feels like walking through a crowd of ghosts that all know something I do not.
When I reach the theatre, the room feels heavier than usual.
Ms. Clarke snaps, "Phones away. If anyone cannot tell the difference between fiction and life, they can leave."
It should help. It does not.
When Lena walks in, the whole world pauses.
Her eyes find mine for one second, then pull away.
She looks pale. Tired. Hurt.
We start the balcony scene. The same one that started the rumor.
Her voice shakes. My hands shake. There is too much distance between us, even when we are standing inches apart.
When I take her hand, her fingers barely graze mine.
Something inside me breaks a little.
The applause at the end feels fake. No one is clapping for the performance. They are clapping for their own story.
I walk home alone. The sky is turning purple, but it feels too heavy to be beautiful.
A group of kids behind me call my name and then something else. Something sharp. They crack up laughing.
The rumor is not just a rumor anymore.
It is a costume I cannot take off.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The next day, I hear the second rumor forming before I see it.
In the cafeteria, two boys from theatre lean close.
"He is always staying back rehearsing with Clarke," one whispers.
"Guess that is how you get the lead," the other snickers.
My stomach twists. I pretend to reach for a napkin.
When I glance over, Samuel is sitting at their table.
Smiling.
He spots me and gives a slow, friendly little wave.
"Hey, Bennett," he calls out. "Clarke still drilling you on those balcony lines? Gotta keep that chemistry alive."
The table bursts into laughter.
By the time I sit down, the new rumor has already been born.
The next morning, the hallway feels poisonous.
"Teacher's pet."
"He is totally into Clarke."
"Lena has no idea."
My ears ring. My skin crawls.
During rehearsal, Ms. Clarke gives me a note on pacing, completely unaware of the storm outside her own classroom.
"Ash, take that line slower. Remember, he is seeing her for the first time."
I nod, but something cold slides down my spine.
In the corner, Samuel is watching. His smile is too casual, too friendly, too practiced.
Later, I overhear him with a girl from costumes.
"It is not my place to say," he murmurs. "Maybe Clarke just believes in him. I feel awful for Lena though. I think she still loves the guy."
The girl gasps.
"No way."
He sighs. "Forget it. I should not have said anything."
She will not forget. That is the point.
I know Samuel started this. The part I cannot wrap my head around is how easily he throws Lena into the fire just to scorch me. She is his girlfriend, right? Or did he forget that part?
By the end of the week, the story has twisted itself into something I do not recognize.
Clarke favors me.
Lena is heartbroken.
I am using both of them.
The worst part? People talk about me like I am a charity case. Their pity feels worse than the insults.
During rehearsal, the line hits harder than it ever has.
"Thus with a kiss I die."
Ms. Clarke watches me with concern. Lena looks away quickly. Even she does not know how to stand beside me without getting burned.
When rehearsal ends, Samuel claps my shoulder with fake warmth.
"Great work today. You have really got everyone talking."
I smile back because I cannot do anything else.
But it feels like he is handing me a knife
and I am the one gripping the blade.