The dance showcase had just wrapped up. Both Damon, our campus golden boy, and I stepped forward at the exact same time to hand Zoe something to drink. I had brought her favorite electrolyte water—the specific brand she always drank after grueling routines. Damon had just grabbed a lukewarm bottle of water from the folding table. Zoe looked right past me, reached for the bottle in Damon’s hand, and drank it down without blinking. Bridget, the team captain, saw me standing there alone, head down, picking awkwardly at my cuticles. She reached out and took the sports drink from my fingers to save me from the humiliation. “If Zoe doesn’t want it, give it to me,” Bridget said with an easy laugh. “I just sweated through three routines. I’m dying of thirst.” I let her take it. But the second it left my hands, Zoe lunged forward, snatched the bottle right out of Bridget’s grip, and slammed it straight into the trash can. That was Zoe. She operated purely on impulse, utterly unchecked. Never caring about my dignity. Never sparing a thought for how it looked to the rest of the team. She didn’t even bother to glance up and see the quiet devastation on my face. Right then, something clicked shut inside me. A love kept in the shadows wasn’t love at all. It was just a slow execution. 1 The lightheartedness dropped from Bridget’s face instantly. Her expression hardened. “You crossed a line, Zoe.” “Ian handed that to me. What right do you have to throw it in the garbage?” Bridget turned to me, lowering her voice. “Ignore her, Ian. You know how volatile she gets.” She apologized, then bent down without a shred of hesitation and fished the bottle out of the trash. I caught her wrist. “It touched the trash can. It’s dirty now. Don’t drink it.” Bridget twisted the cap off and took a long gulp. “It’s fine. The seal wasn’t broken. It’s clean.” From her bench, Zoe let out a cold, sharp scoff. “And how do you know the seal wasn’t broken?” “You trust him that easily?” “Aren’t you worried he slipped something strange in there just to mess with you?” She left the accusation deliberately vague, but the poison spread through the locker room instantly. The team erupted in whispers. “Wait, did Ian try pulling something like that on Zoe before?” “No wonder Zoe’s always had an attitude toward him.” “Zoe usually keeps it polite even when she can’t stand someone. She never embarrasses people in public.” “Except with Ian. She’s never given him a single warm look.” “She won’t even drink the water he buys, and she freaks out if he touches her gear.” I stood frozen in the middle of the studio, the words catching in my throat. I couldn’t even mount a defense. Because on the surface, everything they said was true. Zoe had insisted she didn’t want people whispering that I’d gotten the student manager position through favoritism. So whenever anyone else was around during rehearsals, she acted as though we were complete strangers. To the outside world, we didn’t know each other. And now, they assumed she simply despised me. “If someone like him is running logistics for our squad, doesn’t that put all of us at risk?” someone muttered. A suffocating silence fell over the room. Bridget’s hand stilled. She cut a razor-sharp glare across the studio, and the dancers who had been whispering quickly clamped their mouths shut. Damon, on the other hand, loved the spectacle. He arched an eyebrow at me, wearing a smirk designed to bait me. “Captain, you really ought to watch your back,” he said smoothly. “Regionals are right around the corner. If something happens to you, where does that leave the rest of the team?” Blood rushed to my ears. Dizzy with fury, I forced myself to defend my name. “I bought that drink five minutes ago at the convenience store across the street! If you don’t believe me, we can pull the store’s security footage right now. I didn’t tamper with anything.” Damon’s expression didn’t waver. “Hey, I was just looking out for Bridget. If your conscience is so clean, why are you getting so defensive?” A rumor takes three seconds to start and a lifetime to bury. I stepped forward to confront him, but Bridget caught my arm, pulling me back. “I believe you,” she said firmly. She turned to Damon, her eyes chilled. “Without proof, that’s slander. And this is a closed team rehearsal. Guests weren’t invited. I’m going to ask you to leave.” Zoe stood up, letting out an irritated click of her tongue. “It was just a joke, Bridget. Do you really have to blow everything out of proportion?” “Besides, Damon is here because I invited him.” “I talked to Coach Warren a few days ago about adding another student assistant. Coach approved it.” “As of today, Damon is an official part of the dance team.” 2 I snapped my head toward her. Zoe met my eyes with cool, unflinching detachment, then casually looked away. