CHAPTER 31 -The Secret Between Us
The digital clock on my bedside table flickered. It was only 7:00 PM, but it felt like midnight in my soul. The rain was still drumming against the glass, a constant, rhythmic reminder of everything I was losing.
I looked at Heather, my voice trembling. "What should I do now? Ashley used that night—the only night I felt alive—as a weapon to break us apart. And it worked, Heather. Zack thinks I'm just using him. He thinks I'm some kind of social climber who doesn't care about his feelings."
Heather's eyes sharpened. She wasn't looking at the "Shadow Girl" anymore; she was looking at a friend she was ready to go to war for.
"Okay, Jane, hear me out," she said, her voice dropping into a determined low. "We aren't going to wait for 'later.' We are going to call him."
"What?" I gasped, my heart skipping a beat.
"Yeah," Heather nodded, reaching for my phone on the duvet. "A video call."
"A VIDEO CALL?" I practically shrieked, backing away from the device as if it were a live grenade. "Heather, look at my face! Look at the bruise! If he sees me like this, he'll ask questions I can't answer. And if Ashley finds out we talked..."
"That's exactly the point, Jane!" Heather countered, her thumb hovering over his contact. "You hear me right. A video call. If you just text him, he can't see your eyes. He can't see the truth. But if he sees that mark on your cheek... if he sees you crying... he'll know. He'll know you didn't 'ignore' him because you wanted to. He'll know someone forced you."
I looked at my reflection in the darkened window. The purple-red fingerprint marks from Ashley's slap were even more visible now. I looked broken.
"He's hurting, Jane," Heather whispered. "And you're hurting. Ashley is winning because she's the only one talking. It's time the 'Shadow Girl' used her voice."
My breath hitched. My hand shook as I reached out and took the phone from Heather. Zack's name was there, glowing in the dark room.
"Do it," Heather urged. "Show him the 'Checkmate' she actually played."
I pressed the icon. The screen shifted to the front-facing camera, showing my tear-stained face and the branded skin of my cheek. The ringing sound started—each tone feeling like a heartbeat echoing in the silence of my room.
The ringing didn't even last two seconds. The screen flickered, and suddenly, Zack was there.
He wasn't at a party or with Ashley. He was sitting in the dim light of his room, his blonde hair messy as if he'd been running his hands through it all evening. The moment he saw my face, his defensive mask crumbled.
"Jane!" he blurted out, his voice thick with a regret that made my chest ache. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jane. I shouldn't have been so rude to you at the gates. I shouldn't have said 'whatever.' I was just... I was hurting, and I took it out on you."
His green eyes searched mine through the camera, filled with a raw, bleeding honesty that felt like a warm blanket in the middle of a blizzard. For a second, the "gray" feeling lifted. Just seeing him, hearing him apologize when I was the one who had pushed him away, made me feel like I could breathe again.
"I mean... I'm sorry too, Zack," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I should have—"
But the words died in my throat. Zack's expression shifted from guilt to a sudden, sharp intensity. He leaned closer to his camera, his brow furrowing as he squinted at the screen. The flickering light of his room hit the left side of my face—the side where Ashley's fingers had left their mark.
"Jane," he said, his voice dropping an octave, turning low and dangerous. "Wait. Hold the phone still."
I tried to tilt my head, to let my hair fall over the bruise, but it was too late.
"Jane, look at me," Zack commanded, his breath hitching. "Why do you have a red mark on your face?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Behind me, I could feel Heather holding her breath, her eyes locked on the screen. Zack wasn't looking at the "Shadow Girl" anymore; he was looking at a girl who had been branded.
"It's nothing, Zack," I lied, my voice trembling. "I just... I tripped. I hit the doorframe."
"Don't lie to me," Zack snapped, his eyes flashing with a protective fury I had never seen before. "Those are finger marks, Jane. Someone hit you. Was it because of me? Was it because of that post?"
The weight of the truth was sitting right on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill. I looked at Zack's green eyes through the screen—eyes that were burning with a protective fire I'd never seen before.
But then, a cold memory surfaced, cutting through the static of my panic. I remembered what Zack had told me once, back when things were simpler. "Ashley was my first friend, Jane. Our families... they go way back."
If I told him now, I wasn't just accusing a classmate; I was attacking his history. I was asking him to choose between the "Prince" world he grew up in and a "Shadow Girl" who was currently falling apart.
I swallowed the truth, the taste of it like copper in my mouth.
"No, Zack," I whispered, forcing a shaky breath. "It's... it's just what I said. I was clumsy. I tripped in the hallway when the bell rang. I'm just stressed, okay?"
Behind me, the bed creaked as Heather stood up abruptly. I could feel her fury radiating off her like heat from a radiator. "Jane!" she hissed, her voice sharp with disbelief. "What are you doing? Tell him!"
I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes locked on the glowing screen, pleading with Heather silently to just let it go. "Heather, please," I mouthed.
Zack's brow furrowed, his eyes darting to the space behind me where Heather's shadow fell across the wall. The anger in his expression didn't fade; it just turned into confusion.
"Jane," Zack said, his voice low and steady. "Who was that? Who else is in the room with you?"
