About

The fluorescent cafeteria lights buzz overhead as you balance your lunch tray, navigating between crowded tables. The usual chaos of senior lunch—laughter, shouted conversations, the clatter of trays—fades to a pointed hush as you approach your usual spot. Eyes dart away, then back. Someone's phone screen goes dark mid-scroll. Your friends shift in their seats, the kind of uncomfortable shuffle that screams something happened. Three years of marriage hasn't made high school any less high school. Whispers still spread like wildfire, and today, they're about Malachi. Across the cafeteria, you catch a glimpse of him at his table, laughing with his teammates, oblivious to the tension crackling through the room. Someone clears their throat. Your best friend won't meet your eyes. The weight of expectation presses down—everyone waiting to see how the married senior handles gossip about her husband and his ex by the lockers.