The shrill whistle of the P.E. teacher ripped through the air, piercing the sticky hush of the afternoon. It cut across the hum of voices, the slap of sneakers against cracked asphalt, the rustle of bodies stretching and shifting in the heavy sunlight. For a moment, the field froze in motion, then dissolved into chaotic energy as students moved toward the track in uneven clusters, laughter and complaints floating on the humid breeze.
Lottie adjusted the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing damp cotton against her skin. But her gaze didn't flick toward the drills, or the students laughing too loud, or even the coach barking orders with a sharp edge in his voice. No—her eyes were locked, unwavering, on Evelyn.
Evelyn stood at the far edge of the field, the late sun catching in her golden ponytail, turning each strand into a gleaming thread. Her laugh drifted over the grass, high and effortless, the sound like glass tapping lightly against porcelain. Around her, a small cluster of girls leaned in, drawn to the easy pull of her charm, their heads tilted, mouths curving with automatic laughter. Evelyn's fingers moved delicately as she spoke, tracing a line through the air, brushing a lock of hair from her temple, a perfect dance of gestures.
But Lottie saw what they didn't.
She saw the too-tight grip Evelyn had on her phone, the sharp dart of her eyes when she thought no one noticed, the faint muscle ticking along her jaw when the laughter lasted a second too long. She saw the cracks. She always saw the cracks.
The heat pressed down, the air thick and heavy, slicking sweat along Lottie's spine. She pulled in a long breath, the scent of cut grass sharp and bitter in her nose, the dry bite of anticipation thick in her throat. Beneath her calm exterior, her body thrummed like a live wire, tension coiling tight in her limbs, heartbeat thudding fast beneath her skin.
Now.
It came in the smallest slip—a flicker in Evelyn's focus, a breath too long between words, a falter in the careful rhythm. Lottie shifted, smooth and quiet, weaving between clusters of students with the grace of water finding every crack. She slid closer, just close enough to catch the faint whisper of Evelyn's perfume—jasmine, crisp citrus, something cool and biting that curled sharp under the sweetness.
A step. A pivot.
A brush of the shoulder.
"Oh—" Evelyn's gasp broke out soft and real, sharp with a flicker of something unguarded before it snapped shut. Her body jerked back just slightly, eyes flashing wide, mouth parting, the edge of a real reaction breaking through before she wove the familiar smile back into place like a well-rehearsed line.
The phone slipped.
A gleam of metal, a flash of glass, a flicker of light catching as it tumbled once, twice, before it fell with a soft, muted thud into the grass. A ripple of quiet rolled outward, like the edge of a wave brushing the shore—students glancing, voices dipping, the atmosphere tightening by a fraction.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" Lottie's voice lifted lightly, lined with the precise shade of breathless apology. She bent in one smooth motion, fingers wrapping around the phone, the cool press of it a sharp contrast to her warm palm. A faint vibration tickled against her skin—a notification. Her thumb moved, instinctive, sure.
Unlocked.
There you are.
For a heartbeat, the screen glowed up at her: Evelyn's name, perched above a flawless list of grades, immaculate and untouchable. A rush of triumph surged through Lottie's chest, sharp and bright, pulsing through her ribs like wildfire. Her thumb slid again, deft, opening the recording app. The soft, trembling pulse of the phone vibrated against her palm, a secret murmured in the hollow of her hand.
"Thank you," Evelyn murmured, crouching beside her, voice sweet, smooth, but stretched tight at the edges like a fraying thread. Lottie felt the faint tremble in Evelyn's fingers as they curled around hers, a touch too hard, too fast, as she reached to reclaim the phone.
Lottie looked up, her mouth curving into a slow, cool smile, her eyes gleaming with quiet surety. "Of course," she murmured, the words soft and even, silk drawn over steel. Her fingers lingered, light against Evelyn's skin, the contact brief but charged, the brush of cool fingers humming with a quiet tension. "What are sisters for?"
For the space of a breath, the air between them tightened, a filament stretched thin. Evelyn's nails dug faint, pale crescents into the phone's casing; the curve of her mouth shivered at the corners before smoothing back into place, the mask sliding down with practiced precision.
"Lottie! Coach wants us on the track!"
Amy's voice cracked across the field, high, laced with nerves, breaking the moment like a snapped string.
