The night air hit my skin the second I stepped onto the field. Cool and damp, the grass slick under my boots, the taste of wet earth and sweat already settling on my tongue. My skirt rode high, the fabric barely there, and my top—see-through, no bra, nipples hard from the cold and the anticipation—clung to my breasts like a second skin. My gold hoops caught the light from the bleachers, swinging against my neck as I walked.

I could feel their eyes on me. Always could. The other cheerleaders, the football players stretching on the sideline, the coach pretending not to look. I gave them nothing. I was a bad bitch. I was confident. I loved my body, loved the way it moved, loved the power that came with being seen.

But I wasn't looking at them.

I was looking for him.

River wasn't on the field yet. Of course he wasn't. He was always late to everything, like the world was supposed to wait for him. And it did. Everyone waited. I waited. I'd been waiting for two years.

"Bella!" Mia's voice cut through the hum of the floodlights. She was already in formation, her pom-poms resting on her hips, her eyebrows raised. "You coming or you gonna stand there like a lost puppy?"

I laughed. Easy. Loose. The laugh I'd perfected. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Chill."

I fell into place beside her, the routine already burned into my muscles. We moved through the motions—high V, low V, the pyramid formation we'd been drilling for weeks. My body knew what to do. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

"You're thinking about him again." Mia didn't look at me when she said it. She was stretching, reaching for her toes, but her voice had that edge. The one that meant she was tired of watching me do this to myself.

"I'm not."

"Liar."

I shook my head, forced a grin. "I'm thinking about the routine. Regionals are in three weeks."

"Uh-huh." She straightened, met my eyes. "You know who else is thinking about the routine? Actually thinking about it? Everyone except you. You're thinking about River Lopez."

My stomach dropped. I hated that name in her mouth. Hated how it made me feel small, how it made the confidence I'd wrapped around myself like armor start to crack.

"I'm not—"

"Bella." She stepped closer, lowering her voice so the others couldn't hear. "You've been chasing him since freshman year. He's given you nothing. Not a single look, not a single word that wasn't cold. Why are you still doing this to yourself?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. The laugh came again, but it sounded hollow this time, even to me.

"I don't know," I said. And it was the truth. I didn't know why I couldn't stop. Why every time I saw him, my heart forgot how to beat properly. Why I kept dressing the way I did, hoping maybe this time he'd look at me the way other boys did. Maybe this time he'd see me.

But he never did.

"You deserve someone who actually wants you," Mia said, softer now. "You're Isabella fucking Cortez. You could have anyone."

"I don't want anyone."

She sighed. Shook her head. Turned back to the formation.

The rest of practice was a blur. My body went through the motions—basket toss, toe touch, herkie—while my mind stayed stuck on the same loop. River's face. River's eyes. The way he'd looked at me that morning by his locker. Like I was something he wanted to scrape off his shoe.

My heart ached. It was stupid. So stupid.

By the time practice ended, the sky had gone dark and the floodlights had become suns, casting long shadows across the field. I gathered my bag, my skin still humming from the workout, my hair damp at the temples.

"Drinks later?" Chloe asked, already pulling her hoodie over her uniform. "That place on Fifth has dollar margaritas."

"Maybe."

"You always say maybe. Then you go home and stare at your ceiling."

I laughed. For real this time, because she wasn't wrong. "I'll think about it."

"That's not a yes."

"It's not a no."

She rolled her eyes but let it go. The team dispersed, heading for the parking lot, their voices fading into the night. I stayed a moment longer, letting the cold air settle on my skin. Letting myself breathe.

Then I saw him.

River was walking across the campus, headed toward the student union. His black hoodie was up, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into the shadows. He moved fast, like he had somewhere to be, like he didn't want anyone to stop him.

I didn't mean to follow. My feet just started moving. I told myself I was going the same way. That it was coincidence. That I wasn't pathetic.

But I was pathetic. I knew I was pathetic.

I hung back, keeping distance, watching him round the corner of the union building. The glass doors slid open and he stepped inside. I waited. Counted to ten. Then I followed.

The student union was mostly empty this time of night. A few kids at the tables, laptops open, headphones in. The coffee shop in the corner was still lit up, the barista wiping down the counter. And River was sitting at one of the small tables near the window.

He wasn't alone.

The girl was blonde. Petite. She was leaned toward him, her hand resting on the table close to his, her body angled in that way that said everything. She was laughing at something he'd said. And River—River was almost smiling.

My chest caved in.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart pounding so loud I was sure someone would hear it. She was pretty. She was so pretty. Small and delicate and everything I wasn't. And she was sitting closer to him than I had ever been allowed to stand.

He never even looked at me. Not once.

But he was looking at her.

I turned around. Walked out. Didn't run, because running would mean I cared, and I wasn't supposed to care this much. But my hands were shaking, and my throat was tight, and I could feel the tears building behind my eyes like a storm I couldn't stop.

I made it to the parking lot. Found my car. Sat in the driver's seat with my hands on the wheel and stared at nothing.

She wasn't even special. She was just there. She was just a girl who happened to be in his orbit, and she got something I'd been begging for for two years.

A look.

A smile.

A chance.

I gripped the wheel until my knuckles went white. Then I let go. Let my head fall back against the seat. Let the tears slide down my cheeks, hot and silent and so fucking stupid.

I spent the rest of the night pretending I was fine.

I drove home. Ate dinner with my mom. Smiled when she asked about practice. Said the routine was looking good. Said I was excited for regionals. Said everything was fine.

But my phone was in my hand under the table, and I was scrolling. Looking at her. The blonde girl. I found her Instagram in ten minutes—she went to our school, junior, cheerleader for the rival team. She was cute. She was happy. She had a photo from tonight, a selfie in the student union, captioned "good talk 🤍" and he wasn't in it, but I knew. I knew he was there. I knew she was talking about him.