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A notification lit up the screen—an email from Coach Warren: “Based on recent feedback from the squad, Damon will be taking over the role of team manager for the remainder of the season.” Around me, the dancers burst into spontaneous applause. By all rights, I was supposed to smile and clap along, welcoming him. Instead, my jaw locked. My lips could only stretch into a grimace that felt heavier than tears. Back when the athletic department posted the opening for dance team assistant, dozens of students had applied. Terrified of being rejected, I had quietly begged Zoe for help. “If I get the job, we’ll get to see each other every single day.” She had shot me down without mercy. “If everyone pulled strings, our team would be overrun with useless deadweight. If you don’t think you’re qualified, don’t even submit an application.” To prove to her that I wasn’t deadweight, I busted my ass. I studied equipment specs, memorized routine schedules, and beat out every other candidate fair and square. And yet, once I made the cut, she told me we had to keep our distance. “You earned this on your own merits,” she had whispered. “If they find out you’re my boyfriend, they’ll write you off as a nepo hire. They’ll hate you.” Back then, I was naive enough to think she was protecting me. My chest had swelled with gratitude. Until today. Today, she openly walked Damon through the front door on a silver platter. No one called him deadweight. No one froze him out. Someone even slapped their palms together and shouted, “To celebrate Damon joining the family, let’s all go grab dinner together! What do you say, Cap?” The athletic department funded a weekly team meal, so Bridget simply nodded. With the captain’s approval, pulling myself out would have made me look bitter and petty. Before heading out, I stayed behind in the studio to pack up the sound system, folding mats, and props. By the time I showered, changed, and jogged out to the parking lot, the team was already piling into the department’s passenger van. I reached for the sliding door, but the driver glanced back and grunted, “Van’s full. Last one out calls an Uber.” This van had always seated the exact number of our crew. With Damon added, I was the one who didn’t fit. My fingers tightened on the metal handle. Instinctively, I looked through the tinted window toward Zoe. She was sitting next to Damon. Their heads were leaned in close, murmuring to each other. Noticing the engine hadn’t turned over, Zoe raised her voice toward the front: “Whoever was last, just step off! Stop holding everyone up.” My eyes burned. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I silently let go of the door and stepped back onto the curb. I stood there long after the red taillights melted into the dusk. I checked my screen. The chat thread between Zoe and me remained dead quiet. She didn’t ask if I’d managed to squeeze in. She didn’t ask if I knew where the restaurant was. Until Bridget dropped a pin in the group chat and tagged me: “@Ian Take an Uber to this address. Send me the receipt, I’ll cover it.” Just as I began typing that I wouldn’t be coming, a text from Zoe finally came through: a car model and license plate. “Ordered you an Uber.” “Move faster next time. Stop dragging your feet.” “See what happens when you’re always lagging behind?” Damon had been brought on as an assistant for the whole team, yet he never lifted a finger for anyone but Zoe. Every scrap of grunt work still landed squarely on my shoulders. My chest tightened with an ache so heavy it hurt to breathe. I dialed her number, desperate to talk. She declined the call instantly. A text followed: “Car sick. Can’t talk on the phone. Just get here.” By the time my ride dropped me off, everyone was already settled around a large banquet table. There were only two empty chairs left. One across from Zoe, and one right beside her. Foolishly, my heart jumped—I assumed she had saved the seat next to her for me. But as I reached the chair, Damon walked back from the restroom. “That’s my seat.” 3 I froze, the realization sinking in that he was talking to me. Damon crossed his arms, looking down at me with amusement. “Don’t believe