You wake late, head thick with the hangover of last night's cheers and last night's conversations. The room feels different, familiar clutter suddenly unfamiliar in the gray morning haze. Dakota's out, bed empty, window cracked to crisp air.
Before you can check social feeds or brush your teeth, there's a text:
Jasper: Can you meet me at the mural? Kinda important.
Your stomach clenches. You pull on a hoodie and head out, hoping the walk will clear the fog in your chest. The quad sparkles with confetti leftovers, your mural now sporting two new posters and a group of freshmen posing for pictures. Jasper is waiting, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes sharper than usual.
He doesn't hug you when you arrive, just stands a little apart, looking at the mural and not you. "Glad you came," he says quietly.
"Of course," you answer, already on edge.
Jasper kicks a stray bottle cap at the curb. "You ever notice how Beckett always finds a way to be the center of everything? Last night on the field, at the mural reveal, even when he's 'just supporting' people, it's all about him in the end. You ever think he likes keeping everyone orbiting around him?"
You frown, bristling. "He worked hard for last night. That touchdown-"
"I know," Jasper cuts in, voice unnervingly calm. "But does he ever ask what you want? Or is he just used to being the hero, the guy who always gets the last word?"
You shift your weight, the sidewalk suddenly unsteady. "I think you have the wrong impression of him, Jasper."
Jasper studies your face. "I just…" He trails off. "I want you to feel what it's like to be seen. Not just as someone's sidekick. I don't like how he looks at you, like he's entitled to every part of your life. Maybe it's time you started thinking about what you need, not just what makes everyone else happy."
You pause, words sticking in your throat, because everything Jasper says sounds right...almost, but it doesn't match what you know, or what you feel, or the boy who looked for you in the crowd after one of the biggest wins of his life.
Jasper steps closer, voice soft but insistent. "Don't let people drown out your own voice, Maren. You shouldn't have to fight for space with someone who'd rather take it all."
You nod, trying to smile, but there's a pressure behind your ribs now. You promise you'll think about it, letting him brush a kiss across your hair before he leaves you by the glaring wall.
When you finally walk back through the quad, Beckett laughing with his teammates in the distance, you realize you're seeing him, seeing everything, a little differently. And you're not sure if that's good, or just what Jasper wants.
You find Priya in the art room mid-afternoon, sketching alone by the window, headphones askew and pencil tapping out a restless rhythm. She looks up as you walk in, arching an eyebrow at your expression.
"You lost?" she asks, a hint of a smile breaking her focus.
You shake your head and slide onto the stool beside her, letting out a long, uneven sigh. "Can I ask you something? And promise to be honest, not just…supportive."
Priya closes her sketchbook and faces you fully. "Always."
You fidget with a scrap of paper, staring at the mural supplies stacked by the wall. "Jasper said some things today. About Beckett. About…how he always has to be the center. How maybe I let people drown out what I want."
Priya's lips press into a line, like she's been waiting for this. Like she's wanted you to ask.
"Do you think he's right?" you continue, voice small. "About Beckett? About me?"
Priya leans forward, elbows on her knees. "I think Beckett is loud, sometimes. He's used to being the one you lean on. But he's never tried to dim you. He just loves big and messy and sometimes in all the ways that make people roll their eyes." She pauses. "I've also seen Jasper try to rewrite stories before they're done."
You glance up, relief and anxiety tightening your chest. "You don't…think I'm just someone's sidekick?"
She laughs, shaking her head. "You? Maren, you're the one who talked the dean into handing you that wall. You made half the school come alive in paint and color. Beckett takes up space, yeah, but you do too. Jasper doesn't like sharing the spotlight. That doesn't mean there isn't enough for both of you."
You study her, wanting so badly to believe it.
Priya sobers, choosing her words. "People who need you to shrink probably aren't seeing you the way you deserve. Don't let anyone make you small, Maren. Not for their comfort, or their jealousy. Not even for Beckett, and definitely not for Jasper."
You blink fast, throat thick, feeling both lighter and heavier than when you walked in. "I needed to hear that."
She grins, nudges your shoulder, and starts to sketch again, as if just saying it has made your decision a little clearer, even if you're not sure what you'll do next.
You spot Beckett across the bustling cafeteria, nearly hidden behind a stack of pizza slices and football teammates. He catches your eye and waves you over, clearing a spot for you with a familiar, easy grin.
You slide onto the bench beside him, shoulder pressed into his as he nudges a carton of chocolate milk your way, your old childhood favorite. He's mid-story about a disastrous camping trip you took in middle school, complete with raccoons stealing your snacks and you shrieking louder than any of the guys.
You laugh, the memory bright. "I was convinced they'd follow us home. You spent an hour trying to build a trap out of granola bars."
He grins, dimples showing. "Still think you owe me for saving your life with that stick fort."
You nudge him in the ribs. "You didn't let me quit art, remember? Even when my poster looked like abstract spaghetti."
"Well, it turned out better than Marcus's volcano," Beckett says, and you both laugh at the memory.
For a moment, everything feels light and simple. Just two old friends, lost in stories and the mess of high school and summers past. The noise and chaos fade, until you're just two kids sharing secrets.
But then Jasper appears at the end of the table, hands clenched a little tighter than usual, expression unreadable.