Lottie rose, smooth as water sliding over stone, the rush of air cool against the back of her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flicker of something raw in Evelyn's face, a flash of unguarded heat before it vanished under a fresh, blinding smile.
"Better hurry," Evelyn called after her, laughter rippling faintly at the edges of her words, light and brittle as spun glass.
A flicker of something sharp tugged at Lottie's lips as she turned, jogging toward Amy. Her heart beat hard and fast, the echo of triumph running electric through her limbs.
Amy stood at the edge of the track, twisting her fingers in the hem of her shirt, her brows pulled tight in worry. "Lottie, what—what just happened? Evelyn looked—" Her voice dropped lower, hesitant. "She looked freaked out."
"Nothing important," Lottie murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead, her fingers trembling faintly before she curled them into a loose fist. The memory of the phone lingered in her palm, a phantom echo, cool and buzzing against her skin.
Amy lingered, her voice lowering further. "You sure? You're—you're acting a little…" she hesitated, biting her lip, "different."
Without thinking, Lottie reached out, her fingers brushing softly along Amy's wrist, a touch featherlight, barely there. Amy sucked in a soft breath, her body stilling, a faint flush coloring her cheeks as her shoulders eased, the knot of tension slowly slipping away.
The sharp blast of the whistle sliced through the air, scattering the moment like dry leaves.
Lottie turned, her body falling into pace, the slap of her shoes against the track steady and sure. Breath in, breath out, the sun burning hot against her skin, the stretch of each stride pulling tension through her muscles. Around her, the field blurred into noise and color, laughter and footsteps and the fierce rhythm of her pulse.
I have it. I have her.
A flicker of guilt stirred low in her chest, bitter, twisting, but it was drowned beneath memory: Evelyn's voice, lilting and cold; the sharp, cutting edge of laughter in the dark; the soft, brittle snap of trust breaking like thin glass.
Never again.
The laps melted into one another, sweat slicking her skin, the heat of exertion building sharp and steady in her limbs. When the final whistle tore across the field, students dropped into the grass in sprawling heaps, laughter tumbling breathless into the humid air. Lottie drifted from the cluster, her steps quiet, fingers brushing absently along the band of her watch as she moved toward the long shadows creeping at the field's edge.
Across the grass, Evelyn's gaze snapped to hers, swift, sharp, unyielding.
Lottie let her lips curl, slow, sure, a glint of soft steel beneath the curve.
Evelyn's laugh lifted again, too light, too high, the sound slicing thin and sharp through the fading sunlight. Her fingers tightened around the hem of her shirt, the phone cradled close, her gaze darting away a beat too fast, a breath too shallow.
Amy jogged up, breathless, cheeks flushed, hair damp and sticking to her neck. "Lottie—you were flying today," she panted, laughter tangled in her voice. "Seriously. What's going on with you?"
"I'm fine." The words slid soft from Lottie's mouth, smooth, unhurried, wrapping around the edge of the moment like a hush. Her fingers lifted, brushing the lightest touch along Amy's forearm, a graze so faint it left a trail of goosebumps behind. Amy stilled, a quiet breath slipping from her lips, the flush at her throat deepening as her shoulders relaxed.
But Lottie's eyes never left Evelyn.
Evelyn, still glowing at the center of her small, spinning world—but the shine had thinned, the cracks had spread. The too-tight clutch of her fingers, the sharp, restless flick of her gaze, the stretch of her smile worn thin at the corners.
The sun dipped lower, casting the field in a long spill of gold, shadows pooling deep against the dirt. Students drifted in loose knots toward the locker rooms, feet scuffing the ground, voices falling into a low, dissolving hum.
Lottie lingered, the weight of the day soft in her limbs, the quiet flicker of adrenaline still whispering along her skin. Her breath moved steady, in and out, the beat of her pulse a quiet drum beneath it all.
And then Evelyn turned.
Just slightly. Just enough.
Their eyes caught across the thinning distance, the stretch of golden air between them pulled tight as wire.
For a breath, for a beat, the world held still.
Lottie's mouth curved, slow, certain, the shape of quiet triumph glinting soft at the edges.
And Evelyn, chin high, shoulders set, mouth curved into a perfect, gleaming line, eyes flickering beneath the brittle sheen—
Looked away first.