Vanessa’s New Plan
Vanessa always knew how to seize a moment, and this one was no exception. The cafeteria was her stage, the audience primed for drama, and she played her part perfectly. I saw her move with purpose, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she crossed the room toward Logan’s table. Conversations quieted, heads turning as everyone sensed something was about to happen.
“Logan,” she said, her voice smooth and just loud enough to command attention. She tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips. “I was thinking, why don’t we make this official? You, me—why not give people something to talk about?”
The room went silent. Even the faint clatter of trays and utensils seemed to pause as everyone waited for Logan’s response. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, his eyes flicked toward my table. My breath caught as I held his gaze, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. I thought—hoped—he might say no, might push back against Vanessa’s calculated proposal.
But then, his expression shifted. He smiled—a small, strained thing that didn’t reach his eyes—and said, “Sure. Why not?”
The cafeteria erupted into a hum of whispers and murmurs, the energy electric as the latest drama unfolded. Vanessa’s grin widened, her triumph written all over her face as she slipped her hand into Logan’s. She glanced around the room, soaking in the attention, before turning and walking away with him, her head held high.
My stomach twisted at the sight. I forced myself to look down at my plate, pretending not to care, but the image of them together burned into my mind like a brand. My fingers clenched around my fork as I tried to focus on anything but them.
“Really?” Caleb’s voice broke through my thoughts, low and laced with amusement. He was leaning back in his chair beside me, his arms crossed as he watched the scene with mild disdain. “That’s the guy you’re hung up on?”
“I’m not hung up on him,” I muttered, stabbing at my salad with unnecessary force.
“Sure you’re not,” Caleb said with a smirk. He let the silence linger for a moment before adding, “Forget about him, Emma. He’s not worth it.”
I wanted to agree with him, to brush it off like it didn’t matter. But the tightness in my chest, the way my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, told a different story. I didn’t respond, afraid that if I spoke, my voice might betray me.
***
Vanessa wasted no time flaunting her victory. By the next day, her Instagram was flooded with pictures of her and Logan. Each post was carefully curated, a highlight reel of their new “relationship.” There were shots of them at the coffee shop, sharing a milkshake with two straws. Another showed them walking hand in hand down the hall, Vanessa’s head tilted just so as she smiled at the camera. The worst was a selfie of them grinning at the arcade, Logan’s arm casually draped around her shoulders.
Every photo had captions that screamed of ownership and triumph: Finally found my king 💕, Power couple energy, Can’t stop winning. She tagged Logan in every post, making sure her audience—me included—couldn’t miss it.
It was unbearable. Every time I opened my feed, her posts were there, a constant reminder of the widening chasm between Logan and me. It wasn’t just that Vanessa was flaunting what she’d won; it was that she knew I would see it. She wanted me to.
Logan, meanwhile, looked like he was playing a role. In every photo, he smiled and laughed, but it wasn’t the Logan I remembered. It wasn’t the Logan who used to sneak doodles into my notebook during study hall or who once spent an hour teaching me how to throw a frisbee. This Logan was polished, his edges smoothed out to fit Vanessa’s world. Controlled, deliberate—everything she needed him to be.
And yet, there were moments. Fleeting, almost imperceptible, but they were there. I’d catch him looking at me across the room, his gaze lingering just a second too long before he quickly looked away. There was something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or confusion. It was like he couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted to be: the one who fit seamlessly into Vanessa’s life or the one I used to know.
Those glances weren’t enough to mean anything, but they were enough to haunt me. Enough to keep the ache in my chest alive, even when I wanted it to go away.
Caleb noticed, of course. He always noticed. “You’re torturing yourself,” he said one afternoon, his tone softer than usual. “You need to let him go, Emma.”
“I’m trying,” I replied, my voice quiet. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Because no matter how much I told myself to move on, part of me couldn’t help but wonder if Logan’s fleeting looks meant he hadn’t moved on either.