He taps your shoulder, voice low but direct. "Hey, Maren, can we take that walk? I wanted to talk about something." His tone isn't quite a suggestion, more an insistence.
You glance at Beckett, who tenses, an awkward shift in his smile, but you stand, feeling the change in the air.
Jasper's hand finds yours as you step away from the table. He doesn't let go, even as you pass through the noisy crowd. His grip is firm, maybe too firm, and Beckett's eyes follow you all the way to the door.
Jasper finally speaks, his jealousy edged just beneath the words. "It looks easy with him," he says, not looking at you. "You always have your own language, your private memories. Sometimes it feels like… you forget what's right in front of you."
You stop walking when Jasper pulls his hand away and you can't quite feel your feet under you.
"I just want to be important to you," Jasper says, quieter now. "Doesn't seem like that's asking so much."
You want to argue, to say of course he's important, to insist you'd never make him feel less than that. But the words stick in your throat. Instead, you replay the way he looked at you in the cafeteria, how easily you'd laughed with Beckett, how quickly you'd slipped into those old patterns, how natural it felt.
Jasper keeps talking, his voice gentle but insistent. "It's like…every time he's in the room, you light up. I feel invisible. I just want you to notice me like that. You say he's just a friend, but I can't tell if that's really true. Honestly, sometimes I'm not sure you even know."
You shake your head, but the certainty you want to feel just isn't there. "I do care about you. You know I do."
He steps in, brushing your arm in a way that's almost apologetic. "I know. I just wish I didn't feel like a backup plan."
You stay frozen after he walks away, his words prickling deep. The path to your dorm feels longer than you remember, and every step, you hear him all over again.
Am I making him feel like second place?
Was I too quick to run to Beckett?
Should I try harder to make Jasper feel like he's enough?
By the time you reach your door, all the bright, easy memories from lunch with Beckett feel dim and distant. You move through the rest of the afternoon distracted, replaying Jasper's words, wondering if maybe you're not as loyal or fair as you always thought you were.
By late afternoon, you're sitting on a bench outside the library, pretending to read but just watching the wind chase fallen leaves across the sidewalk.
Beckett spots you from across the quad, a to-go cup in each hand. He jogs over and plops down beside you, out of breath and smiling, but the grin fades as soon as he studies your face.
"Hey," he says, nudging your elbow. "You look like someone told you pizza's banned for life."
You force a weak smile. "Just tired, I guess. Long day."
Beckett squints, elbow propped on his knee. "You don't do tired. You do caffeine and stubbornness. Did something happen?"
You shake your head, picking at the edge of your coat sleeve, the words you want to say not coming out right. "No, it's nothing. I just… I don't know."
He hands you the extra coffee, his voice gentle. "Is this a 'nothing' nothing, or a 'someone actually did something stupid' nothing?"
You want to brush it off, but Beckett is too familiar, too steady, the look in his eyes making it harder to hide. Part of you wants to lean into him, to let yourself be comforted, but Jasper's voice rattles in your head: You always light up for him. I feel invisible.
You hold the cup tightly with both hands, wanting to disappear. "Maybe I just… don't know how to be fair to everyone. Maybe I mess things up more than I realize."
Beckett bumps your boot with his. "You don't mess things up, Maren. And anyone who makes you feel like you do just for being yourself… they're the problem, not you."
You're not sure you believe him, but the warmth of his words and the autumn air helps you breathe a little easier.
Beckett doesn't glance away, just leans back against the bench, his knee angled toward yours. For a moment, there's only the distant noise of campus around you, students rushing to classes and the occasional crackle of leaves underfoot. He takes a sip of his own coffee, then lowers his voice.
"You know, you can tell me if someone's making you feel off. I don't care who it is. I'm not going to judge." Another pause, gentle but persistent. "Is it… Jasper?"
Your heart trips. You look down, swirling the sleeve of your cup, the words slow to shape.
"He just…" You swallow, searching for the truth but only finding confusion. "He makes me feel like maybe I'm doing too much. Like I'm not taking him seriously enough, or… maybe I make him feel like he's just… second place. I can't tell if it's true. Sometimes I feel like he's right."
Beckett's jaw shifts. He's quiet for a moment, then says, "You're allowed to care about more than one person. You're allowed to have a past, Maren. Nobody gets to take that from you."
You blink hard, his words unexpectedly steady. He looks straight ahead, not pushing, not prying, just sitting steady, letting you fill the silence if you want.
"He says I pick you over him sometimes," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "And maybe I do, but that's just… history. He gets upset if I talk about you or if we joke too much. I'm starting to think maybe I am making things too hard. Maybe if I change, it'll get easier."
Beckett's expression darkens, but his tone stays gentle. "You can't break yourself into pieces for someone else, not even for someone you care about. If he doesn't see that you're worth knowing exactly as you are, then he's the one missing out."
He searches your face, giving you an out, offering safety. "You want me to talk to him?" he jokes, but he's half-serious, his protectiveness seeping through despite himself.
You shake your head, a small smile slipping in. "I just needed…someone to tell me I'm not a monster for having a best friend and a boyfriend at the same time."
Beckett squeezes your arm, warm and certain. "Then let me be the first."
It's easier, after that, to breathe in the brisk autumn and let yourself believe, just for a second, that you haven't gotten everything wrong.