me? Look at the setting. I unwrapped the utensils and napkin before I walked away.” I looked down. The paper sleeve was torn off, and the water glass had condensation rings where someone had taken a drink. Still, a stubborn, desperate pride locked my gaze on Zoe. “What if I want to sit here tonight?” Zoe didn’t even look up from her phone. Her voice was flat, bored. “Don’t make a scene, Ian. First come, first served. If you wanted the seat, you should’ve gotten here earlier.” Across the table, a couple of dancers exchanged smirks, whispering behind their menus. “Is he blind? Can’t he tell Zoe wants to sit with Damon?” “Seriously. Let the cute couple have their moment. Why does he always have to wedge himself in like a third wheel?” “I get why Zoe can’t stand him. Having someone with zero social awareness hovering over you is exhausting.” Something snapped. The suffocating weight of two years rushed into my throat, blinding my reason. “Zoe and I are the ones who—” “Smash.” The heavy ceramic glass in Zoe’s hand struck the edge of the table and shattered on the tile floor, water splashing across our sneakers. “Sorry,” Zoe said, her voice entirely steady as she shook water droplets from her fingers. “Slipped.” The sharp sound yanked me back from the cliff edge. I shut my mouth. A cold sweat broke out across my shoulder blades. Two years of a secret, nameless relationship. To blow it wide open now, right when we were crumbling apart, wouldn’t vindicate me. It would only make me look pathetic and desperate. And she had deliberately broken that glass to keep my mouth shut. Pushing it further was just humiliating myself. “Wait, what were you about to say about you and Zoe?” a sophomore girl chimed in, leaning forward with gleeful curiosity. “You can’t leave us hanging! I won’t be able to sleep tonight.” “Knock it off,” Bridget cut in, shooting the girl a stern look before gesturing toward the chair beside her. “There’s an open spot next to me, Ian. Come sit over here.” “Okay,” I murmured. I pulled out the chair next to Bridget and sat down. Bridget poured warm water into a bowl, gently swirling it to rinse my utensils before handing them to me. Her eyes held a flicker of apology. “I was on the phone with Coach when the van loaded. I didn’t realize you got left behind. If that ever happens again, tell me—I’ll have someone split a cab with you. You shouldn’t be traveling across town alone at night.” I shook my head faintly. “It’s fine.” Once I officially resigned, their roster would fit the van perfectly. Throughout the meal, Zoe fussed over Damon, refilling his drink and peeling his shrimp with an easy, practiced tenderness. Watching them, I realized with a dull pang that I couldn’t even remember the last time Zoe and I had shared a meal like that. Ever since I took the student manager role, we had drifted further apart instead of growing closer. I had taken the job just to be near her. Now, the food tasted like ash. Several times during dinner, Zoe glanced across the table at me. The moment I set my fork down, my screen lit up with a private text from her: “Don’t leave yet. It’s dark out and not safe for you to walk back alone. I’ll drive you home.” “Okay,” I texted back. Even if we were ending things, it deserved to be said to her face. Yet when the check was paid and I stood waiting near the restaurant foyer, Damon suddenly stepped up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Zoe, could you give me a ride home? It’s really late and the neighborhood around my place is sketchy. I’m kind of nervous.” I stopped dead, standing fifteen feet away. “Ask someone else for a ride,” Zoe told him, glancing back at the lingering dancers. The others immediately giggled, nudging one another, shouting excuses about early classes before scattering out the door into the night. Zoe hesitated for three agonizing seconds. Then, she looked down at her phone and typed rapidly. My phone buzzed. “His place isn’t far. I’ll drop him off and come straight back for you.” And like an idiot, I believed her. I sat on the low stone planter outside the restaurant, watching the breath fog in front of my face, waiting for her headlights. Thirty minutes passed before Bridget emerged from the restaurant after settling the athletic department’s receipt. Seeing me huddled on the curb, she stopped in surprise. “Everyone left. What are you still doing out here in the cold? Did you need to talk to me about something?” I stood up, brushing the dust from the seat of my jeans. “I’m waiting for Zoe. She