I should have stopped looking.

I didn't.

I scrolled through all her photos. Compared myself to every angle of her face. Counted her followers, her likes, the way she smiled at the camera. I told myself I was being insane. That I didn't even know her. That River wasn't mine, had never been mine, would probably never be mine.

But it didn't stop the ache. It didn't stop the way my heart kept breaking, over and over, every time I saw another photo of another girl who wasn't me.

I stayed up until my eyes burned. I told myself I was done. That I was going to move on. That I deserved better.

But I knew, even as I closed my eyes, that I'd be back at his locker tomorrow. That I'd be wearing something sheer, something that made my nipples visible through the fabric, something that made everyone else stare. And I knew he wouldn't look. He never looked.

And I'd keep trying anyway.

Because that's what I did. That's what I'd always done. I chased a boy who didn't want me, and I did it with a smile on my face and a hole in my chest, and everyone thought I was so confident, so strong, so sure of myself.

They didn't know I was crumbling.

They didn't know I spent my nights crying in my car over a girl whose name I didn't even know until an hour ago.

They didn't know that the girl who had everything actually had nothing at all.

I woke up with eyes that felt like sandpaper and a chest that felt hollowed out.

My phone was dead on the nightstand. I'd stayed up until the battery gave out, scrolling through her face, memorizing every feature of a girl I'd never spoken to. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Small nose. Small everything. She looked like the kind of girl who didn't take up space. The kind who fit into a boy's arms without making him feel crowded.

I sat up. Caught my reflection in the mirror across the room. My hair was a mess, tangled from sleep. My eyes were red. My lips were dry. I looked like I'd been crying all night, which I had, and I looked like I was about to start again, which I was.

I didn't.

I got up. Showered. Picked out my outfit with the same care I always did—a sheer white top, no bra, my nipples dark through the fabric. A skirt so short it was barely a skirt. Gold hoops in my ears. Lip gloss that made my mouth look like I'd been kissed.

I stared at myself in the mirror and felt nothing.

Not confidence. Not pride. Just the hollow echo of a girl who'd spent two years trying to be seen by someone who looked through her like she was air.

I drove to school. Parked in my usual spot. Walked through the front doors with my head high and my hips swinging, because that's what I did, that's who I was supposed to be, and if I fell apart now everyone would see how weak I really was.

My friends found me at my locker.

"Bella! Oh my god, did you see the pictures from last night?" Marisol was already on her phone, shoving the screen in my face. "Jenna's party was insane. You should have come."

"I had practice."

"You always have practice." She pouted. "You need to live a little."

I laughed. It sounded real. It felt fake. "Maybe next time."

She lowered her voice. "Did you hear about River?"

My stomach dropped. I kept my face smooth. "What about him?"

"I heard he was talking to some girl from the rival cheer team. Chloe or something. They were at the union last night." She rolled her eyes. "She's so basic. I don't get what he sees in her."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her that I didn't get it either. That I'd spent all night comparing myself to that basic girl and coming up short. That I'd cried in my car over a boy who'd never even touched me, and I was so pathetic I was going to do it again.

Instead I shrugged. "Good for him."

Marisol raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're not—"

"I'm fine." The words came out easy. Practiced. "He's not interested. I get it. It's whatever."

She looked at me for a long second. I could see the doubt in her eyes, the way she was trying to decide whether to push. But I'd been doing this for two years. I knew how to sell it.

I smiled. "I'm over it. Seriously."

She didn't believe me. I didn't believe me. But she let it go, and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and we walked to class together like everything was normal, like my heart wasn't a bruise inside my chest.

I made it through three periods before I saw him.

He was at his locker, same as always, that black hoodie pulled over his head, his shoulders squared and his jaw tight. He was talking to one of his teammates, but his eyes were somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere that wasn't here.

I stopped walking. My feet just—stopped. Like my body knew before my brain did that I couldn't do it today. That I didn't have the strength to put on a show and pretend I wasn't dying.

But he looked up.

And for one second—one single, impossible second—his eyes met mine.

My heart stopped.

I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to move. I was just standing there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, wearing a shirt that showed everything, and he was looking at me, and I thought maybe, maybe this was it, maybe he'd finally see me.

Then his gaze slid away. Like I was nothing. Like I was furniture. Like I didn't exist.

He turned back to his teammate. Said something I couldn't hear. Laughed—a low, quiet sound that I'd never heard before, that I'd never been allowed to hear, that he gave to other people so easily and hoarded from me like it was precious.

My hands started shaking.

I pressed them flat against my thighs. Breathed in. Breathed out. Counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty, until the shaking stopped and I could move again.

I walked past him. Didn't look back. Didn't slow down. I walked like I had somewhere to be, like I wasn't shattered, like I was the confident girl everyone thought I was.

But when I turned the corner, I leaned against the wall and pressed my palm to my chest and felt my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break out.

He'd looked at me. For one second. And then he'd looked away.

That was more than I'd gotten in weeks. That was progress. That was something. And I was so desperate, so starved, so pathetic that I actually felt grateful.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Told myself to stop. Told myself I was better than this. Told myself I deserved someone who wanted me, not someone who made me crawl for the crumbs of his attention.

It didn't matter. I knew it wouldn't matter. I'd be back at his locker after school, wearing something tighter, trying harder, pretending I wasn't breaking.

That's what I did. That's what I'd always done.

I was the most popular girl in school. I had the body every girl wanted and the face every boy dreamed about. And none of it meant anything, because the only person I wanted to see me looked through me like I was made of glass.

I pushed off the wall. Straightened my skirt. Wiped the tears from my eyes before they could fall.

And I kept walking.

Because that's what I did. I kept walking. I kept trying. I kept breaking.

And I kept coming back for more.