I felt a small, sad smile touch my lips. For a second, the "Meaning of Life" wasn't about the mystery or the stalker—it was about the girl who was willing to go to war for me.
"It's okay, Zack," I said, my voice finally gaining a bit of strength. "It's my best friend, Heather. She's... she's just being protective."
Heather let out a huff of frustration, but she saw the desperation in my eyes. She knew I wasn't ready to break his world yet. With a sigh, she stepped into the frame, leaning over my shoulder to look at the screen.
"Hey, Zack," she said, waving a hand with a forced brightness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't mind me. I'm just the one making sure she actually eats something tonight."
Zack relaxed, just a fraction. He gave a small, distracted nod toward the camera. "Hey, Heather. Thanks for looking out for her."
But as he turned back to me, the softness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a look of intense focus. He wasn't convinced by my lie about the doorframe. Not even for a second.
"Jane," he whispered, leaning so close to his phone that I could see the gold flecks in his eyes. "We aren't done talking about that mark. I don't care if it's 'nothing.' To me, it's everything."
The tension in the room was so thick I could practically taste it, like the metallic tang of a thunderstorm. Heather's hand tightened on my shoulder, her fingers grounding me as she looked directly into the camera.
"Yeah, Zack," Heather added, her voice smooth but carrying a weight that made my heart race. "She's telling the truth. You know Jane—she's a writer, always living in her head. She literally walked right into the doorframe while thinking about a plot point."
Zack leaned back, his eyes narrowing. The suspicion didn't leave his face—it just settled deeper into his jawline. He wasn't a fool; he knew the difference between a wooden door and a human hand. But he looked at my tired eyes and the way I was leaning into Heather, and he seemed to make a choice to let me keep my secret for one more night.
"Okay," he said, his voice low and raspy. "I believe you, Jane. For now."
I let out a breath I'd been holding since the slap. "Okay... so, will you come to school tomorrow? Or are you still going to avoid me?"
Zack gave a small, weary smile. "I'll be there. I'm not running away anymore."
"Good," I whispered. "Because I'm coming with my best friend, Heather. I want you two to actually meet properly."
Zack paused, his hand reaching up to rub through his messy blonde hair, a habit he had whenever he was confused. He looked from me to Heather's waving hand on the screen.
"Wait," he muttered, his brow furrowing. "I thought Ashley was your best friend? That's what you told me at the Regency. You said you two were close."
The lie felt heavy, like a stone in my throat. I looked at Heather, who was biting her lip to keep from screaming the truth about the "Checkmate." I looked back at Zack's honest face and realized I couldn't keep that particular mask on anymore.
"No, Zack," I said, my voice finally steady. "She's not. Heather is my only best friend. I only told you that about Ashley so she wouldn't get hurt. I was trying to... keep the peace."
I didn't say the rest. I didn't say that "keeping the peace" had cost me a bruised cheek and a broken heart.
Zack stayed silent for a long moment, his green eyes searching mine through the digital divide. "You were protecting her," he realized, his voice sounding hollow. "Even when she was... never mind. I'll see you tomorrow, Jane. Both of you."
The screen went black as the call ended, leaving Heather and me in the sudden, ringing silence of my bedroom.
The tension that had been strangling the room for hours finally snapped, replaced by the kind of exhausted, hysterical energy that only happens between best friends after a crisis. I let out a long, shaky breath and collapsed backward onto my pillows, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me.
"Wow," I whispered, my heart still doing a fluttery dance in my chest. "Zack is... he's actually so fine. Like, how is he even real?"
Heather stopped pacing and arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow at me. A wicked, mischievous glint flashed in her eyes—the first bit of "normal" Heather I'd seen all night.
"Okay, Jane," she drawled, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "What exactly are you saying? Do you want to bang him or what?"
My face went from pale to a nuclear shade of crimson in 0.5 seconds. The heat from my blush was even hotter than the sting of the slap.
"Heather!" I shrieked, grabbing my extra-firm sleeping pillow and hurling it at her face with everything I had. "Stop it! Shut up! That is not what I meant!"
Heather ducked, the pillow thudding harmlessly against the wall, and she erupted into a fit of breathless laughter. "Your face! Jane, your face is redder than the mark on your cheek! Admit it, you're obsessed!"
"I am not obsessed!" I yelled, though I was laughing too, the sound feeling strange and wonderful after a day of crying. "I just... I appreciate his bone structure! And his eyes! And the way he says my name!"
"Mhmm, sure. 'Bone structure,'" Heather teased, reaching for the pillow to throw it back.
"JANE! HEATHER! DINNER IS READY! DON'T MAKE ME CALL YOU AGAIN!"
My mother's voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs, cutting through our laughter. The "Oxygen of Panic" flickered for a second—I had to face my mom at the dinner table with this bruise.
I looked at Heather, the laughter dying down but the support still there. I pulled my hair forward, carefully draping the dark strands over the left side of my face.
"Can they see it?" I whispered.
Heather stepped close, inspecting my "mask" of hair. "Not if you keep your head tilted. And if they ask, I'll tell them we were practicing a high-intensity TikTok dance and you ran into the wardrobe."
I took a deep breath, tucked my secret—and my feelings for the "Prince"—deep inside, and followed Heather out of the room.