The Monday after the open mic felt… different.
Lily walked into school with her head higher than usual. Her hoodie was still oversized, her steps still cautious—but inside, something had shifted. She felt rooted. Real.
In the hallway, someone from her history class—a boy she barely knew—gave her a small nod. Just a flicker of recognition. It stunned her. She nodded back.
At her locker, Sophie appeared with two smoothies.
"I figured today's a 'fruit-fueled optimism' kind of day," she said, handing Lily one.
Lily smiled. "I could get used to this."
They walked together to first period, and for once, Lily didn't worry about the stares. Because they were fewer now. Or maybe she just didn't care as much.
Still, Rachel wasn't done.
In the middle of third period, Lily found a note slipped through the vent of her locker. No name. Just one word scrawled in red pen: Pretender.
It wasn't clever. Or original. But it still made her chest ache.
She stood there for a moment, holding the paper, waiting for the old panic to rise.
But it didn't.
Instead, she crumpled the note and tossed it into the recycling bin without ceremony.
She didn't need to keep anyone else's words anymore.
She had her own.
---
After school, Lily went straight to Fable & Thread. The bookstore had become a second home—a place where the world slowed down and made sense.
Nathan was by the register, arguing softly with an elderly customer about whether faeries belonged in "serious" fantasy.
When he saw Lily, his face broke into a smile.
"I stand by my argument," he said, turning to her. "Faeries can be serious. Have you read The Folk of the Air?"
Lily laughed. "I think she means serious as in dragons-and-blood serious, not glitter-and-wings."
"Glitter can be threatening," Nathan said solemnly.
The customer raised a brow, then chuckled and waved goodbye.
As the door chimed shut behind her, Nathan turned fully to Lily. "How was school?"
"Surprisingly bearable," she said. "Someone even nodded at me."
"Careful. That's practically a high-five in teenage social currency."
She grinned, then hesitated. "Rachel left me a note."
Nathan's expression hardened. "What did it say?"
"Just 'Pretender.' Which is kind of ironic, considering how fake she is."
His face softened. "And how did it make you feel?"
"Honestly? Sad. But not for me. For her."
Nathan looked surprised.
"She's still stuck in that mindset where hurting people makes her feel powerful," Lily continued. "I used to live there too. Not as the bully, but as someone who thought they deserved to be hurt."
"And now?"
"Now I know better."
Nathan stepped closer, voice low. "That's growth, Lily. That's power."
Her breath caught. She could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness.
"I've been thinking about something," she said, chewing her lip.
"Dangerous."
She rolled her eyes. "Not that kind of thinking. The… brave kind."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."
She took a breath. "I want to start a club. At school. A safe space. For people like me—who feel unseen, or judged, or like their bodies don't fit the mold."
Nathan stared at her, then slowly grinned. "That's bold. And needed."
"I don't know how many people will show up."
"Even if it's just one, it matters," he said. "Because you're changing the story. You're giving someone the page they've been waiting for."
She looked at him. "You always say the perfect thing."
"It's easier with you," he said softly.
They stood like that for a moment, everything unspoken hanging in the air like fragile magic.
"I should go," she murmured, even though she didn't want to.
Nathan nodded. "Be brave tomorrow."
"I'm getting good at it."
As she left, he called after her. "Hey, Lily?"
She turned.
"I'm really proud of you."
The words hit her in the chest—like sunlight through a cloud.
"Thank you," she whispered.
And she meant it.
---
That night, Lily sat cross-legged on her bed, drafting the flyer for her new club. She titled it The Mirror Room—a place where people could show up exactly as they were and still belong.
No judgment. No shame.
Just truth.
And as she printed the first flyer, Lily realized something she hadn't dared to believe before:
She wasn't pretending anymore.
She was becoming.