said she was dropping Damon off and coming back to talk to me.” I still didn’t confess that we were together. Bridget’s eyebrows knotted into a deep, furious scowl. “Damon’s apartment is on the far north side of the county—that’s a two-hour round trip in this traffic!” “She left you alone on the street at midnight to wait for her?!” 4 The breath left my lungs. A violent shudder ripped through my limbs, cold biting straight into my marrow. I unlocked my phone. Thirty-five minutes had already slipped by since her car pulled away. “She’s completely out of line,” Bridget muttered, visibly incensed. “Whatever petty grudge she has against you, leaving you stranded out here in the middle of the night is inexcusable. My ride just pulled up. Come on, I’m taking you back to campus.” In the back of Bridget’s car, watching the blur of streetlights, I opened my messaging app and typed the words that had been building inside me for months: “We’re done, Zoe. It’s over.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t text to check if I was still shivering on the pavement. Maybe it was the bitter wind, or maybe my body simply gave up. By the time I crawled into my dorm bed, my skin was burning with a low-grade fever. I spent the night drifting in and out of fitful, sweat-soaked nightmares. Early the next morning, Bridget’s call woke me. “Ian, aren’t you coming in? Where did you store the new performance uniforms that arrived this week? I’ve searched the entire equipment closet.” Fever had clouded my thoughts; I kept giving her the wrong shelf coordinates. After three attempts, Bridget sighed on the other end. “We need them urgently for fittings. Can you make it down here for five minutes? I know you stepped down, and I have no right to ask—” “I’ll come,” I croaked. Bridget had looked out for me when no one else would. She had driven me home last night. I dragged my aching body out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and walked to the studio. In the storage room, I finally unearthed the sealed cartons of uniforms tucked behind the rehearsal risers. Just as I pulled the heavy stack into my arms, the door swung open. Damon strolled in, extending two hands with a triumphant smirk. “Cap said once you found them, hand them off to me. You’re off the team now, remember? You don’t have clearance for the floor.” Every muscle in my body throbbed from the fever. I didn’t have the energy to trade insults with him. I dumped the stack of heavy, double-knit uniforms straight into his outstretched hands. Damon wasn’t braced for the weight. His knees buckled, his grip slipped, and the pile of uniforms crashed down, taking him to the floor with an exaggerated thud. He immediately flipped the narrative, howling in indignation. “Did you do that on purpose?! You let go before I even had a grip!” The door flew open again, and Zoe stepped inside. She froze, taking in the scene: Damon sprawled on the floor, clutching his ankle, and me standing over him. “Damon was just trying to help you,” Zoe snapped, glaring at me with raw venom. “And you assault him?” A dry, broken laugh escaped my throat. “He couldn’t hold the weight and slipped. What does that have to do with me?” Damon grabbed Zoe’s forearm, his voice trembling with manufactured vulnerability. “Don’t yell at Ian, Zoe. It’s my fault. I took his job… it’s natural that he hates me. But my ankle… I think I sprained it. Can you take me to urgent care?” Zoe looked at me, her eyes dead and cold. “You’re petty, Ian. Toxic. Keeping someone like you around the squad is an accident waiting to happen.” A few other dancers crowded into the doorway, taking in the spectacle. Their faces instantly twisted with disgust toward me. Zoe made her executive call right then and there. “Next week’s post-conference retreat to the coast—I’m having Bridget give Ian’s slot to Damon. Consider it restitution. You owe him that much.” With that, she looped Damon’s arm around her shoulder and marched out without looking back. I stood there in the empty room. I didn’t yell. I didn’t chase after them to plead my case. Instead, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my mother: “Mom, that private beach resort getaway you sponsored for the dance team next week? Cancel it.” Zoe had no idea. The luxurious end-of-season retreat the entire team had been buzzing about wasn’t a school perk. It was a gift I had asked my family to fund. I didn’t owe Damon a damn thing. And I certainly didn’t owe Zoe.
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